Paramavaiṣṇava The Capitalist (A Play)

Posted on 22nd August, 2025 (GMT 06:00 pm)

A Deranged Bhajan-Blasting Bhakti-Bollywood Burlesque in Five Acts Play

ABSTRACT

Paramavaiṣṇava The Capitalist is a neon-charged, satirical spectacle blending Bollywood masala, Bharatanatyam, and Afrobeat to expose corporate hypocrisy and political cronyism in India. Inspired by critiques of corporate malfeasance, it follows Atheist (AT), a Gully Boy-style skeptic, and Vaiṣṇava Bard, a melodramatic poet, confronting Paramavaiṣṇava, a smug oligarch masking scams like the ₹45,000 crore CHFL heist with Gauḍiya Vaiṣṇava piety and show-off Gandhian rhetoric, abetted by Saffron Supremo’s “Gandhigiri Murdabad” political regime, accused of electoral chori (fraud), and Judge SLAPPavati’s SLAPP suits. Set frequently in a cyberpunk courtroom and surreal Mumbai street, it features Gandhi and Tagore’s spectral critiques, a Chorus of Ghosts with inflatable Gītās, and props like rubber ducks and selfie-stick bazookas. Through frenetic dance, biting rap, and a Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro-inspired hanging gesture finale, it indicts corporatized hypocrisy, electoral bonds, ecological ruin, and judicial complicity, urging audiences to reclaim dharma from corporate and saffron hegemony.

Inspired by

Dramatis Personae

Atheist (AT): An agnostic sceptic branded as an atheist, Urban Naxal, anti-national, woke, and Tukre Tukre Gang member; styled as a Gully Boy rapper meets Munna Bhai, wielding a Molotov-Gītā, spitting rhymes with “Gandhigiri” flair; an author and OBMA member embodying a Guide protagonist with Munna Bhai’s heart, shackled in neon data cords, wielding a typewriter that shoots sparks, confetti, and rubber ducks. Hindutvavadi

Santana Bhakt (SB): A buffoonish Hindutvavadi styled as a Sholay villain with Circuit’s loyalty, casteist when it pays, spiritual when it’s trending, clutching a diamond-encrusted Gītā app.

Vaiṣṇava Bard: Sutradhara (narrator and stage manager) and Viveka (conscience/super-ego from Bangla Jatrapala); a deranged poet styled as a Devdas tragic hero with Lucky’s radio DJ swagger, mocking corporate dharma with melodramatic sobs and bubble-bursting glee.

Chorus of Ghosts: A neon-lit Bhootnath ghost ensemble including Gandhi, Narsinh Mehta, and 6,15,000 CHFL victims, styled with Lage Raho Munna Bhai’s Gandhi, wielding inflatable Gītās and “Gandhigiri” flowers. Gandhi: Part of the Chorus; a spectral figure embodying Mahatma Gandhi, spinning a LED charkha, advocating ahimsa, trusteeship, and satyagraha while critiquing corporate hypocrisy.

Narsinh Mehta: Part of the Chorus; a historical Vaiṣṇava poet-saint, represented as a ghost highlighting devotional ideals like humility and equality.

CHFL Victims: Part of the Chorus; ghosts of 6,15,000 defrauded depositors, waving signs like “Moksa = Money Laundering” to symbolize corporate exploitation.

Judge SLAPPavati Devi: A corporate stooge styled as a Singham villainess, in a sequined robe, chugging “Moksa Mojitos” from a chalice shaped like a stock ticker.

Paramavaiṣṇava (Mr. Paramavaisṇava / Crony Paramavaiṣṇava): A smug oligarch styled as a Baahubali anti-hero, in a suit with a 20-foot saffron tie that doubles as a disco ball; a Leva Patidar Vaiśya merchant preaching Gītā while engaging in corporate schemes.

Prosecutor Janadhikaran: A rabid advocate styled as a Jai Ho dancer, with a bedazzled megaphone that shoots bubbles, breakdancing like a Bollywood star.

Defence Lawyer Legalswami: A disco-ball lawyer styled as a Dabangg sidekick with Circuit’s loyalty, with a “SLAPP Daddy” cape that spews fog, moonwalking with a rubber chicken. Chief Justice: A cyber-saffron judge styled as a Robot villain, with robotic arms, glowing eyes, and a wig that shoots fireworks.

Government Counsel (Prosecutor AI): A glitchy AI drone shaped like a gold Kṛṣṇa statue with googly eyes, styled as a Chandni Chowk to China prop, spewing charges in a chipmunk voice.

Police Guards: Cyber-clowns in LED riot gear styled as Dhoom goons, wielding selfie-stick bazookas that fire glitter, bubbles, and inflatable bananas.

Saffron Supremo (Chowkidar Chaiwala): A Singham-style politico with Munna Bhai’s swagger, voguing in slow-motion with a confetti microphone, shouting “Gandhigiri Murbad!” like a Bollywood hero; a non-biological leader promoting corporate and saffron agendas.

Bureaucrat Buffoon: A Golmaal-style comic sidekick with Lage Raho Munna Bhai’s bumbling professor energy, in a khaki suit with a comically oversized briefcase that leaks fake electoral bonds, tripping over props like a Rajpal Yadav character.

Young Bhakts (BOY 1, BOY 2, BOY 3, BOY 4): Excited young followers of Paramavaiṣṇava, waving mini Gītās and LED gadgets, starstruck by corporate spirituality and taking selfies.

Lady Justice: A disco diva in Chandni Chowk to China couture, juggling an inflatable lotus-shaped cheque and a laser-shooting selfie stick, symbolizing corrupted justice.

Rabindranath Tagore (RT): A spectral hologram of the poet-philosopher, appearing as a contemplative figure promoting internationalism, love, and anti-commercialism, critiquing the misuse of his works.

Plainclothes Officer: An arresting authority figure posing for fake paparazzi, using a megaphone to enforce corporate-backed laws like DPDPA, leading guards in dramatic captures.

Prologue

Setting: A neon-lit stage, a grotesque temple-cum-Bollywood set styled as a Dabangg temple with Lage Raho Munna Bhai radio booth vibes, bathed in gold wash with disco-ball reflections. Stage Left features a gold-plated ISKCON altar with an animatronic Kṛṣṇa as a Krrish superhero, juggling flaming credit cards and inflatable electoral bonds. Stage Right has a Lage Raho Munna Bhai-style radio booth with a “Gandhigiri” mic shooting bubbles. Center Stage hosts a Paramavaiṣṇava logo slot machine spewing glitter, rubber ducks, and “Gandhigiri” flowers. The LED backdrop flashes Gītā verses in Comic Sans with dancing emojis, morphing into Paramavaiṣṇava ads with Jai Ho dancers and “Ishwar Allāh Tero Nām” in neon.

Sound: The Osibisa version of “Raghupati Raghava Raja Ram” begins with percussive Afrobeat, layered with cartoon “boings,” rubber chicken squawks, and Dabangg whistles. A Lage Raho Munna Bhai “Raghupati Rāghav” jingle underscores the satire.

Lighting: Gold wash with haze machine pumping “sacred vape clouds” laced with glitter. White spotlight for “Ishwar Allāh” moments, red strobes for corporate chaos, green lasers for political caricature. UV light makes Chorus signs glow (“404: Dharma Not Found,” “Ishwar Allāh Tero Nām”).

Raghupati Raghava Raja Ram

(Osibisa Version)

रघुपति राघव राजाराम, पतित पावन सीताराम ॥
सीताराम सीताराम, भज प्यारे तू सीताराम ॥
ईश्वर अल्लाह तेरो नाम, सबको सम्मति दे भगवान ॥
सुंदर विग्रह मेघश्याम, गंगा तुलसी शालग्राम ॥
भद्रगिरीश्वर सीताराम, भक्तजन प्रिय सीताराम ॥
जानकीरमणा सीताराम, जय जय राघव सीताराम ॥
रघुपति राघव राजाराम, पतित पावन सीताराम ॥
सीताराम सीताराम, भज प्यारे तू सीताराम ॥

Roman Transliteration
Raghupati Rāghav Rājārām, Patit Pāvan Sītārām ||
Sītārām Sītārām, Bhaj Pyāre Tu Sītārām ||
Ishwar Allāh Tero Nām, Sabko Sammati De Bhagwān ||
Sundar Vighraha Meghashyām, Gangā Tulsī Shālgrām ||
Bhadra Girīshwara Sītārām, Bhaktajan Priya Sītārām ||
Jānakīramana Sītārām, Jai Jai Rāghav Sītārām ||
Raghupati Rāghav Rājārām, Patit Pāvan Sītārām ||
Sītārām Sītārām, Bhaj Pyāre Tu Sītārām ||

Raghupati Raghav Raja Ram,
Uplifter of the fallen, Sita Ram.
Sita Ram, Sita Ram,
Chant, dear one, the name of Sita Ram.
God and Allah are Your names,
Grant wisdom to all, O Lord.
Beautiful form, dark as rain clouds,
You are Ganga, Tulsi, and Shaligram.
Auspicious Lord of the mountains, Sita Ram,
Beloved of devotees, Sita Ram.
Beloved of Janaki, Sita Ram,
Glory, glory to Raghava, Sita Ram.
Raghupati Raghav Raja Ram,
Uplifter of the fallen, Sita Ram.
Sita Ram, Sita Ram,
Chant, dear one, the name of Sita Ram.

Group Choreography for Raghupati Raghava Raja Ram

Performance Context: It blends the Osibisa version’s Afrobeat energy with the Gandhian version’s interfaith message, using Lage Raho Munna Bhai-inspired “Gandhigiri” gags to satirize corporate spirituality and political hypocrisy. The choreography incorporates Bharatanatyam, Bollywood masala, Afrobeat grooves, and comedic gestures, with props and costumes enhancing the play’s deranged, psychedelic aesthetic.

Duration: Approximately 4 minutes (aligned with the Osibisa track’s runtime, adjusted for “Ishwar Allāh” inclusion).

Group Size: 12–16 dancers (Chorus of Ghosts: Gandhi, Narsinh Mehta, CHFL victims; plus political caricatures: Saffron Supremo, Crony Paramavaiṣṇava,BureaucratBuffoon).                                                                     

Dance Style: Fusion of Bharatanatyam (devotional precision), Bollywood masala (theatrical flair), Afrobeat grooves (Osibisa’s rhythm), and Lage Raho Munna Bhai’s comedic “Gandhigiri” gestures (flower-throwing, radio mic poses, peace signs).

Duration: Approximately 4 minutes (aligned with the Osibisa track’s runtime). Group Size: 12–16 dancers (Chorus of Ghosts, including Gandhi, Narsinh Mehta, and CHFL victims, plus political caricatures: Saffron Supremo, Crony Paramavaiṣṇava, Bureaucrat Buffoon).

