When Ancient Gods Walked the Streets of Karachi

A Ramayana Unlike Any Other

A Sunday Draped in Theatre Curtains – July 13th, 2025

Khurram has been my partner in crime since our A Levels, my theatre twin, my fellow obsessive. We’ve always made a gang of two, slipping into velvet seats and shadowed aisles, watching the same plays again and again until the lines live in our bones.

The shadows were already gathering in the foyer of the Arts Council when Khurram and I arrived, as if the very walls knew something momentous was about to unfold within their embrace. There was an electricity in the air, not the familiar crackle of Karachi’s summer storms, but something deeper, more ancient. Something that whispered of gods and demons, of love and exile, of stories that refuse to remain buried in dusty scriptures.

We had come to witness what many deemed impossible: the Ramayana, staged in full theatrical glory by the Mauj Collective, directed by Yogeshwar Karera. In Pakistan. By mainly Muslim actors. For a Pakistani audience hungry for something beyond the mundane theatrics of daily existence.

The Voice That Started It All

When the lights dimmed and Time itself began to speak, that omniscient narrator whose voice seemed to emanate from the very stones of eternity, I felt something shift in the theatre. This wasn’t merely storytelling; this was archaeology of the soul. Time spoke of Kaikeyi’s treachery, of a mother’s ambition dressed in the silk of maternal duty, of a kingdom about to fracture under the weight of a promise.

But here, in this Karachi theatre, Time carried a different burden. It carried the weight of cultural courage, of artists daring to breathe life into stories that belonged, officially, to another faith, another nation. Yet as the narrative unfurled, it became clear: these stories had never belonged to anyone exclusively. They belonged to humanity itself.

Digital Divinity: When AI Meets Ancient Ayodhya

The production’s most audacious gamble lay not in its cultural courage, but in its technological ambition. Artificial Intelligence became the unseen deity of this production, weaving digital tapestries that transformed the humble stage into kingdoms, forests, and celestial realms. Ravana’s Lanka pulsed with otherworldly menace, while Ayodhya’s palaces gleamed with the golden promise of righteousness.

The AI-enhanced backdrops moved like living paintings: mountains that breathed, waters that whispered, skies that wept. It was hybrid theatre at its most ambitious, where silicon dreams danced with flesh-and-blood performances. Yet technology never overshadowed the human heart beating at the story’s core.

Though I must confess, and Khurram nudged me when I whispered this, that exile hut looked suspiciously comfortable. If Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana truly lived in such elegance during their forest sojourn, exile has certainly evolved since ancient times. The structure resembled less the austere hermitage of epic tradition and more a carefully curated forest retreat, complete with bamboo aesthetics and elevated charm. It looked like a trendy Airbnb listing for a “Ban Thai Hut” experience, perfect for modern travelers seeking rustic luxury without actual hardship. For a myth steeped in the poetry of deprivation, this felt almost luxurious. But perhaps that was the point: even in banishment, divinity demands a certain standard.

The Cast: Mortals Playing Gods with Uncommon Grace

Ashmal Lalwani as Rama carried the burden of righteousness with a humanity that made the character breathable. This wasn’t the marble deity of temple walls, but a man wrestling with duty, love, and the terrible weight of perfection expected of him. His every gesture spoke of internal conflict, the eternal struggle between the divine role thrust upon him and the mortal heart beating within. Ashmal Lalwani brings his National Academy of Performing Arts (NAPA) training to this pivotal role. A graduate with expertise in theatre, film, immersive acting, and movement/dance, Lalwani’s philosophy that “art is love and love can get us through” perfectly embodies the spiritual essence of Ram. As a movement coach at Arts Council Theatre Academy, he combines technical prowess with emotional depth, making him an ideal choice for this legendary character.

Rana Kazmi as Sita emerged as the production’s quiet revolution. Neither victim nor saint, but a woman of steel wrapped in silk, her Sita spoke even when silent, defied even when compliant. The agni pariksha, that trial by fire, became not just a test of purity, but a moment where centuries of feminine subjugation faced its reckoning. Kazmi’s dual identity as a theater enthusiast by night allows her to bring professional discipline and artistic passion to this iconic female character. Having recently directed the play ‘Lungs’ under the Mauj banner, Kazmi demonstrates her deep understanding of theatrical storytelling, essential for portraying Sita’s complex journey from princess to exile to liberation.

