The rising sun breaks through the mist hovering over the Ganga, its diffused light lending a delicate, gauzy feel to the morning scenes in Ramnagar. People gather in large groups beneath a sky washed in shades of pink and orange. There's a buzz in the air as they prepare to attend the day's episode of the Ramlila. Located about 23 km from Varanasi, Ramnagar in Uttar Pradesh is known for its unique Ramlila festival, a tradition that has continued for over 200 years. Yet, beneath the vibrant morning light, the shadow of change looms large. The very landscape that once cradled this centuries-old tradition is steadily transforming, reshaping not only the physical space but the experience of the Ramlila itself.
The relentless march of urbanisation and modernisation has inevitably impacted Ramnagar's Ramlila. "Earlier, you could walk with Ram, Sita, and Lakshman through an actual forest, with trees and a leaf-strewn path under your feet. It felt real, as if you were in the van (forest) with them. Now, there are tall buildings all around and hardly any trees," rues Kunwar Ishan, as he explains the importance of this community festival and the deep connection between actor and audience. "There’s so much artificial lighting in the town now. In my childhood, the scenes were lit by petromax lanterns or flares — that had a magical vibe."
He speaks of the incessant noise of traffic, which drowns out the samvad. "We do not use microphones or loudspeakers, and the constant honking of cars makes it difficult to hear anything. The modern world is eroding the uniqueness of the Ramlila here."
Where photography was once strictly banned, now omnipresent camera phones have arrived on the scene. As the old Ramnagar — with its trees and green spaces forming the backdrop for the play — slowly fades, replaced by new buildings and urban landscapes, one wonders: will this unique Ramlila also disappear? For many, the Ramlila is not just an essential part of Ramnagar; it also embodies the spirit of Varanasi or Kashi. As Schechner notes, “In seeing Ramlila, I not only experienced Varanasi, but I came to understand Kashi.”
Ramlila—literally ‘Rama’s play’—is performed across India, but the Ramnagar version stands apart. In 2004, UNESCO recognised it as an intangible heritage of India, and rightly so. This month-long enactment is less a theatre production than a living, breathing people’s festival, weaving together folk drama, ritual, pilgrimage, and fairground revelry.
Patronised by the Kashi Naresh, the maharaja of Kashi, the Ramlila begins on Ananta Chaturdashi, the final evening of the ten-day Ganesh Utsav, and unfolds over the course of a full lunar month. It is a tradition stretching back some two centuries, remarkable not only for its longevity but for its distinctive form. Unlike most theatrical performances confined to a single stage, this Ramlila takes to the streets and alleys of Ramnagar. The actors—known as swaroops, all boys aged between ten and fourteen—move from one carefully chosen location to another, with the audience trailing behind like pilgrims on a sacred journey.
The performance remains true to its roots: there are no loudspeakers, no electric lights. Instead, the actors and spectators rely on the natural ambience, the flickering of oil lamps, and the rhythm of their own footsteps. Each scene is set in a different part of the town—Ayodhya, Lanka, the swayamvara, the battlefield—breathing life into the epic tale. The backdrops themselves are historic, with the original structures representing key sites of the Ramayana—Panchavati, Ayodhya, Chitrakoot, Lanka—largely constructed in the mid-19th century.
In Ramnagar, Ramlila is not just theatre. It is a ritual enactment that transforms the entire town into a stage, a pilgrimage, and a fairground all at once. It is a communal memory, passed down through generations, and a rare glimpse into a world where myth and reality entwine.
The enactments start early in the morning and continue until 9 pm, with a break for sandhya (evening) puja. The Kashi Naresh declares the day’s proceedings open. As he arrives, the crowds chant “Har Har Mahadev.” The swaroops, all male children between the ages of 10 and 14, look striking with sandalwood markings on their bodies and costumes adorned with sequins and sparkling stones. These children remain in character throughout the month and are not addressed by their real names during this time. However, having a cast made up entirely of minors comes with its share of complications; in 2018, a day’s performance had to be cancelled as four swaroops fell ill with diarrhoea.