Lights snap to black.
The pulsing rhythm of Afrobeat meets Raghupati Rāghav—and falters, fading into silence.
Three gunshots crack through the darkness.
A trembling voice gasps: “Hey Ram…”
In the stillness, on the pitch-dark proscenium, the alap of Raga Mohan Kauns begins—slow, searching, and unaccompanied—its notes hanging like unanswered questions in the void.

Vaiṣṇava Bard enters the stage

Bard: Jai Siyaram, spect-actors! Behold the Osibisa beat—black voices chanting Vaiṣṇava hymns with Afrobeat fire! Do they grasp the song’s soul? Maybe not, but their rhythm shakes the heavens, crying for justice—Black Lives Matter, as do the 98% crushed by corporate gods!

Hold on a sec- this Rama ain’t the Sangh Parivar’s battle-cry Ram, the wife-deserter like the Vishwaguru Chowkidaar. No, this is the Rama of Sufis, Kabir, Gandhi, Bhavabhuti’s Uttararamacarita’s Ram, Tulsidas’ devotion—saluted with “Ishwar Allāh Tero Nām, Sabko Sammati De Bhagwān!” But in the BJP’s regime, this Gandhian chant “Ishwar Allāh Tero Nām, Sabko Sammati De Bhagwān” is buried under “Jai Shri Ram,” erasing Sita, our Siya Maiya, who once led and preceded the greeting.

Folks, note the twist: Osibisa sings “सम्मति” (sammati), not “सन्मति” (sanmati). Sammati—agreement, democratic consent, born of rational discourse. Sanmati—wisdom, a virtuous mind. In this age of democratic decay and undeclared emergency, we embrace both, demanding justice amid corporate bhakti!

So, hail the andhbhakts—fanatic fans of the philanthropist, Paramavaiṣṇava Esquire, CBE! The Story of whom I will represent to you today. A Corporate-man preaching Gītā, building temples in gated townships, and buying dharma with electoral bonds. Welcome to the circus of hypocrisy, where Kṛṣṇa’s flute plays stock market jingles!

(Bard twirls ektara as a slot machine spews glitter and rubber ducks squeak. “Ishwar Allāh.” The chorus forms, singing “Sabko Sammati De Bhagwān,” while the lights dim. The jor part of Raga Mohan Kauns plays on, then gradually fades away)

Act I

Of Caste, Cash, and Corporate Moksa

Setting: Corporate Dharma Auditorium named “Paramavaiṣṇava Vaikunth,” Thane—a grotesque temple-cum-Bollywood set, styled as a Dabangg temple with Lage Raho Munna Bhai radio booth vibes, where political caricatures shall cause filmi chaos.

Stage Design: Lights dim. Dhoom tanpura with Lage Raho Munna Bhai’s “Raghupati Rāghav” jingle blares. SB enters Stage Center, crown flashing, twirling iPhone like a Sholay prop, voguing with slow-motion head turns. Young boys bounce excitedly, waving selfie sticks. SB booming, striking a Sholay villain pose.

SB: Oye, young bhakts of the Paramavaiṣṇava Gītā Gang! Have you heard the divine wisdom of our Paramavaiṣṇava Esquire, CBE, and his devi, Dr. Arundhati Paramavaiṣṇava? Arre, their Gītā lectures are pure moksa, served with a side of corporate karma!

(Snaps selfie with iPhone, crown flashes “#BhaktiBoss.” Slot machine spews glitter.)

BOY 1 (starstruck, waving mini Gītā, LED wristband flashing): Bhaiyya, I saw their TEDx talk on YouTube! Paramavaiṣṇava Sir said, “Kṛṣṇa’s niskama karma means maximizing shareholder value!” So cool, na?
(Takes selfie with plastic Kṛṣṇa figurine, chanting “Jai Shri Ram!”)

SB (grinning, tossing inflatable electoral bond that explodes into glitter):
Haan, beta! That’s the modern Gītā—Arjuna’s chariot is now a Rolls-Royce, and Kṛṣṇa’s flute plays stock market jingles! The Paramavaiṣṇava couple’s lectures are like Baahubali’s dialogues.

BOY 2 (bouncing, LED sneakers flashing):
And Arundhati Ma’am said, “Chapter 9, Verse 32—Māṁ hi pārtha vyapāśritya—even Vaiśyas like us can attain moksha if we donate to temples!” So we donated to Paramavaiṣṇava Vaikunth’s Radha-Govind temple, right?

(Waves selfie stick, plastic Kṛṣṇa dances to Dhoom beat)

SB (cackling, spinning saffron wallet that spews bubbles):
Correct, my young bhakt! That temple’s Italian marble screams bhakti, no? Built in their gated township, where Kṛṣṇa’s darshan comes with a QR code for “Karma NFTs”! The Paramavaiṣṇava’s don’t just preach Gītā—they’ve branded it!

(Slow-motion head turn, iPhone flashes Gītā app with “#MoksaGoals.” Backdrop shows Paramavaiṣṇava with Jai Ho dancers.)

BOY 3 (excited, tossing mini Gītā that deflates with a fart sound):
Bhaiyya, I heard Paramavaiṣṇava Sir’s Gandhi Foundation speech! He said, “Gandhi’s trusteeship is like CSR—corporates holding wealth for society!” Is that why he took over CHFL? To, like, liberate the depositors?

(Chorus in background hisses, waving “Moksa = Money Laundering” signs.)

SB (sweating, adjusting a sparking crown): Arre, don’t ask tricky questions, beta! That CHFL takeover was… uh, karmic restructuring! Paramavaiṣṇava Sir liberated those lakhs of depositors from the burden of their fixed deposits! Pure Gandhian sacrifice, no?
(Fumbles iPhone, drops it. Rubber duck squeaks “Ishwar Allāh.”)

BOY 4 (confused) But bhaiyya, my nana lost his pension in CHFL… and Gandhi’s ghost on Twitter said it’s “spiritual embezzlement.” What’s that?
(Chorus cackles, Animatronic Kṛṣṇa juggles bonds.)

SB (panicking, waving saffron wallet frantically): Twitter ghosts? Fake news, beta! Gandhi’s ghost is just jealous of Paramavaiṣṇava Sir’s gated Vaikuntha! Their Gītā lectures are divine—Arundhati Ma’am says, “Yoga is work-life balance for CEOs!” And Sir’s “Arjuna mindset” means crushing competitors with SLAPP suits!
(Vogues, wallet spews bubbles. Backdrop flashes “Karma Crypto” ad.)

BOY 1 (cheering, LED wristband flashing “Jai Shri Ram”):
Wah, bhaiyya! So their Gītā is, like, a startup pitch for moksa? I’m joining their Bhakti Club—free Wi-Fi in the temple, right?
(Takes group selfie with boys, plastic Kṛṣṇa’s bobbing.)

SB: (triumphant, raising iPhone like a Sholay rifle):
Haan, beta! Paramavaiṣṇava’s Gītā is the ultimate IPO—Initial Piety Offering! Chant “Jai Shri Ram,” swipe for salvation, and invest in their dharma! Who needs Sita when you’ve got CSR?

(Slot machine erupts with glitter, rubber ducks squeak “Raghupati Rāghav.” Chorus throws “Gandhigiri” flowers.)

BOYS (in unison, waving selfie sticks, chanting):
Jai Shri Ram! Jai Paramavaiṣṇava! Gītā Zindabad!
(They break into a Jai Ho-style dance, tossing mini Gītās that deflate with fart sounds. SB vogues, crown flashing, as backdrop shows Paramavaiṣṇava in a saffron tuxedo riding a disco-ball bull.)

CHORUS OF GHOSTS (sneering, waving LED signs under UV light):
Ishwar Allāh Tero Nām, Sabko Sammati De Bhagwān!
Corporate bhakti, a gilded sham—Paramavaiṣṇava’s Gītā, a multi-billionaire’s scam!

Cut to: Green spotlight on AT

AT: By the way. what is this Paramavaiṣṇava’s caste?

SB: (proudly, striking a Sholay villain pose, crown flashing): Leva Patidar Vaiśya. A respectable merchant caste. Milk curdled in Vedas, and churned in mutual funds! Why do you need to know that? Are you starting a caste census or what?

AT: Ah, a Vaiśya. One of the trader-borns. And what does your Bhagavad Gītā say about the Vaiśya lot?

“pāpayonayaḥ—striyo vaiśhyās tathā śūdrās…” This is from Chapter 9, verse 32 of your Gītā.

You know what this means? Those born in sinful wombs—women, Vaiśyas, and Śūdras…

(Points to animatronic Kṛṣṇa, which juggles flaming credit cards and belches fog. Crony Paramavaiṣṇava catches bonds in slow-motion, shouting “Bhai, yeh toh chemical locha hai!”)

AT (feigning awe): Oops! Look at him. A caricature of himself in the charade of cronies! So yes, what do you think of that Gītā verse?

SB: (with a downcast head) Ah yes—pāpayonayaḥ—the spiritually discounted. The caste-disadvantaged.

AT: Indeed. So tell me: can a Vaiśya like your Paramavaiṣṇava preach the Gītā? Not chant it in a corner—but teach it to the masses? Sell it at CEO conferences wrapped in saffron slide decks?

SB (squirming, checking iPhone for “#BhaktiGoals”): Well… technically… in varnāshrama, teaching is reserved…ummm…. for Brahmins and Kshatriyas….

AT: Exactly. The scripture you wave like a battle flag—does it not carry a caste manual stitched to its spine? Then what of your parama-vaiṣṇava—is he not defying the very text you sanctify? Forget the scriptures for a moment! What of our Constitution? A secular, socialist text, committed to scientific temper. Do your cronies bow before that sacred book? Has your Saffron Supremo ever even read it?

SB: (erupts in rage) Bakwas! We already have our Constitution—it’s called Manusmriti! And you—urban naxal, tukde-tukde agent—peddle Western poison with Mullah’s filthy books! All these books should burn, as they burned in Kashmir!

(Screen cuts to a scene from Fahrenheit 451—fire brigade flamethrowers devouring shelves of books.)

CURTAIN

ACT-II

Gītā for Greed™: The Corporate Charkha Con

A luxury apartment and VIP lounge adjacent to the marble Sri Sri Radha-Govindadeva Mandir in Thane, situated inside “Paramavaiṣṇava Vaikunth.” A silk-clad Sanātana Bhakt (SB) enjoys a cup of tulsi chai, while AT sits in the corner on a rock, striking a pose reminiscent of Rodin’s The Thinker.

Vaisnava Bard Enters with Tears and Mockery

Bard: The realm of abundance, where everything is paradoxically unseen. Oh… the lord does not reside there, indeed he does not!