The complex character of Maharani Keikeyi is brought to life by Sana Toaha, whose journey from political science major and youth parliament standout to NAPA-trained performer adds layers to her portrayal. As the founder of Mauj Collective, her vision to create impactful works addressing social justice and gender inequality brings contemporary relevance to this classical character, making Keikeyi’s motivations more relatable to modern audiences, while Amir Ali, a 2018 NAPA graduate, takes on the paternal role of Maharaja Dasharatha. With an impressive portfolio including three feature films, drama series, and a memorable PTV telefilm, plus various roles in several dramas, Ali brings gravitas to the role of Ram’s father. His claim to fame includes being the only person from his academy to complete approximately 150 short films, demonstrating his commitment to the craft and making him perfect for this royal patriarch role.

But it was Samhan Ghazi as Ravana that haunted me most. This wasn’t the ten-headed demon of popular imagination, but a scholar-king whose love had curdled into obsession, whose intellect had been poisoned by unchecked power. Ghazi painted Ravana in shades of gray that made us question our certainties about heroes and villains. Ghazi, a NAPA graduate with nearly a decade of theatrical experience. Having performed in over 80 theatre productions, Ghazi’s versatility and emotional depth make him a powerful storyteller capable of bringing nuance to this complex villain. His extensive experience across stage, screen, and commercials establishes him as one of Pakistan’s most accomplished performers, perfect for the ten-headed demon king’s multifaceted personality.

Waqas Akhter as Laxmana carried the fury of youth and the loyalty of brotherhood. Waqas, as the loyal brother Laxmana, brings his National Academy of Performing Arts background and professional acting experience since 2019. Having captivated audiences in acclaimed plays such as “Death of a Salesman” and “Karachi ka Bichoo,” Akhter’s proven track record in dramatic roles makes him well-suited to portray Ram’s devoted younger brother with both strength and sensitivity.

while Jibran Khan as Hanuman brought both devotion and mischief to life with equal measure. Jibran’s his NAPA training and experience as a set designer to this beloved character. Currently affiliated with the National Academy of Performing Arts as a set designer, Khan’s understanding of theatrical space and storytelling, combined with his passion for innovative narrative techniques, makes him uniquely qualified to embody the monkey god’s devotion and strength.

Ali Sher’s portrayal of Abhimantari added fresh energy to the classical ensemble, his NAPA training evident in his commitment to pushing artistic boundaries and captivating audiences with nuanced character development. Each performance layered complexity onto characters we thought we knew.

The Creative Vision: Direction by Yogeshwar Karera

Under the direction of Yogeshwar Karera, this NAPA-trained director brings his experience across theater, television, and film to create a cohesive vision. Currently serving as Program and Events Manager at The Second Floor (T2F), Karera’s passion for creating diverse forms of theater ensures that this Ramayana adaptation will offer audiences something truly unique and memorable.

The Darker Truths: When Gods Reveal Their Clay Feet

What elevated this production beyond mere spectacle was its unflinching gaze into the shadows of the epic. The Shurpanakha episode, so often glossed over, received only a brief, almost cursory treatment in this production. While the theatre touched upon this brutal examination of masculine violence and feminine desire, one couldn’t help but wish for a full act dedicated to this complex moment. The episode, narrated narrowly and almost skippingly, deserved the stage’s full attention. When Lakshmana mutilated her for daring to want what she wanted, the brevity felt like a missed opportunity to let the stage truly bleed with centuries of women punished for their autonomy. A more expansive treatment would have made this already powerful story even more resonant.

Ravana’s treatment of Sita, respectful, patient, and offering choice even in captivity, created uncomfortable parallels. Who was the real villain? The demon-king who honored a woman’s dignity, or the god-prince who later doubted her purity?

These moments of moral ambiguity transformed the epic from divine parable into human tragedy. In the flickering lights of the Arts Council stage, gods became men, and men revealed themselves to be desperately, beautifully flawed.

