In her decades-long journey with Odissi, Aruna Mohanty has embodied queens and commoners, gods and mortals. But in Eka Prashna, her boldest character yet is a question mark. Rooted in myth and emotion, her production probes the internal dialogues of legendary women—Sita, Draupadi, Mandodari—and reveals the universal search for meaning. In this compelling interview with Indulge during the Mudra Dance Festival 2025 happening in Mumbai, the dancer-choreographer opens up about storytelling, stagecraft and what makes a performance unforgettable.
What inspired you to create Eka Prashna, a dance about mythical women questioning their realities?
It began with a striking image: Krishna in court, surrounded by voices demanding answers. It made me reflect—aren’t we all questions circling the divine? We ask: Why me? What now? I found the deepest expression of these emotions through the voices of women, whether Sita or Surpanakha, Yashoda or Radha. Their narratives resonate with me as a performer and a woman. Eka Prashna is both myth and autobiography. In portraying them, I reveal my own questions—my Ajaya, Abhaya, Bijaya.
How does Odissi help bring such complex stories to life?
Odissi is innately narrative. For over 3,000 years, it has translated life’s philosophical and social truths into expressive movement. From Jain to Vaishnav traditions, our myths are loaded with questions about duty, identity and change. Odissi’s vocabulary allows us to express all of that—not just through story, but through emotion, silence and gesture.
What role does costume and adornment—Aharya—play in your performances?
Aharya is emotional architecture. It enhances feeling, never distracts. When done right, it lets the performer dissolve into the character. I prefer earthy tones; they mirror my inner world. Whether in Eka Prashna or a 90-second costume change during Pravasi Bharatiya, Aharya must feel effortless and authentic to work. It’s a silent storyteller.
Has Odissi’s visual presentation evolved with time?
Absolutely—but always in service of spirit. Our Aharya isn’t just fabric, it’s sacred thread. The first sari, Sandomari, bore Jagannath’s shlokas. I carry that legacy. The visual presentation blends music, lighting, pose and presence. It draws from sculpture, palm-leaf art and temple rituals—it’s a dance of heritage.
What are the challenges of maintaining Aharya when performing abroad?
Plenty! Stage logistics vary, so we adapt. From character transitions to lighting constraints, everything must be planned. But Odissi always shines through. Audiences may forget names, but they remember the dance—and that’s what matters.
How do you teach young dancers the value of Aharya?
I show them heritage—literally. I preserve old family jewellery, discuss fabric texture, visit museums. We experiment with light and colour. I want them to feel like part of a continuum, not just students, but custodians of a timeless tradition.
What performance has most defined your idea of Aharya?
Pravasi Bharatiya. Imagine 100 dancers, 100 drums, aerial acts, 90-second changes—it was chaos and divinity together. But when Aharya flows with ease, when the dancer is free, the audience doesn’t just watch—they feel. That’s when art becomes prayer.