[Stage Lights: Dim Amber + Haze Machine]
A faint golden glow spills over center-stage, like the last oil flame of a dying temple lamp. A single silhouette slowly walks in — the Vaiṣṇava bard, barefoot, white kurta slightly torn, holding an ektara or tambura. Behind them, the LED projection screen reads:

“māṁ hi pārtha vyapāśhritya ye ’pi syuḥ pāpa-yonayaḥ
striyo vaiśhyās tathā śhūdrās te ’pi yānti parāṁ gatim” — Gītā 9.32
“All those who take refuge in Me, whatever their birth, race, gender, or caste, even those whom society scorns, will attain the supreme destination.“

Suddenly, the Sanskrit line flickers and dissolves — morphing into a stock price graph of Paramavaiṣṇava Enterprises Ltd., showing a steep vertical climb.

[Sound Cue: Traditional Tambura Drone + A Faint Newsroom Voice]
“Paramavaiṣṇava’s Group sees record quarterly profits… investors hail corporate dharma…”

[Music builds: The bard sings – slower, sorrowful, and ironic, revisiting the bhajan:]

Gujarati Lyrics 

વૈષ્ણવ જન તો તેને કહીએ જે, પીડ પરાઈ જાણે રે,
પર દુઃખે ઉપકાર કરે તોયે, મન અભિમાન ન આણે રે.
સકળ લોકમાં સહુને વંદે, નિંદા ન કરે કેની રે,
વાચ કાછ મન નિશ્ચલ રાખે, ધન ધન જનની તેની રે.
સમદ્રષ્ટિ ને તૃષ્ણા ત્યાગી, પરસ્ત્રી જેને માત રે,
જીહવા થકી અસત્ય ન બોલે, પરધન નવ ઝાલી હાથ રે.
મોહમાયા વ્યાપે નહિ જેને, દ્રઢ વૈરાગ્ય જેના મનમાં રે,
રામ નામ શૂં તાળી લાગી, સકળ તીરથ તેના તન મન રે.
વણલોભી ને કપટ રહિત છે, કામ ક્રોધ નિવર્યા રે,
ભણે નરસૈંયો તેનું દર્શન કરતાં, કુળ એકોતેર તાર્યા રે.

Hindi Translation 

वैष्णव जन तो तेने कहिए जे, पीड पराई जाणे रे,
पर दुःखें उपकार करे तोये, मन अभिमान न आणे रे.
सकल लोकमां सहने वन्दे, निंदा न करे केनी रे,
वाच काछ मन निश्चल राखे, धन धन जननी तेनी रे.
समदृष्टि ने तृष्णा त्यागी, परस्त्री जेने मात रे,
जीहवा थकी असत्य न बोले, परधन नव झाली हाथ रे.
मोहमाया व्यापे नहि जेने, दृढ वैराग्य जेना मन मा रे,
राम नाम शूं ताळी लागी, सकल तीरथ तेना तन मन रे.
वणलोभी ने कपट रहित छे, काम क्रोध निवरया रे,
भणे नरसैंयो तेनु दर्शन करता, कुळ एकोतेर तार्या रे.

A true Vaiṣṇava feels the suffering of others,
Does good for those in pain — without letting ego swell.
They bow before all, never speak a word to wound,
Their words, deeds, and thoughts stay pure — blessed is the womb that bore them.

They look upon all with equal eyes, untouched by greed,
And see every woman — except their own — as mother.
Their tongue refuses to speak falsehood,
Nor do they desire the wealth of another.

Worldly ties cannot bind them, for they’ve renounced within,
Their heart forever sings the name of Ram.
In them, all holy places live — not just in stone,
Their every breath becomes a prayer.

Free of deceit, desire, and wrath,
Narsinh says: “To behold such a soul… is to redeem generations.”

[As the song continues, satirical projections appear behind them—images of CHFL victims, a smiling Paramavaiṣṇava couple with folded hands standing beside the President of India, BJP leaders blessing their CSR lecture series, and the Gītā cover being pasted onto financial reports.]

BARD (in a low voice, after singing):

“In this age of Bhakti and Bonds… even sinners turn saints—if they pay well enough.”

He gently laughs.
Then walks to the edge of the stage, breaking the fourth wall.

BARD (direct to audience):

“Once upon a time, a Gītā verse could lead one to renunciation.
Now—it leads… to brand value.” (pauses)

“Oh ho… renunciation? That text was stitched together by white hands to manufacture a single umbrella of ‘Hinduism.’ Vehemently interpolated, riddled with contradictions—hardly the divine harmony you market it as. RSS bears this legacy of colonial encroachment that teaches divide and rule. By the way, what is the contribution of the RSS in our freedom struggle?”
“Now corporates preach Kṛṣṇa… but live like Kamsa.
They quote Dharma… while hoarding in Demat accounts.” (sits down, begins plucking tambura again)

Bard then stays seated silently through the first few minutes of Act II, like a living conscience (Viveka), reacting subtly to the dialogues that follow — nodding, sighing, even weeping or chuckling — anchoring the hypocrisy of the stage.

SB (grinning smugly, addressing AT):
You, Urban Naxal, misled me yesterday, O leftist! You twisted the Bhagavad Gītā by quoting it in half. My bhakt friend explained the full verse in its sanātana light. Even Vaiśyas—yes, even our glorious Paramavaiṣṇava—can attain mokṣa if they surrender to Kṛṣṇa: “māṁ hi pārtha vyapāśhritya ye ’pi syuḥ pāpa-yonayaḥ striyo vaiśhyās tathā śhūdrās te ’pi yānti parāṁ gatim“. This means: “For those who surrender unto Me, O Pārtha, even if they are of sinful birth—women, vaiśyas, and śūdras—they too attain the supreme destination.” And Paramavaiṣṇava has done just that—through a life of philanthropy. What’s wrong in that? Women, Vaiśyas, Śūdras—anyone—can attain liberation by surrender!

AT (deadpan):
Surrender, is it? To Kṛṣṇa—or to corporate immunity clauses? CSR disguised as seva? Surrender doesn’t happen on fancy podiums with PowerPoint.

SB (defensive, adjusting sequined kurta):
Paramavaiṣṇava built a temple! Even quotes Kṛṣṇa on LinkedIn! To you, everything is “sponsored discourse.” Huh!

SB (pressing on):
That temple stands inside his own gated township! The Paramavaiṣṇava Foundation provides water, medicines, and education. Globally recognized! Our Rādhā-Govind ji reside in Italian marble, in air-conditioned bhakti, all thanks to the Paramavaiṣṇava couple.

AT (cutting in):
So that grants him spiritual immunity? Let me rephrase: If a pāpayoni builds a temple inside a luxury township—does he get an honourary Brahmin badge?

SB (snapping, a little shaky):
It’s about bhakti, not caste! Paramavaiṣṇava has transcended all that—he serves beyond varṇa!

AT (arching brow):
Bhakti? Or balance sheets? Tell me—when marble idols are imported on private jets, does devotion become tax-deductible?

SB (muttering, defensive):
Service is service. Who are you to measure faith with an audit book?

AT (smirking):
Seva, or strategic asset allocation? The Paramavaiṣṇava couple don’t “surrender” to the Lord Kṛṣṇa. They’ve acquired it—like distressed debt, with electoral bonds as their yajña. (leans in, juggling flaming credit cards) Your holy text literally throws “Striyo, Vaiśyās, Śūdrās” into the so-called “sin-born” bin. And now Paramavaiṣṇava—a glorified crony trader with animal spirit—lectures Brahmins on liberation? LOL, what a joke.

SB (stammering, searching words):
He is a philanthropist…he…he makes medicines for the ailing! Isn’t that devotion?

AT (cutting, sharp):
Devotion? He poisons the river, then donates a water filter! He feeds sugar to the diabetic, then sponsors the insulin ward. You call this seva? I call it profiteering dressed in saffron packaging. And behold his faith in “indigenous, swadeshi values”—he flew his daughter-in-law all the way to Turtle Island just to give birth! Clean water? After choking the same village with chemicals? What profiteering quick-fix is that? No amount of monetary “compensation” revives a dead ecosystem. And of course—nothing screams devotion like three-tier security, luxury spa retreats, and IPO-ready idols.

SB (trying to recover, voice raised):
You are mocking faith! Mocking Kṛṣṇa Himself!

AT (cool, almost whispering):
No. I am mocking your broker of faith. Paramavaiṣṇava preaches renunciation while sitting on a throne of stock options.

SB (whispering, sweating): Well… maybe it’s because he funds the BJP… that’s a good deed for the greater lot, is it not?

AT (cackling): Ahhh. So in your Sanātana Dharma, salvation isn’t reserved for the twice-born… It’s auctioned off to the highest donor alone?

(Saffron Supremo vogues with microphone, shouting “Gandhigiri Murbad!” in slow-motion.)

SB (weakly, fanning with saffron wallet that spews bubbles): But… come on….it’s for dharma!

AT: No, it’s for dividends. Corporate bhakti with a tax exemption. (loudly) So to sum up—Paramavaiṣṇava a pāpayoni Vaiśya, buys the right to preach the Gītā by wiring a few crores to the ruling party and dropping a temple next to luxury skyscrappers–it is ecologically vulnerable zone.

(The Bard leans toward the frontmost wings, advancing toward the apron of the stage. Upstage center, SB and AT are locked in animated, argumentative gestures. The Bard’s gaze drifts upward toward the ceiling, eyes luminous with reverence. His arms extend outward in a posture of devotion as his voice rises in the mellifluous strains of poet Jayadeva’s Daśāvatāra Stotra from the Gītagovinda.)

pralaya-payodhi-jale dhṛtavān asi vedaḿ
vihita-vahitra-caritram akhedam
keśava dhṛta-mīna-śarīra jaya jagadīśa hare

Oh (addressing the audience)…. I forgot to translate in my spiritual trance! What I just sang out to you means: “O Kesava! O Lord of the universe! O Lord Hari, who have assumed the form of a fish! All glories to You! You easily acted as a boat in the form of a giant fish just to give protection to the Vedas, which had become immersed in the turbulent sea of devastation”. (Bard starts laughing) Glaciers are melting rapidly Oh, sinful men! See what have you done to our planet, None, even Visnu the capitalist wont rescue the planet from the turbulent sea of devastation. Alas! We are within the great dissolution.

(Bard exits, his head tilted downwards)

SB (red-faced, trembling, crown explodes in fireworks): You’re twisting Sanātana Dharma!

AT: No sir, I’m just reading it back. With footnotes. Now run along…Before I quote Manusmṛti next.

SB (panicking, retreats while obsessively chanting): Jai Shri Ram! Jai Shri Ram!

AT (mocking, softly, with a smile):
So let’s test your Paramavaiṣṇava‘s bhakti against your Gandhi’s favorite bhajan. Ready for a spiritual audit?

Chorus (in melodic echo):

Vaiṣṇava jana to tene kahiye je, pīḍa parāī jāṇe re…

AT:
Question 1: Does Paramavaiṣṇava feel the pain of others?
The answer is: Yes. That’s why he felt the pain of small investors so deeply… he swallowed their money to relieve them of it.
Score: -45000 crores.