For this Ramayana was not just heroes and villains, but a study in human fragility. Pride, manipulation, suppressed anger, and misplaced tests of love. Kaikeyi’s whisper becomes every hurried counsel we give and regret later. Lakshmana’s pride becomes every unacknowledged act of violence. Sita’s ordeal becomes every demand we place on loved ones to prove worth. Ravana’s plea becomes every time we justify injustice as justice.

Cultural Alchemy: The Magic of Inclusive Storytelling

The true magic of this production lay not in its technological wizardry or stellar performances, but in its quiet act of cultural alchemy. Here were Pakistani artists breathing life into Hindu mythological characters, not as an act of appropriation, but as an embrace of shared human narrative.

Director Yogeshwar Karera’s vision transcended religious boundaries to touch something universal. “Pakistani society is more tolerant than it’s often given credit for,” he had said, and this production became living proof. The enthusiastic response from Karachi audiences, Muslim and non-Muslim alike, validated art’s power to build bridges where politicians construct walls.

The Technology of Wonder: AI as Cultural Translator

The seamless integration of AI-enhanced visuals with live performance created what I can only describe as digital darshan, a technological pilgrimage that made the mythological tangible. Ancient weapons glowed with otherworldly fire, celestial chariots soared across digital skies, and battles raged with cinematic grandeur.

Yet the technology never felt cold or distant. Instead, it served as a cultural translator, helping contemporary audiences connect with ancient stories. The AI became a bridge between the Sanskrit epics and the Urdu sensibilities of the audience, creating a new visual vocabulary for timeless tales.

Music as Memory: The Soundtrack of the Soul

Monica Ahmed’s haunting vocals wove through the production like musical memory, her voice carrying both the pain of separation and the joy of devotion. The live musical accompaniment created an emotional architecture that supported the dramatic action, while the rhythms reminded us that these stories were born to be sung, not just spoken.

The music became a character in itself, sometimes whispering like wind through Panchavati forests, sometimes roaring like the ocean that Hanuman leaped to reach Lanka. It transformed the theatre into a temple where entertainment and enlightenment merged.

What This Means: Art as Quiet Revolution

As Khurram and I walked out into the Karachi night, the streets seemed different somehow. We had witnessed something rare: art that dared to dream beyond boundaries, that trusted audiences to embrace complexity, that believed in stories’ power to transform hearts.

This Ramayana proved that great theatre isn’t about safe choices or comfortable narratives. It’s about taking ancient truths and making them speak to contemporary souls. It’s about Pakistani artists claiming Hindu epics as part of humanity’s shared inheritance. It’s about using cutting-edge technology to illuminate eternal wisdom.

The Final Verdict: A Divine Gamble That Paid Off
Mauj Collective’s Ramayana succeeds not despite its audacity, but because of it. By refusing to treat the epic as a museum piece or religious property, by embracing both its divine poetry and human complexity, by using technology to enhance rather than replace emotional truth, this production charts new territory for Pakistani theatre.

It reminds us that in an age of artificial divisions, art remains stubbornly, beautifully human. That stories, like love, recognize no borders. That gods, when portrayed with honesty and courage, reveal themselves to be remarkably like us, flawed, searching, and utterly compelling.

The shadows that gathered in the Arts Council foyer that night weren’t harbingers of controversy, but guardians of transformation. They protected something precious: the birth of a new kind of theatre, where ancient wisdom meets modern technology, where cultural courage creates contemporary art, and where Pakistani stages become sacred spaces for stories that belong to all humanity.

In the end, this Ramayana didn’t just entertain, it enlightened. It didn’t just perform, it transformed. And in a city where miracles often go unnoticed, it reminded us that sometimes, the most profound magic happens not in temples or mosques, but in the democratic darkness of a theatre, where strangers become congregation and actors become priests of an ancient, unending story.

As daylight unfurled this Monday morning, I carry a question for all of us: In our stories, ancient or personal, who remains nameless, whose voice is silenced? What fire do we ask others to walk through, in the name of honor or proof?

May our steps today, like ours last night, be measured, compassionate, and aware of the flames we ask others to endure.

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The Ramayana by Mauj Collective ran from July 11-13, 2025, at the Arts Council of Pakistan, Karachi. For future productions and updates, follow @MaujCollective on Instagram.