The Wrong Gods

Time Out

21-05-2025

What does it take to choose your values and beliefs over those of others, and to fight for them? What does it take for a woman to be defiant – to go against what is expected of her, and perhaps even go against her own family?
Fresh off an international tour of his critically-acclaimed three-hour epic Counting and Cracking (which included a special sold-out season at Sydney's Carriageworks), S. Shakthidharan returns to the Belvoir stage with another powerful chapter of South Asian history.
Detouring from the grand scale of Counting and Cracking and Shakthidharan's follow-up show, The Jungle and the Sea, this restrained 90-minute fable is told through the perspectives of four defiant women, each of them shaped by differing values, ideologies, survival and sacrifice.
The Wrong Gods is a work of protest – it's angry, sad, and deeply unsettled by the relentlessness of capitalism
The Wrong Gods imagines the protests surrounding the controversial Narmada Valley dam project. Initiated in the late 1980s, the dam is one of the world's largest hydropower infrastructure projects. It was intended to supply electricity and drinking water to three Indian states, but its legacy is fraught – thousands of indigenous people and villagers were displaced, ecosystems were irreversibly altered and damaged, and the project remains at the centre of sustained protests.
Nirmala (Nadie Kammallaweera, who appeared in both Counting and Cracking and The Jungle and the Sea) a farmer and the head of the village's council, has spent her life with the soil. She worships one of the old gods (the river), understands the ways of the water, cooks with the seeds and spices from the edge of the forest, and knows how to farm sustainably with the land. Recently abandoned by her husband, she takes her daughter Isha (Radhika Mudaliyar, Counting and Cracking) out of school to help her maintain the farm. Encouraged by her teacher, Miss Devi (Manali Datar, Fangirls), Isha dreams of leaving the village (and the man she is betrothed to) to become a scientist.
When Lakshmi (Vaishnavi Suryaprakash; Nayika: A Dancing Girl, Counting and Cracking) arrives in the village – a persuasive, middle-class Indian woman who appears local but works on behalf of powerful American developers – Nirmala is tested. Lakshmi truly believes that Nirmala is a slave to the land and deserves to cash in on the Indian government's corporate plans. She convinces her, with the help of Isha, to trial a genetically modified seed – crops that are promoted as offering high yields with minimal labour. From here begins the clash of the creeds. But as nature often shows us, everything comes at a cost.
The village way of life is beautifully evoked on Keerthi Subramanyam 's sustainably constructed set, where artistry meets intention. Stone bricks spiral across the floor in circular patterns, echoing nature's eternal rhythms. These are complemented by intricately carved, cave-like walls bathed in gentle, purposeful lighting by Amelia Lever-Davidson. The circular motif, used with restraint and purpose by Shakthidharan and co-director Hannah Goodwin (, Never Closer), becomes a subtle yet powerful symbol of shifting power dynamics; the blocking around the circle subtly reveals each character's shifting allegiances and personal frustrations.
Each of the four actors deftly navigates Shakthidharan's empathic dialogue to present their case. Suryaprakash is particularly compelling as a multi-faceted antagonist, offering a performance that is both subtle and direct, peeling back layers to reveal her character's simmering motivations. Datar brings an earnest warmth to the role of the outsider-turned-ally, making her presence felt even in quieter moments; her odd-couple camaraderie with Kammallaweera is especially endearing. Mudaliyer infuses Isha with naive, youthful optimism that is instantly recognisable – anyone who has ever dreamed big will see themselves in her. Kammallaweera's performance is often weighted with rage, which at times risks coming off as one-dimensional. However, it is in her moments of stillness that she truly captivates – her quiet reflection on what so-called progress has cost her moved me to tears, and evoked a longing for a simpler life.
The minimalist production and small ensemble give Shakthidharan's script space to breathe. As in his previous plays, he excels at examining history from multiple perspectives with dialogue that is rich, evocative and unflinching in its portrayal of the tensions between power, profit and social responsibility.
Still, I found myself missing the signature wit that infused his previous work with charm. At its core, The Wrong Gods is a work of protest – it's angry, sad, and deeply unsettled by the relentlessness of capitalism. Yet, it struggles to strike a balance between education and emotional resonance. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but at times, the seams of this particular book fray under the weight of its own urgency. In the play's earnest effort to give voice to those who have long been silenced, it occasionally sacrifices the one thing that sustains resistance: hope.