Ten heads, two stories, one heart. Last Saturday (29 November), the Seymour Centre stage trembled as Iksha II brought Ravana’s ten selves to life.
Ravana is the ten-headed king of Lanka from the Hindu epic The Ramayana. Though commonly portrayed as a villain, he is more than that: a brilliant scholar, powerful ruler and fierce devotee of Lord Shiva.
His downfall begins when he abducts Sita, leading to a war with Rama. His story is ultimately one of brilliance undone by unchecked ambition, making him one of mythology’s most tragic and compelling figures. His ten heads symbolise the many sides of his identity, constantly battling within him.
Directed by Sharanya Thiyagarajah and Divassini Ramesh, Ishka II blended classical Bharatanatyam and contemporary dance to present two retellings of Ravana’s story. In one, told by the poet Valmiki, he physically grabs innocent Sita, consumed by his desire. In the second, told by Kamban, Ravana magically lifts the ground to avoid hurting Sita in any way.
Iksha II review – quick links
Iksha II: a prelude to power
The dance ensemble ambitiously portrayed a character stumbling under the weight of his greatness. Using both Bharatanatyam principles and contemporary expression, the performance explored the fragility of choice, the dark shadow of righteousness and the humanity of the legendary figure.
As the performance began, the soulful voice of vocalist Skanda Jagadeesh silenced the room. Next, flautist Jathushan Jeyarasa added a sense of innocence, evoking the humanity of the King of Lanka. This evocative atmosphere, even in the darkened theatre, kept the audience perched at the edge of their seats.
Unfortunately, the tension quickly broke. While the narrator’s intonations and inflections captured the power of the character himself, the staging let the performers down. Two off-centre spotlights interrupted the dark, moody lighting and, in a scene intended to introduce performers, the lighting choice was a distraction.
Keeping the narrator as an off-stage voice rather than bringing her forward under multiple spotlights might have preserved the sense of mystery and maintained the initial atmosphere created by the music.
Perspectives in motion
After the introduction of the first act, the dialogue often encouraged chuckles and waves of laughter. Every Hasta Mudra (hand gesture) and Abhinaya (facial expression) was cleanly delivered.
Here, we witnessed the years of dedication that each member of the cast had made to their craft. The classical foundations were beyond reproach and the signage held up also brought in the intended contemporary feel to the show. However, we were left somewhat empty.
Iksha II promised to reframe Ravana as more than an antagonist, someone to empathise with and see humanity in. But curiously, we do not actually meet Ravana until much later in the performance.
Rather than letting us encounter the man himself, the opening of Iksha II clings lovingly to the poets and their circling interpretations of Ravana. For a performance dedicated to revising his legacy, we were instead given a literature review.
The dancing and sheer talent shone brighter in the second act, well supported by music and lighting. By showing Ravana’s family, we are provided a glimpse of a Ravana beyond the legend – loved, admired, feared and followed by those around him.
The mother’s heartbreak at her son’s choices was palpable, while the daughter’s innocent devotion offered both tension and comfort, showing that even a flawed figure can inspire love. The choreography and performances were excellent, bringing Ravana’s complex humanity vividly to life.
Clash of ten heads
The third act crystallised Iksha II’s ambition. By giving physical form to each of Ravana’s ten heads – and letting their emotions struggle, clash and ultimately falter under one another’s weight – the production rendered Ravana’s inner conflicts tangible.
The performers eloquently portrayed the fragile balance between power and vulnerability, intellect and vanity, and devotion and desire. The spectacle of the ten heads rising and falling in synchrony created an exhilarating tension. It made the audience acutely aware of the consequences of ambition and the complexity of human emotion.
In the final moments, the heads slowly succumbed to a singular overpowering emotion. The eyes captured the profound weight of the battles. This haunting, piercing gaze lingered long after the performance. It was this image that provoked genuine awe and abundant catharsis.
Crafting chaos: bringing Iksha II to the stage
Iksha II showcased talent, heart and the classical Bharatanatyam discipline, though a few artistic flaws prevented the production’s full potential from being realised.
Introducing the ten heads earlier would have provided the audience with a clearer compass and better allowed the ensemble’s talent to shine. Additionally, a stronger ‘show don’t tell’ approach to the poets’ disagreements could have made the push-and-pull of perspectives more immersive.
The early acts also felt more episodic than part of a cohesive narrative. In future, a more carefully guided emotional journey from beginning to end would better amplify the impact of the performance and do justice to the talent on stage.
Contemporary touches like the signage had charm but could have been bolder or more playful to match the wit of the dialogue. Every aspect of the dancing, choreography, music and lighting was bold. Why not the signs too?
Overall, these are minor flaws in what was otherwise a spectacular display of classical skill, emotional depth and innovative storytelling, and with small adjustments, Iksha II could become as unstoppable as its heroic, tormented tyrant.
The intention of Iksha II’s creators to reimagine Ravana as more than a demon king was almost realised in this performance. While the production’s artistry and contemporary flourishes shone, the early lack of clarity and episodic presentation slightly dulled its emotional potential.
Yet by the finale, the audience was still drawn to Ravana. The ten-headed monarch’s ambitions, contradictions and vulnerabilities evoked sympathy, leaving us with a lingering sense of connection to a figure we thought we knew.
In the end, we don’t just witness a demon king, we feel the weight of his humanity.
Iksha Creatives’ Iksha II played at Seymour Centre in Sydney for one night only on 29 November.
This article is published as part of ArtsHub’s Creative Journalism Fellowship, an initiative supported by the NSW Government through Create NSW.