SB (sweating):
But… but he helped build housing for Kṛṣṇa!

AT:
Question 2. Does he help without pride?
No—he posted it all over PR brochures.
Charity with logos. Dharma with corporate fonts.

SB:
But he’s humble! He bows to saints and Swamijis! He listens to Behensri Ojha, Padguru and Satinath Swami!

AT: (mocking tone):
Question 3. Bows to Swamijis?
But does he bow to the pensioners he defrauded?
Does he do dandavat before the victims of CHFL?

Chorus (dryly):
Watch your balance sheets, O Bhakt of Profit!

AT:
Q4. “Samadrishti – sees all as equal.”
Did he?
Or did he see senior citizens as “haircuts”?
And auditors as… dinner guests?

SB (mumbling):
That’s unfair… he channeled money to spiritual motto: buy imperfect, sell perfect! This is part of the journey of unconditional action.

AT:
Oh yes, he channeled it alright.
From depositors to cronies to lawyers to Kṛṣṇa…
…and now he lectures on the Gītā?
A Vaiśya teaching scriptures in Sanātana order?

SB (waving a Bhagavad Gītā app on his iPhone):
But… caste is not rigid anymore. Chowkidar said so!

AT: (laughs):
Yet you still call Dalits “pāpayoni”!
Selective Sanātana Dharma much?

Chorus (singing softly):

“Mohamāyā vyāpe nahi jene…”
(Untouched by illusion)

AT:
Illusion? Paramavaiṣṇava is illusion!
He turned vairāgya into a gated community with a Kṛṣṇa gym and 24/7 Z+ security.

SB:
But the temple is in memory of his mother…

AT:
…whose ghost now watches her son use Kṛṣṇa as a front while people queue up outside NCLT with unpaid FD and NCD receipts.

SB:
(angrily) He’s a true Vaiṣṇava!

AT:
Then where is his truth?
Where is his renunciation?
Where is his surrender?
In electoral bonds? Dubious PM CARES?
In boardroom mantras?

Chorus (Gandhi’s ghost steps forward, holding a charkha):

“Businessmen building temples to erase their sins—
Is not bhakti–rather business–temples for commerce!
It is spiritual embezzlement.”

AT: (final blow):
Let me quote Narsinh Mehta’s last line:

“By seeing such a person, one’s entire lineage is saved.”

But seeing Paramavaiṣṇava’s bhakti?
Only one’s audit trail is lost.

SB (shaking, collapses before a marble Kṛṣṇa murti):
Jai Shri Ram!

AT: (with a cynical smile):
Yes. Jai Shri Ram.
The new brand ambassador of Corporate Dharma™.

(SB soon sprints offstage, tripping over inflatable bonds, a wallet bursts open, spewing bubbles. The Dhoom “Jai Shri Ram” remix, infused with undertones of “Raghupati Raghava…,” blares loudly.)

(AT moonwalks off Stage Left, blowing kisses. Chorus throws “Gandhigiri” flowers as if they are being showered from heaven.)

The bard sings:

“Corporate Vaiṣṇava To…”

To be delivered with exaggerated piety and fake humility — while background visuals show stock tickers, luxury cars, and corporate temples.

सच्चा वैष्णव वही जो दुख को आंकड़ों में पढ़े,
मदद करे जब CSR फाइल करना हो, और हर काम में “ब्रांड वैल्यू” देखे।
सबको प्रणाम नहीं, बस निवेशकों को सलाम,
वाणी, आचरण और मन—सब PR एजेंसी के हवाले, धन्य है उसका अकाउंटेंट।

सबको समान देखे—या तो साधन या बाधा,
और हर महिला को “माँ” कहे… जब तक अनुबंध न साइन हो।
जिसकी ज़बान से सच कभी ना फिसले—क्योंकि वो बस Excel में होता है,
और जिसकी नज़र बस दूसरों की संपत्ति पर टिकी हो।

मोह से अछूता—बस मंदिर के भूमि-लीज़ और नामकरण तक,
राम नाम वही जपे जब IPO बेल बजे।
हर तीर्थ उसके भीतर—जब तक उसे मुनाफे में बदल सके,
और उसका हर श्वास ESG रिपोर्ट में दर्ज हो।

लोभ, कपट, क्रोध सब कर लिया आउटसोर्स,
नरसिंह कहें—ऐसे जन को देखकर तो वंश नहीं, अंतःकरण डूब जाता है।

The true Vaiṣṇava is the one who reads sorrow in spreadsheets,
helps when it’s time to file a CSR report, and sees “brand value” in every deed.
Bows to no one—except investors,
speech, conduct, and mind—all outsourced to a PR agency, blessed is his accountant.

Sees all equally—as either a resource or an obstacle,
and calls every woman “mother”… until the contract is signed.
From whose tongue truth never slips—because it exists only in Excel,
and whose eyes are fixed solely on other people’s property.

Untouched by attachment—except when it comes to temple land leases and naming rights,
chants the name of Rāma only when the IPO bell rings.
Every pilgrimage lies within him—so long as it can be turned into profit,
and every breath of his is recorded in the ESG report.

Greed, deceit, and anger—all outsourced,
Narasimha says—upon seeing such a person, it is not the lineage but the conscience that drowns.

Background projection: A morphing Gītā verse (9.32) → Paramavaiṣṇava Group logo → “Ram Nam Bank Ltd.”

Music cue: A devotional bhajan morphs into a slick corporate jingle in Raga Mohan Kauns auto-tuned.

Prop suggestion: The bard holds a gold-plated Gītā with a QR code sticker reading “Scan to Donate”.

CURTAIN

Act III

The Trial of Law Itself

Setting:
A grotesque courtroom—half Gangaajal police station, half Rang De Basanti radio booth—bathed in neon, a circus where justice spins on a corporate-sponsored slot machine.

Stage Center:
A judge’s bench shaped like a Paramavaiṣṇava logo slot machine, dispensing “Mokṣa Mojitos.”

Stage Left:
Gandhi’s statue weeps glitter under a disco-ball spotlight, a neon sign blinking “Crying Since 1948.” An animatronic arm waves a tiny charkha that fires Swachh Bharat logos into the air.

Stage Right:
A witness stand doubling as a Thugs of Hindostan dance floor and radio booth, fitted with buzzers, bubble machines, and a flashing sign: “Spin the Dharma Wheel.”

Foreground:
Lady Justice—disco diva in Chandni Chowk to China couture—juggles an inflatable lotus-shaped cheque and a laser-shooting selfie stick.

Backdrop:
LED wall blazes: “Vaiṣṇava Jana Capitalism presents: Rule of Law — Sponsored by Ram Naam Bank Ltd.”

[PROJECTED ON SCREEN: “The Gandhi Foundation India — Board Members and Patrons”]
“Mr. Paramavaiṣṇava has actively supported Gandhian values of trusteeship and ethical business leadership.”

Dialogue and Action Lights up. ZNMD Senorita jingle with “Raghupati Rāghav” remix blares. The LED backdrop flashes: “The Gandhi Foundation India — Board Members and Patrons” with “Mr. Paramavaiṣṇava has actively supported Gandhian values of trusteeship and ethical business leadership.” Gandhi enters Stage Right, staring at the screen, visibly confused and vexed, clutching his LED charkha. The Chorus of Ghosts sways in the background, waving “404: Karma Contaminated” signs. Lady Justice juggles a lotus-cheque, selfie stick shooting lasers.

GANDHI (vexed, spinning charkha, which sparks erratically):
What is this mockery? The Gandhi Foundation? I thought it was Tushar’s work—my great-grandson’s labour in Mumbai, carrying forward ahimsa and self-reliance! But this… this Paramavaiṣṇava‘s banner, flashing my name like a corporate logo? Arre, my charkha spins for truth, not for stock tickers! I don’t understand banks or stock-markets.
(Chorus tosses “Gandhigiri” flowers, hissing.)

BARD: O Bapu, your confusion is our pain! Tushar Gandhi’s Mahatma Gandhi Foundation breathes satyagraha—nonviolence, cooperation, the loom of self-reliance! But Paramavaiṣṇava’s Gandhi Foundation? A glitzy startup for “Bharat-building,” peddling leadership workshops and “Karma NFTs”! Bhai, yeh toh chemical locha hai!

SB: Arre, Gandhi-ji, don’t be so old-school! Gandhi Foundation is modern dharma—digitization, advertized decentralization, youth empowerment! Paramavaiṣṇava Sir and Arundhati Ma’am are building Bharat with their Gītā lectures, not spinning outdated charkhas!

GANDHI (frowning, charkha glowing white): Tushar’s foundation honors my call for ahimsa, resolving conflicts without fists or lawsuits. His peace awards and gatherings knit hearts across faiths—Ishwar Allāh Tero Nām. But Paramavaiṣṇava’s? It’s a corporate ashram, dressing profit in khadi, preaching trusteeship while hoarding wealth! He doesn’t remember that the earth has enough for everyone’s needs, but not for a few people’s greed.

(Chorus waves “Moksa = Money” signs.)

BARD (cackling, twirling ektara-mic): Exactly, Bapu! Tushar’s foundation lifts the poor with egalitarian dreams—villages weaving their own destiny. Paramavaiṣṇava’s? It’s a TEDx stage for “Big Bets,” training youth to sell dharma via QR codes! One chants satyagraha, the other chants shareholder value!
(Backdrop flashes Paramavaiṣṇava ad with “Oo Antava Mawa” dancers.)

SB (defensive):
Arre, Bard, you’re just jealous! Paramavaiṣṇava’s Gandhi Fellowship turns kids into CEOs of change—education, health, climate! Tushar’s talks are for bookworms; Paramavaiṣṇava’’s for billionaires! His foundation digitizes Bharat, not some backward village fantasy!

GANDHI (sternly, charkha spinning wildly):
Digitization without conscience is a cage of code. My trusteeship meant holding wealth for the people, not branding it for profit. Paramavaiṣṇava’s fellowship trains leaders to serve markets, not masses. Tushar’s work kindles swaraj—self-rule for all. Your patron’s “Bharat” is a bounded community for the elite!
(Charkha shoots fireworks.)

Cut To:

Set: A grand courtroom. Gandhi’s statue weeps in the corner. The Lady Justice blindfold is torn, holding a cheque instead of a sword. A screen projects:

“Vaiṣṇava Jana Capitalism presents: Rule of Law — Sponsored by Ram Naam Bank Ltd.”
Bhajan-turned-jingle in Raag Mohan Kauns fades out.

Lights up. Judge SLAPPavati lounges on bench, chugging “Moksa Mojito,” gavel squirting glitter. Gandhi stands at witness stand, spinning LED charkha. Mr. Paramavaiṣṇava preens in the dock, 20-foot tie flashing. Chorus sways in background. Chowkidar Chaiwala turned Saffron Supremo vogues Stage Right with confetti microphone, Bureaucrat Buffoon trips Stage Left, leaking rupees.