"Today is a very special lila," said Kunvar Ishan of the Benares royal family. "It is the day of the Dhanush Yagya, when the people of Benaras wear special clothes. Some carry staffs; others may sport headgear with embellishments, like a kalangi. Elaborate stages have been created for the scene where Ramji breaks the dhanush."
The audience members, known as niyamis, participate in a daily ritual where they take a dip in the Ganga, wear new clothes, and carry a staff adorned with intricate decorations. The tale of Ram is narrated twice in Ramnagar. It is conveyed through the recitation of the Ramcharitmanas by the Ramayanis (narrators with deep knowledge of the Ramayana) and the samvad (dialogues) performed by the actors.
The samvad was written in the 19th century to simplify the complex language of the Ramcharitmanas into a more accessible, spoken form for the people. The Ramayanis chant the Ramcharitmanas before the actors narrate the samvad. The Ramayanis sit close to the Kashi Naresh, the principal audience for the Ramcharitmanas. Much like the settings of each scene, the costumes, props, and accessories change as the story progresses. It is common for members of the audience to wear specific clothes and accessories to signify the part of the Ramlila being enacted on a particular day. “For instance, on the day of nakkatiya (when Lakshman cuts off Surpanakha’s nose), some people from the royal family would wear a kalangi. The mount of the elephants would be silver,” he said.
The Ramnagar Ramlila has long captivated writers, academics, and documentary filmmakers alike, drawn to its unique fusion of ritual and theatre. Among the most notable chroniclers is Richard Schechner, a pioneering figure in performance studies, whose book Performative Circumstances: From the Avant-Garde to Ramlila delves deeply into this extraordinary event. Schechner first set foot in Ramnagar in 1976, attending the episode in which Vishwamitra leads Ram into the forest. He was immediately struck by the play’s unpretentious beauty, its raw devotion, and the profound simplicity of its enactment.
Schechner also vividly recalls the journeys made by the crowds who came daily from Varanasi, crossing the Ganga “away from the westward declining sun and toward the brightly illuminated face of the Fort.” He recounts seeing seventy-five boats working the river on one occasion after the day’s play, ferrying audiences back across the water. “I realise that this accounts for only 2,250 persons, and sometimes the crowds were closer to 50,000... Clearly, many people walked home… Be that as it may, the crossing to and from Ramnagar constitutes a big part of the experience of the Lila itself. For the Ganga is no ordinary river. Crossing it puts one in touch with a great life-stream.”
In later interviews, Schechner reflected on the deep connections he found between this ancient tradition and other forms of theatre—the medieval Passion Plays of Europe, with their communal spirituality and ritualistic fervour, and the radical experimental theatre emerging in America at the time. He described the Ramnagar Ramlila as an “extraordinary time-space-narrative,” a living testament to a mode of storytelling that transcends conventional theatre and invites spectators to journey through myth, history, and devotion all at once.
As the crowds disperse, retracing their steps across the Ganga’s flowing embrace, the journey itself becomes part of the ritual—a quiet, communal passage from the world of the everyday into a realm where myth and memory intertwine. The river is not just a physical boundary but a living thread that binds the spectators to centuries of devotion and storytelling. This crossing, Schechner reminds us, is more than mere transit; it is a passage into a “great life-stream,” a spiritual current that carries the Ramlila beyond the stage and into the hearts of those who witness it.
In this way, the Ramnagar Ramlila resists the passage of time. It weaves together history and myth, tradition and theatre, creating an “extraordinary time-space-narrative” where each performance is at once ancient and immediate. It invites audiences—not merely to watch, but to journey, to inhabit, to become part of a story far larger than themselves. And as the lamps flicker and the crowds fade into the dusk, the play’s true magic endures—in the living pulse of a community united by faith, memory, and the timeless power of storytelling.
