Music: Song of India

Over the intricate rhythms of drums hovered the fluid notes of a single bamboo flute and the wailng chant of a solo male voice. Against a plain black backdrop swirled brilliantly costumed dancers, unfolding exotic tales of lust and vengeance, ecstasy and evil. The occasion: the Broadway opening, prior to a U.S. tour, of the Indian dance group headed by Shanta Rao (rhymes with wow).

As the visitors from India danced and acted, good always triumphed, and whoever got his comeuppance was lucky to be merely killed. In one Kathakali (story-play), a demigod suffered a fate worse than death (because he rejected a nymph's advances); he was transformed into a creature half man, half woman. In another dance-drama an unbelieving king was devoured by the god Vishnu, who relished every morsel—as red streamers representing the king's innards were clawed out of his corpse.

In India, productions of Kathakali cause audiences to curse the bad guys (red-bearded) and cheer the good guys (green-faced). Broadway audiences were less demonstrative but found that the blood-and-wonder spectacle had color, dash, the spice of novelty and the charm of skillfully stylized performances.

One Dancing Eyebrow. For centuries, the Indian dance lay fallow in half-forgotten temples. But as India rose to national consciousness and independence, the art was deliberately revived by such devotees as Dancer Rao.

In New York last week, besides Kathakali (about 1,000 years old in some forms and hence a Johnny-come-lately), the Rao troupe also danced the nearly 4,000-year-old Bharata Natyam (the Drama of Bharata). High point of the program: Mohirti Attam (the Dance of the Enchantress), in which Dancer Rao proved herself a virtuoso performer. This dance had become so corrupted and eroticized by courtesans that it had been banned from the temples. Shanta, swathed in dazzling silk, danced it in its uncorrupted style, although her weaving, swaying interpretation was still sexy in a highly stylized way.