JUDGE SLAPPAVATI (bored, slamming gavel, glitter erupts):
Order! Proceed with the case.
PROSECUTOR JANADHIKARAN (moonwalking, megaphone shooting bubbles): Mr. Gandhi, do you recognize the man in the dock, Mr. Paramavaiṣṇava, esteemed patron of the Gandhi Foundation?
(Points at Paramavaiṣṇava, who winks, tie flashing like a disco ball.)

GANDHI (spinning charkha, deadpan, styled as Lage Raho Munna Bhai’s Gandhi): Recognition is easy. Conscience is harder. He’s a merchant of morality, hoarding justice while preaching my trusteeship like a stock market mantra.

DEFENSE LAWYER LEGALSWAMI (voguing, tossing rubber chicken, cape spewing fog): Objection, Your Honour! Metaphorical defamation! My client is a philanthropist, not a profiteer!
(Crony Paramavaiṣṇava juggles bonds on elephant, shouting “Bhai, yeh toh chemical locha hai!”)

JUDGE SLAPPAVATI (chugging Mojito, twirling):
Sustained! Gandhi-ji, stick to facts. Philosophies don’t pay court fees!
(Audience laugh track. Backdrop: Gandhi’s quote—“Lawyers abet quarrels”—morphs into Paramavaiṣṇava ad with Jai Ho dancers.)

GANDHI (calmly, charkha spinning with slot machine sounds):
Facts? In my time, lawyers served truth, not invoices. Today, they’re brokers of silence, peddling legality for profit. This man’s wealth buys gavels, not justice.
(Lady Justice juggles lotus-cheque, selfie stick shoots lasers.)

PROSECUTOR JANADHIKARAN (breakdancing, megaphone blasts bubbles): Mr. Gandhi, in Hind Swaraj, you wrote that lawyers “advance quarrels” and “secure their own interest” over public good. How do you view Mr. Paramavaiṣṇava’s legal team launching SLAPP suits to silence whistleblowers exposing the CHFL takeover?
(Backdrop flashes “CHFL: 6,15,000 Victims” with cartoon tears.)

GANDHI (firmly, charkha sparks): They are not lawyers but enforcers in suits. Courts were meant to resolve disputes through dialogue and arbitration, not bury truth under legal jargon and violent threat culture. SLAPP suits are violence by paperwork, strangling the voice of the poor while the rich applaud.

DEFENSE LAWYER LEGALSWAMI (smirking, moonwalking with rubber chicken): Is it not true, Mr. Gandhi, that you were a barrister? Didn’t you profit from the same system you now condemn?
(Vogues, cape spews fog. Bureaucrat Buffoon trips, briefcase leaks rupees.)

GANDHI (quietly, eyes piercing): Yes, I was a barrister. And I renounced it when I saw it fattened on others’ pain. I fought for justice, not fame or fees. Your client’s suits don’t seek truth—they buy silence, turning courts into auction houses for dharma.

JUDGE SLAPPAVATI (snapping, chugging Mojito): Enough moralizing! This is a modern courtroom—truth needs a PAN card and a balance sheet!
(Slot machine spews bonds. Audience laugh track. Saffron Supremo vogues, shouting “Gandhigiri Murdabad!”)

PROSECUTOR JANADHIKARAN (leaping onto witness stand):
Exhibit 108, Your Honour!
(Holds up props, tossing them for dramatic effect.)

• A gold-plated Bhagavad Gītā used for PR, with a QR code for “Darshan Discounts” and “Devotion Offers”.
• Paramavaiṣṇava’s CHFL takeover via IBC, fleecing 6,15,000 depositors with coercive bidding.
• A Gandhi Foundation pamphlet claiming “trusteeship,” while SLAPP suits silence critics.
  How does this align with your Hind Swaraj call for lawyers to uplift, not oppress?

DEFENSE LAWYER LEGALSWAMI (spinning, rubber chicken raised):
Your Honour, my client followed the law! CHFL was a business rescue, not a crime! His Gītā lectures inspire millions, and his philanthropy funds temples, emancipates crumbling villages and sick people alike.

GANDHI (interrupting, charkha spinning wildly): Law without dharma is a hired clerk of capital. Philanthropy that masks theft is not charity—it’s deceit for a price. Your client’s Gītā is a lip service, his trusteeship a show-off press release.
(Backdrop flashes CHFL victims’ faces.)

BARD: O spect-actors! The same Paramavaiṣṇava who fleeced CHFL depositors, silenced whistleblowers with SLAPP suits, and turned Kṛṣṇa’s wisdom into a CEO seminar dares to lecture on Gandhi’s ethics? Arre, this is not trusteeship—it’s spiritual bankruptcy!

JUDGE SLAPPAVATI (slamming gavel, glitter explodes): Silence! Moral arguments are inadmissible without a corporate sponsor! Mr. Gandhi, your final word on this courtroom?

GANDHI (rising, charkha glowing white): This is no temple of justice—it is a showroom of legality, where the rich buy silence and the poor rent suffering. In Hind Swaraj, I warned that lawyers prolong disputes for profit; today, they weaponize law to bury truth and dissent. I have read the Gītā closely, and I know it does not banish violence entirely—its author leaves verses that can be bent toward either the sword or the plough. But fearlessness is not licence for cruelty, and courage is not the same as greed. Your client’s wealth is no virtue; his courts are cages, his Gītā a gilded sham.

(Charkha shoots fireworks. Chorus forms heart shape, singing “Sabko Sammati De Bhagwān.”)

PROSECUTOR JANADHIKARAN (breakdancing, megaphone blasts):
One last question, Gandhi-ji! If lawyers should serve the poor, as you urged, what would you tell Mr. Paramavaiṣṇava, who sits on the Gandhi Foundation while crushing the powerless?
GANDHI (slowly, with gravitas): I’d say: Return the stolen wealth to the 6,15,000 you betrayed. Trade your SLAPP suits for satyagraha. If you claim my trusteeship, hold wealth for the welfare of the people, not for profit. And if you preach the Gītā, live its truth—don’t sell it. Withdraw my name from your foundation!
Mr. Paramavaiṣṇava (nervously, tie flashing, juggling gold coins):
But… but I built a temple! I’m a Vaiśya, not a sinner! My CSR is my dharma!
(Elephant burps fog. Chorus hisses)

BARD (cackling, twirling ektara-mic): CSR? Arre, that’s Corporate Swindling Religion! Your temple’s a tax shelter, your Gītā a branding stunt.
(Backdrop flashes “Karma Crypto” ad.)

CHORUS OF GHOSTS (singing):
रघुपति राघव राजाराम, पतित पावन सीताराम ॥
ईश्वर अल्लाह तेरो नाम, सबको सम्मति दे भगवान ॥
Corporate bhakti, a gilded scam—Paramavaiṣṇava’s law, a billionaire’s jam!

Musical Interlude (1:00):
Music: A.R. Rahman’s Raghupati Rāghav (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fyn2Z-qKdU0&list=RDfyn2Z-qKdU0&start_radio=1&ab_channel=A.R.Rahman-Topic), blending its devotional base with Afrobeat undertones and subtle Lage Raho Munna Bhai jingle accents.

Choreography:

• Chorus: Forms a circle, alternating RRR-style spins and Odissi mudras. Toss “Gandhigiri” flowers and inflatable Gītās that deflate with comical pops. On “Ishwar Allāh,” snap into a heart shape, arms outstretched.
• Vaiṣṇava Bard: Bajirao Mastani–style hip swings, twirling ektara-mic. Shoots bubbles, shouting “Bhai, yeh chemical locha hai!”
• Gandhi: Spins glowing white charkha, doing PK-inspired peace gestures. Kneels to comic effect on deflating Gītās.
• Saffron Supremo: Vogues like Simmba, confetti microphone in hand, striking bold poses. Shouts “Gandhigiri Murdabad!”
• Crony Paramavaiṣṇava: Juggles bonds atop a mechanical bear, spraying bubbles. Performs mini acrobatic spins, shouting “Chemical locha!”
• Bureaucrat Buffoon: Chhichhore-style pratfalls, briefcase spilling fake rupees, muttering “Jai Shri Ram!”

JUDGE SLAPPAVATI (slamming gavel, fireworks erupt):
Case adjourned! Justice is on hold until the next electoral bond and PM CARES clear!
(Backdrop flashes “Ram Naam Bank Ltd.” with dancing Kṛṣṇa emojis. All exit in a chaotic dance)

CURTAIN

Act-IV

Puja of Shadows: The Mask of Power

The stage rests in a dim, expectant hush. A faint amber glow outlines the center-back pedestal, empty and unlit, while the front stage lies in soft shadow, ready for sudden action. Placard-bearers crouch along the edges, their signs stacked and nearly invisible, and the video projection screen at the back shows only a neutral backdrop. Offstage, Bard leans at the front wing, poised to announce, Chowkidar Chaiwala waits at stage right, and AT crouches in tension off-stage left. Judge SLAPPavati remains unseen, her presence only hinted at, and the holographic projector is dormant. Silence dominates, broken only by faint shuffles; the calm seems to conceal the ethical and moral chaos about to erupt.

Bard steps forward from the front wings, voice booming:
Bard: Areh Paramavaiṣṇava Padadh rahe haaaaaai!

SOUND: Trumpet blast, sharp and ceremonial.

From stage left, Paramavaiṣṇava (P) enters, trapped within a tight cluster of placard-bearers. Each placard names an alleged scam, facing the audience. P twists, ducks, and sidesteps, trying to break free.

MUSIC: “Paramavaiṣṇava Group Sewa Geet — Matrimandira Punya Angana” by Rabindranath Tagore begins, the volume fluctuating.

CHORUS’ CHOREOGRAPGY: At the back, dancers form a semi-circle, hands folded in namaste, swaying slowly side to side as the music opens softly. As the song rises, their arms lift gracefully overhead, palms together, then extend outward in blessing gestures while stepping forward and back in rhythm. Midway, the group splits into mirrored arcs, one moving clockwise, the other counter-clockwise, their gaze occasionally toward P, C, and Judge SLAPPavati, acknowledging the unfolding “puja.” As the music peaks, the dancers converge center-stage, kneeling with hands extended toward the audience, holding their position as the song fluctuates. Warm amber light bathes the stage, highlighting their flowing, reverent movements, while the tension of the central action—AT’s imminent intervention—looms, ready to break the tableau.

(From stage right, Chowkidar Chaiwala (C) enters briskly, chest puffed, eyes scanning the audience.)

C: Ooooo Chai, Chai, Garam Chai, made from the steam-technology from the drains. (turns to audience) I am chowkidar chaiwala, –non-bio-logical Saffron Supremo. I watch everything. None can escape my gaze.

AT: Ahhh, what a chay! What a high-tech! Umm, but I dare to say–I suspect that the tealeaves are mixed with dusts of woods and the milk is not holy cowmilk at all. So you deserve the Ignobel Prize for your renewable energy generation and new recipe for tea, though you have already got it in the field of medical education. If you could get Masters degree in “entire political science” with graduation, if you had used diGITAl camera at the age of analogue and written mails in electronic device, you must get many more Ignobels!

C: (laughing loudly), yes, yessssss–(hugs AT and notices P)… Oh Paramavaiṣṇava, why are you here?

P: To perform the puja. With me, Judge SLAPPavati is also here to offer her oblations.

From the audience’s right wing, Judge SLAPPavati strides onto the stage, commanding attention.

C: Oooohhh Judge SLAPPavati! You have to roast the roaster. I’ll join the worship and bless the gathering.

(From the front wing, Atheist (AT) leans in suddenly, breaking the invisible wall.)

AT: Remember Article 51a(h)! You, a woman from the judiciary, cannot perform puja along with the executives and crony capitalists.

C: Who bothers about that outdated, anti-Hindu Constitution? We will replace it with the Manusmrti very soon.

(AT laughs dryly, steps forward into partial spotlight.)

C: Who are you to cite that nasty Constitution, huh? Everything is constitutional if my party gets donations from the businessmen.

AT: What about women, then?

C: They are working in the Durga Vahini. They are not to be included as per Manusmriti in the Sangh. There is no swayamsevika.

(P’s attention drifts. He turns toward the placards still glowing under a cold white backlight. He waddles clownishly toward them, bends to peer closely.)

P: Who are they??? Why are they mentioning these allegations — Mashnet Scam, Sickwal Affair, insider trading, electoral bond bribery, CHFL scam, and so on? (glares at AT) Are you instigating them? Are you a leader of these urban naxals holding those baseless placards?

Judge SLAPPavati (offstage, voice amplified): Give him a tight slap.

AT: Well, your P has already given me a slap — you see, the spelling is different, with two Ps… S-L-A-P-P….!

C: What’s that supposed to mean?

AT: Don’t you know? Strategic Lawsuits Against Public Participation. You are threatening individuals with such litigations, P. C, your dear motabhai, engages in similar tactics, resorting to a culture of threats and stalking women. Do you recall the Noopgate scandal? In your prisons, many individuals are held without trial simply for speaking out and showing dissent—year after year. You have implemented not only SLAPP but also UAPA, a draconian law of injustice.

AT: (stepping forward, pointing at C) And what about the elections, Chowkidar? The people are talking. “Vote chor, Godi chhor!” Do you hear that chant from the streets?

C: (snapping, chest puffed) How dare you! Those are lies spread by urban naxals! I protect the nation, the Constitution, the very soil you walk on!

AT: Lies? The evidence screams in the open. Fake voter IDs by the thousands, entire communities erased from rolls, ghost voters conjured, booths hijacked, machines tampered, counts delayed, voices gagged. And this—this circus—you call democracy? No. It’s a stage play where you, Saffron Supremo, crown yourself god-king.

P: Why are we wasting our precious time here listening to this nonsense? Let’s start our collective act of worship to Vishnu the capitalist.

AT: (ignoring him, turns to Judge SLAPPavati) And you, Your Honour, drafted that Ram Mandir consolidation judgment by being guided by the deity itself! You flaunt divine inspiration to override constitutional neutrality. Is the law now subordinate to godly whims?

Judge SLAPPavati: (coldly, stepping forward) The judgment is in the nation’s best interest…

AT: Best interest? Ask the victims of CHFL, whose life savings were looted and whose pleas vanished under a mountain of SLAPP suits. Meanwhile, wilful defaulters—your chowkidar’s friends, allies, his “favourites”—had their loans simply waived off or written off… and frankly, I don’t even know the difference between the two. In a nutshell, justice is selective: protection for the powerful, punishment for the dissenters. So yes, you are a bribed chowkidar, letting the chors roam free.

C: (angrily, advancing a step) You are undermining the nation! These are administrative decisions, not conspiracies!

AT: Administrative? Or favouritism masquerading as governance? The chowkidar protects only his cronies. Look at the scams piling up: electoral bonds, insider trades, Mashnet, Sickwal… And yet, those who cry foul are slapped with litigation and threats.

P: (shuffling nervously) We should focus on the puja…

AT: (pointing at P and Judge SLAPPavati) And you! The Paramavaiṣṇava mask, the judiciary’s blessing—both shield the same elite network. Corporate profits are sanctified, constitutional principles are bent, victims silenced, dissenters terrorized. And the people are watching.

Judge SLAPPavati: (voice rising slightly, defensive) The court acts within its jurisdiction…

AT: Jurisdiction? Or devotion to divine capital and political favour? The Constitution is trampled while temples rise and loans vanish. The Saffron Supremo smiles upon his chosen few and leaves the rest to suffer under fear, litigation, and neglect.

C: (snaps, shouting) You dare speak against me and the judiciary together? You will regret this insolence!

AT: (stepping forward, to audience) Witness this! Justice for the powerful, oppression for the powerless. The chowkidar protects the chosen. The judiciary blesses the elite. And the people—those who are voiceless, cheated, or dissenting—are crushed.

(The Sewa song swells. P, C, and Judge SLAPPavati move to the back centre stage, kneeling in prayer posture under a golden spotlight. AT moves to centre-front, rallying the placard-bearers. Placard-bearers chant back, their voices growing louder as they exit through the aisles into the audience. The company video plays on the back screen, glaring corporate logos. Only AT remains on stage, lit by a cold white side light, staring alternately at the audience and the praying trio.)

AT: A group of damn liars! Pseudology prevails in the arena of Indian jukebox! Expose the Cronies! Down with the tyrants! Vote chor, Godi chhor!

(From stage rear, a spectral Rabindranath Tagore (RT) appears — a hologram-like projection, semi-transparent, gliding. The music playing “Matrimandira Punya Angana…” softens to a single tanpura drone. RT pauses, as if lost in thought, then begins to sing Matrimandira Punya Angana in a calm, deliberate tone.)

RT: I am hearing a very good rendition of my song. (turning to AT) Oh my friend, who interpreted my song in this way?

AT: Javed Akhtar, and Kailash Kher sang it. I know he did good, but what is it being used for? For corporate profits!

RT: I have always been against that. I always tried to promote love, sympathy, and understanding — and not the cheap price of individual profits traded at the slave market. I stood for internationalism without borders and boundaries, not a cheap world of commerce marked by the parasitic commercial man. Who is using this song, may you tell me?

AT: (smirks) This Paramavaiṣṇava… he is a close friend of the chowkidar head of the state. They are using your name to further their agenda of privatization of the nation’s wealth.

RT: Oh no… I belong to no-nation. And Vaisnava, is he? Is he not trinadapi sunichena, taroropi sahisnuna — humbler than the grass, tolerant like trees? Is he not amanina manadeya, honouring the unhonoured? What kind of work does he do?

AT: He is none of those, I feel. He uses the Vaisnava mask guarded by his guru, Satinath Swami. He destroys the land and water and air, he trades insider information, he gets involved with union ministers in signing off suspicious deals for capital accumulation and profit maximization… He has also taken away the hard-earned life savings of small depositors… all of these things are there. Yet, he manages to escape, helped by his friend the chowkidar.

RT: Alas… I am so disheartened to hear that such a person is using my song. I never cared about my name. Yet, this co-optation is wrong. It reveals a shameless worship of power that sucks the life out of the religion of humanity. It doesn’t unite hearts, it shall only create a separated world-view, a city-wall habit perpetuated. It will serve the interests of the bodypolitik but not the transcendental humanity. He accumulates just like Kubera, doesn’t offer prosperity like Laksmi. This is sheer injustice. It doesn’t broaden consciousness, but pretentiously deceives the fellow beings. It increases their suffering at the cost of the epidemic of voracity, the aggrandizement of greed, the serving of the ego-mechanism that causes the crisis of this suicidal civilization.

AT: Your words are so poignant that they touch my heart. Tell me, what’s the hope? How can we stop these people?

RT: You cannot. You can become the example by living for an idea, by striving for it. That idea is to serve through the love that goes beyond the human to the cosmic — to the place of creative spirit’s offering. This so-called Vaisnava lies far from that. I hope he shall one day see what he did wrong. I am not wishing him a voyage of guilt, but a confrontation with the inner voice of conscience beyond the narrow world of deceit that he inhabits. By deceiving others, he deceives himself. By preaching the false version of himself, he reinforces a paradigm that eats at the roots of the life principle of which our prophets once spoke. He shall one day be answerable to the newborn, to the child, who shall suffer under the burdensome debt created by this kind of greed-driven framework. He is not alone. He is part of the system that enslaves yet on the surface level feels to be enchanting. This is the illusion of the racing chariot of progress. But progress for what, and for whom? Does it lead us to creative attunement without suffering, in joy of gratitude? I address the Paramavaiṣṇava (while looking at the audience)— you have used my song as a means, you commercial man! You are far from being a duhkhabhagi, a sharer of suffering! You must withdraw the song immediately.

tomāra śaṅkha dhulāẏa paṛē, kēmana karē sa’iba. bātāsa ālō gēla marē, ē kī rē durdaiba!

Your conch lies buried in dust—
How can I endure this?
The wind and light have perished;
Oh, what a cruel fate is this!

Oh Paramavaiṣṇava, you have thrown my conch to the dust of commercialism!

(Chowkidar/C re-emerges from the background to the front of the stage, spotting RT)

C: Oh! You anti-national! What are you doing here? We’re erasing you from our curricula!

RT (laughs softly, with a contemplative air): Your Jai Shri Ram is nothing more than a ritualistic, intoxicating mob cry—like Vande Mataram when wielded as a weapon—to stir religious tensions between brothers and sisters. It fractures what was once our shared, collective inheritance.

Suddenly, RT’s spectral form vanishes in an instant—a blackout snaps over his figure. The hum of the tanpura fades into silence. In the darkness, a faint, lingering voice sings:
“Jethay thake sobar odhom diner hote din, seikhane je tomar choron raajey…”
(“Where dwell the lowest among all, the poorest of the poor, there reigns your feet.”)

AT: (turning to audience, urgent) Ahhh… you heard him? This song is not for that P! Where did they go? Placard-bearers! Do you hear me? Do you hear the call?

AT rushes offstage through the same wing the placard-bearers used. The lights dim, fading to black. A stripped-down, non-commercial rendition of “Matrimandira Punya Angana…” drifts through the theater, haunting and unadorned, as the stage disappears into darkness.

Act-V

The Trial of Falsehood

Setting: A cyberpunk “truth slaughterhouse” styled as a Robot sci-fi set with a radio booth and Gandhi posters, a neon-drenched nightmare where justice is a corporate-sponsored Bollywood circus on acid.

Center Stage: A judge’s bench shaped like a giant Paramavaiṣṇava logo slot machine, with holographic “TRUTH = 404 ERROR” warnings and a vending machine spitting “Karma Kola” and inflatable bananas.

Stage Left: AT in glowing data-cord shackles, wielding a typewriter that shoots Gandhi’s Iwazaru, Mizaru, and Kikazaru.

Stage Right: A public gallery with holograms of journalists, lawyers, and Paramavaiṣṇava’s legal team doing synchronized dances, joined by Chowkidar Chaiwala/Saffron Supremo and Crony Paramavaiṣṇava.

Backdrop: LED screen flashing Gandhi’s face morphing into Paramavaiṣṇava’s, with a ticker: “Truth = Defamation? Buy Our Moksa App!” and dancing Kṛṣṇa emojis riding animatronic elephants in a Ramayana-styled war sequence.

Visual Gags (Bollywood-inspired with Lage Raho Munna Bhai flair):

A giant Paramavaiṣṇava balloon head styled as a Devdas prop hovers above, winking and burping fog, dropping rubber chickens that sing “Raghupati Raghav” in chipmunk voices.

The judge’s bench has animatronic arms that juggle gold coins.

A “Truth Shredder” machine styled as a Sholay villain’s lair chews up fake documents and spits out glitter, bubbles, and rubber ducks, with Bureaucrat Buffoon trapped inside, leaking rupees.

Saffron Supremo vogues with a confetti microphone in a Singham slow-motion fight pose, broadcasting “Gandhigiri Murdabad!” while Crony Paramavaiṣṇava’s bear sprays fog.

House lights on. “Vande Mataram” remix blares. The LED backdrop flashes: “Paramavaiṣṇava Vaikuntha: Where Dharma Meets Dividends” with Paramavaiṣṇava in a photoshopped khadi suit, juggling gold bars under a disco ball.

Plainclothes Officer and Guards storm through the audience, firing glitter and inflatable bananas from selfie-stick bazookas, tossing “Gandhigiri” flowers to spect-actors.

PLAINCLOTHES OFFICER (posing for fake paparazzi, megaphone blaring):
You! Debaprasad Bandyopadhyay, alias “The OBMA AT”? You’re under arrest under DPDPA Section 6(5) and Contempt of Brand Authority Act for writing against Mr. Paramavaiṣṇava without his biometric consent!

(Guards fire bazookas, bananas fly. Spect-actors wave “Gandhigiri” flowers. Crony Paramavaiṣṇava catches a banana. AT rising, typing on spark-shooting typewriter, styled as a Guide hero)
AT: Arrested for a pen, not a pistol? Paramavaiṣṇava had filed a ridiculous 100cr case against me for supposedly defaming him. That was cancelled by the Bombay High Court. A common man could defeat a Billionaire!

I cited RTIs, news reports, audit leaks, court judgments! Is truth now a ₹500 crore fine?

(Spect-actors toss flowers back, LED wristbands flashing.)

POLICE GUARD (doing a Dhoom dance, firing inflatable bananas):
You have the right to remain silent, but silence won’t save you from the Brand Ethics Council!
(Drags AT through aisle, glowing data-cords flashing. Spect-actors shouting for justice, tossing inflatable Gītās. Bureaucrat Buffoon trips inside Truth Shredder, leaking rupees.)

Lights shift to courtroom. AT in glowing shackles, typewriter spewing ducks. Chief Justice lounges on bench, wig shooting fireworks. The Truth Shredder chews documents, spitting glitter. Gandhi spins LED charkha Stage Left, glaring at backdrop flashing Paramavaiṣṇava’s Gandhi Foundation logo.
PROSECUTOR AI: Proceed with the Trial of Falsehood…no umm… truth!
(Backdrop: “Paramavaiṣṇava champions Gandhian business ethics.” Paramavaiṣṇava head winks, burping fog. Spect-actors chant “We Want Justice!”)

PROSECUTOR AI (chipmunk voice from Kṛṣṇa-drone, googly eyes wobbling, shooting bubbles):
The accused violated the DiGITAl Personal Data Protection Act with 17 articles against Mr.Paramavaiṣṇava, citing:

• Insider Trading (2016): SEBI’s ₹6 lakh fine for lapses, overturned by SAT.
• Sickwal Pollution (2018–2019): NGT slammed Paramavaiṣṇava for environmental harm.
• Mashnet Scam (2018): ₹48 crore shares at a 1,00,000% premium to Peanut Goyal’s firm.
• CHFL Acquisition (2021–2022): ₹94,000 crore assets snatched for ₹34,250 crore, robbing 6,15,000 depositors.
• Ommatra Loan Probe (2021): ₹2,000 crore loan.
• ShriKṛṣṇa Stake Sale (2024): SEBI flagged compliance issues.
• Legal Intimidation: SLAPP suits via BSK Legal to gag dissent.
• Mergers/Rebranding: 2022–2024 restructurings to dodge accountability.
• Religious Hypocrisy: Gauḍiya Vaiṣṇava mask for unethical deals.
• Real Estate Ecocide: Flood-prone towers with one-sided contracts.
  (Drone glitches, spewing bubbles. Chorus waves “404: Dharma Gasping for Breath” signs. Spect-actors boo, tossing flowers.)

Vaiṣṇava BARD (entering, twirling ektara-mic, Devdas sobs):
O spect-actors! Without consent or sanitization by any Brand Ethics Council, behold Paramavaiṣṇava’s sins!

• CHFL Acquisition: Stole ₹94,000 crore for ₹34,250 crore, leaving pensioners penniless! Arre, that’s not a deal—it’s a heist!
• CoC Manipulation: Rigged bids, valued ₹45,000 crore loans at one rupee! Bhai, that’s not resolution—it’s a scam!
• Crony Lawyer Contracts: Hired BSK Legal to slap SLAPP suits, silencing truth-tellers! Yeh is corporate Dabangg-giri!
• Gandhi Foundation Hypocrisy: Preaches trusteeship while fleecing the poor, branding satyagraha as a TEDx talk! Chemical locha in khadi!

SB: Lies! Paramavaiṣṇava’s a Vaiśya saint! His ₹85 crore BJP bonds are patriotism, his CHFL deal saved jobs, his Vaikunth towers uplift Mumbai! Tushar Gandhi’s foundation is for hippies; Paramavaiṣṇava’s builds Bharat!
(Snaps selfie with iPhone, saffron wallet spews bubbles. Saffron Supremo shouts “Gandhigiri Murdabad!” Spect-actors boo, tossing flowers.)

AT: (rapping, Molotov-Gītā blazing, typewriter shooting ducks):
Saint? Yo, he’s a scamster in saffron! SEBI fined him for insider trading, NGT roasted his Digwal pollution, and Flashnet’s ₹48 crore screams BJP nexus! His Vaikunth risks ecocide, drowning Mumbai while chanting Radhe Radhe! Truth or bust, no corporate trust!

(Typewriter sparks. Chorus tosses inflatable Gītās that deflate with fart sounds. Spect-actors cheer, waving LED wristbands.)

GANDHI (spinning charkha, glowing white):In Hind Swaraj, I warned of merchants and lawyers exploiting public trust. Paramavaiṣṇava’s empire—built on stolen wealth, silenced dissent, and mangled mangroves—mocks my satyagraha. Paramavaiṣṇava’s foundation sells my name like a Karma NFT.
(Spect-actors chant “Bande Mein Tha Dum!”)

PARAMAVAIṢṆAVA’S LAWYER (LEGALSWAMI) (voguing, twirling “SLAPP Daddy” cape, fog spewing): Objection! The accused calls my client a “Vaiṣṇava capitalist” and “Weaponizer of Philanthropy”! His mergers are legal, his real estate world-class, and SAT cleared his insider trading!

AT: He sells painkillers and funds temples to mask the pain, He manufactures Me-Pill to kill embryo, but Gandhi didn’t wear such khadi hypocrisy! I cited public records—RTIs, NCLAT verdicts…….

CHIEF JUSTICE (robotic, slamming neon gavel, wig shooting fireworks): You’ve undermined India’s Data Sovereignty! You’re fined ₹500 crore and banned from publishing for 99 years under the Right to Forget the Truth Act!

AT: (to audience, breaking fourth wall): They erased Gandhi’s words with laws, now they erase ours with brands. But ideas, like revolutions, don’t seek biometric consent!

(Guards drag AT off in glowing data-cords. The Truth Shredder jams with a loud clunk, spewing glitter, bananas, and rubber ducks. The inflatable Paramavaiṣṇava head deflates with a comical fart sound, revealing a banner: “Bapu Aaja Re!” Gandhi, AT, and the Chorus of Ghosts break free, storming the stage in a frenzied moment, tossing “Gandhigiri” flowers. Saffron Supremo and Crony Paramavaiṣṇava flee Stage Right, chased by rubber ducks that squeak “Chemical locha!” Bureaucrat Buffoon, trapped in the Truth Shredder, screams “Bhai, yeh toh chemical locha hai!” as it explodes in a shower of glitter, bonds, and inflatable bananas. The slot machine jackpots, unfurling a banner: “A true lawyer resolves quarrels, not exploits trust — thus spake M.K. Gandhi in Hind Swaraj.” Spect-actors, cued by ushers, wave LED wristbands and toss flowers, chanting “Bande Mein Tha Dum!”)

Stage Direction (Revised Ending):
As the courtroom chaos subsides, the stage transitions to a surreal, neon-lit Mumbai street scene, styled as a blend of Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro’s gritty realism and Lage Raho Munna Bhai’s vibrant absurdity. The backdrop morphs into a bustling Mumbai street with flickering billboards advertising “Paramavaiṣṇava Vaikuntha” and “Ram Naam Bank Ltd.,” interspersed with Gandhi’s face fading into corporate logos. Street vendors hawk inflatable Gītās, and LED signs flash “Truth = 404 ERROR.” The air is thick with haze, cartoonish “boings,” and the faint hum of O Aaja Re fading into a somber tanpura drone.

Musical Cue: The O Aaja Re finale fades into a stripped-down, melancholic rendition of Raghupati Rāghav Rājārām in Raga Mohan Kauns, with a single tanpura drone and soft tabla beats, evoking a mournful yet defiant tone, mirroring the somber shift in Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro’s ending.

(Link: https://youtu.be/fyn2Z-qKdU0)

Action:
The Chorus of Ghosts retreats to the background, their LED signs now reading “404: Satyagraha Not Found.” Gandhi steps back, spinning his glowing charkha silently, his face etched with sorrow. AT and Vaiṣṇava Bard remain center stage, their costumes transforming into tattered prisoner’s uniforms—striped kurtas with glowing neon cuffs, reminiscent of Vinod and Sudhir’s outfits in Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro. AT’s typewriter is now a broken relic, trailing sparks, while the Bard’s ektara hangs limply, its strings frayed.

Vaiṣṇava BARD (singing softly, with a Devdas-like sob, twirling ektara-mic):
“Vaiṣṇava jo na likhe sach, paisa jiske paas ho touch…
O spect-actors, the truth is shredded, but defiance breathes!
Paramavaiṣṇava’s empire buries satyagraha under bonds and gavels,
Yet our songs outlast their lies!”

(The Bard’s voice cracks, and he tosses the ektara aside, letting it clatter on the stage. The backdrop flashes: “Freedom of speech means nothing if the powerful decide the truth.” Spect-actors murmur, some chanting “Bande Mein Tha Dum!” softly.)

Dialogue and Movement:
AT and Vaiṣṇava Bard begin a slow, deliberate walk across the stage, moving through an imagined Mumbai street. The backdrop projects a chaotic montage: Paramavaiṣṇava’s skyscrapers, CHFL victims’ faces, electoral bonds, and SLAPP suits morphing into Gandhi’s fading image. Street sounds—honking, hawkers, and distant “Jai Shri Ram” chants—blend with the tanpura drone. Spect-actors, holding “Gandhigiri” flowers, fall silent, watching from the edges.

AT (to audience, breaking the fourth wall, voice heavy but resolute):
“They erased Gandhi’s words with laws, crushed our pens with brands, and shackled truth with SLAPP suits. But ideas, like revolutions, don’t seek biometric consent. They live in the streets, in the defiance of the silenced.”

(He pauses, adjusting his prisoner’s kurta, a faint smile flickering. The Bard, beside him, strums a single, mournful note on the ektara.)

Stage Direction (Final Sequence):
AT and Vaiṣṇava Bard continue their slow walk, weaving through an invisible crowd. Police Guards, now in muted LED riot gear, trail them silently, firing no glitter, their selfie-stick bazookas lowered. The stage narrows to a tight spotlight on AT and the Bard, evoking the claustrophobic Mumbai street scene from Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro. The Chorus of Ghosts forms a silent semicircle in the background, holding unlit LED signs. Gandhi’s charkha stops spinning, frozen in place.

As they reach Stage Center, AT and the Bard stop abruptly. They turn to face the audience directly, their faces weary yet defiant, mirroring Naseeruddin Shah and Ravi Baswani’s iconic gaze. In unison, they raise their hands to their throats, performing the Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro hanging gesture—a slow, deliberate mime of pulling a noose around their necks, eyes locked on the audience. The gesture is both tragic and satirical, a silent accusation of the system that punishes truth-tellers.

AT (whispering, barely audible, to the audience):
“Jai Siyaram… or Jai Shri Scam?”

Vaiṣṇava BARD (echoing, with a bitter chuckle):
“Ishwar Allāh Tero Nām… but only if the price is right.”

(The spotlight snaps to black. The tanpura drone cuts off mid-note, leaving a deafening silence. The backdrop freezes on a single image: a tattered Gandhi poster half-covered by a Paramavaiṣṇava Group ad. A faint, distant sound of rubber ducks squeaking “Chemical locha!” echoes briefly, then fades.)

As the curtain is about to descend, ushers distribute final “Gandhigiri” flowers to the audience, who remain in stunned silence or soft applause, reflecting the bittersweet, absurd tragedy of Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro. The stage remains lighted in fragments, with no encore, leaving the spect-actors to grapple with the play’s critique of corporate dharma, silenced dissent, and the enduring fight for truth.

Musical Finale Song: O Aaja Re (from Lage Raho Munna Bhai)
Lyrics (Excerpt, Adapted for Context):

Devanagari:
ओ आजा रे, माटी पुकारे तुझे देश पुकारे
आजा रे अब आजा रे, भूले हम राहें हमें राह दिखा दे
ऐनक पहनें लाठी पकड़े, चलते थे वो शान से
ज़ालिम काँपे थर-थर, सुनकर उनका नाम रे
बंदे में था दम, वंदे मातरम
भाई-भाई का दुश्मन है बना रे, नफ़रत की आँधी बहती रे
वेहशी दिलों को अब प्यार सीखा दे, आजा रे बापू मेरे
झूठ का बढ़ता जाए राज ओ बापू, अपने ही हो गए धोकेबाज़
आज हमें अपनों से बचाने, आजा रे बापू मेरे
पाई-पाई में इंसान बिका रे, जान ये हो गयी सस्ती रे
सोया ज़मीर बापू फिर से जगा दे, आजा रे बापू मेरे
बंदे में था दम, वंदे मातरम

Roman Transliteration:
O Aaja Re, Maati Pukaare Tujhe Desh Pukaare
Aaja Re Ab Aaja Re, Bhoole Hum Rahein Hamein Raah Dikha De
Ainak Pehne Laathi Pakde, Chalte The Wo Shaan Se
Zaalim Kaampe Thar-Thar, Sunkar Unka Naam Re
Bande Mein Tha Dam, Vande Mataram
Bhai-Bhai Ka Dushman Hai Bana Re, Nafrat Ki Aandhi Behti Re
Vahshi Dilon Ko Ab Pyaar Sikha De, Aaja Re Bapu Mere
Jhooth Ka Badhta Jaaye Raaj O Bapu, Apne Hi Ho Gaye Dhokebaaz
Aaj Hamein Apnon Se Bachane, Aaja Re Bapu Mere
Paai-Paai Mein Insaan Bika Re, Jaan Ye Ho Gayi Sasti Re
Soya Zameer Bapu Phir Se Jaga De, Aaja Re Bapu Mere
Bande Mein Tha Dam, Vande Mataram English Translation:
Come, O Bapu, the land and nation call you!
Come now, show us the path we’ve lost.
With glasses and staff, he walked with pride,
Tyrants trembled hearing his name.
There was strength in that man, Vande Mataram!
Brother turns against brother, hatred storms through,
Teach wild hearts love again, come, O Bapu!
Lies rule the land, our own betray us,
Save us from our own, come, O Bapu!
Humans sold for pennies, life cheapened,
Awaken our sleeping conscience, come, O Bapu!

There was strength in that man, Bapu Aaja Re!

Choreography (1:30, with Audience/Spect-Actor Participation):
Music: O Aaja Re with its soulful Bollywood melody, infused with Lage Raho Munna Bhai’s emotional Gandhian vibe, layered with tanpura drones, and cartoon “boings” for absurdity.
Performance Context: The choreography blends Bollywood masala (theatrical flair), Bharatanatyam mudras (devotional precision), and audience interaction to evoke a collective call for truth and defiance against corporate tyranny.
Group Size: 12–16 dancers (Chorus of Ghosts, Gandhi, AT, Vaiṣṇava Bard, plus political caricatures: Saffron Supremo, Crony Paramavaiṣṇava, Bureaucrat Buffoon), with spect-actors joining from the audience.
Stage Direction:

• Vaiṣṇava Bard: Leads Stage Center, twirling ektara-mic like a Lage Raho Munna Bhai radio DJ, shooting bubbles, sobbing like Devdas, beckoning spect-actors.
• Gandhi: Spins LED charkha Stage Left, glowing white, doing slow peace signs, symbolizing Bapu’s return.
• Atheist (AT): Breakdances Stage Right, tossing Molotov-Gītā, typewriter shooting ducks, rapping “Truth or bust!”
• Chorus of Ghosts: Forms a semicircle, holding inflatable Gītās and “Gandhigiri” flowers, swaying under UV light, with LED wigs flashing “Vande Mataram.”
• Saffron Supremo: Vogues Stage Right with confetti microphone, striking Singham poses, shouting “Gandhigiri Murdabad!” but slipping on bananas.
• Crony Paramavaiṣṇava Rides animatronic elephant Stage Left, juggling bonds that explode into glitter, shouting “Chemical locha!”
• Bureaucrat Buffoon: Trips in a Golmaal pratfall inside Truth Shredder, leaking rupees, screaming “Bhai, yeh toh chemical locha hai!”
• Spect-Actors: Ushers distribute “Gandhigiri” flowers and LED wristbands pre-show. Spect-actors are cued to stand, wave wristbands, toss flowers, and chant “Bande Mein Tha Dum!” during the finale, joining the stage chaos.
  Choreography:
• On “O Aaja Re, Maati Pukaare” (0:00–0:15): Chorus sways in a semicircle, performing Bharatanatyam mudras (hamsasya for devotion, pataka for calling Bapu), tossing “Gandhigiri” flowers to spect-actors, who toss them back. Vaiṣṇava Bard leads with Bollywood hip shakes, twirling ektara-mic, shooting bubbles. Spect-actors wave LED wristbands in rhythm.
• On “Ainak Pehne Laathi Pakde” (0:15–0:30): Gandhi spins charkha, stepping forward with slow Lage Raho Munna Bhai peace signs, mimicking Bapu’s walk.
• On “Bande Mein Tha Dam, Vande Mataram” (0:30–0:45): AT breakdances, tossing Molotov-Gītā, typewriter shooting ducks. Chorus forms a heart shape, raising  Buddha’s Jnanamudra  signs. Spect-actors stand, waving wristbands, shouting “Bande Mein Tha Dum!” as ushers cue them to toss flowers.
• On “Bhai-Bhai Ka Dushman Hai” (0:45–1:00): Saffron Supremo and Crony Paramavaiṣṇava attempt Singham poses but slip on bananas, chased by Guards firing glitter. Chorus performs Bollywood shoulder shrugs, tossing ducks. Spect-actors join, mimicking shrugs, throwing flowers, and chanting “Aaja Re Bapu Mere!”
• On “Jhooth Ka Badhta Jaaye Raaj” (1:00–1:15): Vaiṣṇava Bard leaps onto judge’s bench, twirling ektara-mic, shooting bubbles, shouting “Chemical locha!” AT and Gandhi join, raising fists in defiance.
• On “Paai-Paai Mein Insaan Bika Re” (1:15–1:30): Truth Shredder explodes, spewing glitter, bananas, and ducks. Paramavaiṣṇava head deflates, revealing banner: “Bapu Aaja Re!” All performers and spect-actors form a giant heart shape, tossing flowers and ducks, chanting “Bande Mein Tha Dum, Vande Mataram!” as the slot machine jackpots, unfurling Gandhi’s quote: “Freedom of speech means nothing if the powerful decide the truth.”

Climax: Guards slip on bananas, Chief Justice’s wig explodes in fireworks, Bureaucrat Buffoon tumbles out of Truth Shredder, and Saffron Supremo and Crony Paramavaiṣṇava flee, chased by ducks. AT breaks free, rapping “Truth or bust!” as spect-actors flood the stage, waving wristbands, tossing flowers, and singing “Bande Mein Tha Dum” in a Jane Bhi Do Yaaro-style chaotic triumph of defiance.

CURTAIN FALLS as the audience is pelted with “Gandhigiri” flowers.

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