SYNERGIES … · theyyam would have more room to perform if the forest was cleared further. When...
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T here’s a lake underneath the forest where a crocodile runs riot. Thus goes a myth about one of Kerala’s sacred groves, and it’s a myth that is firmly believed by the people who inhabit the area around the grove. And aspects of the myth colour the local Theyyam performed there. There has always been an unmistakable umbilical link between the dance form of Kerala called Theyyam and nature. A Theyyam is a ritualistic performance where pantheistic deities are summoned to the body of the performing man, one who is almost always from a subaltern community. Each of these instances of “possession” is rooted in a unique local myth, which in turn is rooted in the ancient sacred groves of Kerala called kaavu. Each kaavu is a small rainforest, and these were in abundance in the State until some years ago. In an extraordinary play between culture and nature, the grove nurtured the dance form and the dance form was instrumental in arresting the destruction of the groves even when development and modernity came knocking. Theyyam’s accoutrements have always been drawn from nature — such as garlands and decorations of ripe areca nuts, owers, leaves and fruits — just as the biodiversity-rich wilderness of the groves has been the home of the pantheistic deities that thrived in the Malabar region. Spirit-worship, ancestor-worship, tree-worship, animal worship, serpent- worship, the worship of the goddesses of disease and the worship of the Graamadevata or village god, all are part of the Theyyam cult, which is a SYNERGIES CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC ‘Where have my groves gone?’ The unique pantheistic art form of the Theyyam faces increasing threats of gentrification and Brahminisation, thus paving the way for the destruction of the sacred groves where it was born THULASI KAKKAT folk religion for millions. The number of major deities surviving now is about 100, while the number of Theyyams is more than 400. The ritualistic art form is ancient, predating organised Hinduism and harking back to a time of tribal animism. Over the years, Hindu elements have been slowly taken in and adapted to the ritual. This might well have enriched it but might also spell the death knell for a certain vital attribute of the Theyyam. Complete faith It was always a symbiotic relationship. The deities — goddesses in most part and hereditarily embodied by designated men from specific communities — towered over a feudal society with its undivided landholdings. The land and the dance and the myths nurtured each other. The people of the region had complete and sanguine faith in the god or goddess who presided over the region, and the sacredness attached to the deity was extended to the grove, thereby giving it a protective cover. The hereditary nature of the Theyyam has meant that each custom and traditional practice is carefully protected, fostered and handed over. At a recent performance, for instance, of the Karimchamundi Theyyam at the Tharanthatta Karimchamundi shrine in north Malabar, Naranthan, a veteran performer, spoke appreciatively of how the younger generations after him even today reverently observe every custom before transforming into the theyyam. My village in north Malabar has a kaavu. The presiding theyyams — Kadayankathi and Pethalan — inhabit the perennial darkness of the dense woods, entertaining a particular fondness for the mysterious hours of dusk or high noon. None dared disturb the sacred groves at these times, unless it was to request an exorcism. The aloof magnificence of Kadayankathi and Pethalan obscured their myths and origin stories, but the devout knew they had unmediated access to these deities when they manifested as theyyams during the days of the ritual. Missing the woods On a recent trip to the kaavu to pay respects to the theyyam during their annual visit, I was dismayed to find that the surrounding forest had all but disappeared. When I commented on this, a neighbour remarked, completely missing the irony, that the theyyam would have more room to perform if the forest was cleared further. When the Theyyam was a sacred ritual, its performance was in the nature of an offering to the deity. And the forest, the deity’s domain, was the performance space. Slowly, over the years, as the Theyyam has increasingly been marketed as a tourist attraction, it has become less ritual and more entertainment. This has meant that the dance aspect of it has taken precedence over the space and indeed over the sacred itself. And the recognition of Theyyam’s deeply symbolic character has begun to give way to an understanding of it merely as an art form. This, in turn, has impacted the sanctity of the forests or kaavu, and they are cut down carelessly. A Theyyam is ancient, predating organised Hinduism and harking back to a time of tribal animism. Over time, Hindu elements have been slowly adapted to the ritual Green room Decorations always come from nature — owers, leaves and fruits. Worship of ancestors, trees, animals, serpents, are all part of the cult. The photos show various kinds of Theyyams in ow. Cover photo: Kadayankathi Theyyam at Kakkat Sree Vishnumoorthy Kshethram in Kasaragod. THULASI KAKKAT Being god ■ Traditionally, clans set up shrines in a kaavu on their land, where the Theyyam deity would appear once a year or even once in 12 years ■ The practice goes back to the agrarian society of a time when clan heads held much of the land around ■ The performers belong to subaltern communities like Vannan, Velan, Malayan, etc. ■ The rituals are different from Brahminical ones, often involving blood sacrifices or walking on embers ■ It’s an open-air performance in front of the forest shrine that can go on for hours ■ The costumes and face- painting are extraordinarily elaborate, and art forms in themselves. The extravagant headgear called mudi can even be 50-60 ft high ■ Musical instruments include chenda, tudi, kuzhal, ilathalam and veekni ■ As the dancers spin and twirl to the frantic drums, they enter a state of trance before collapsing. It takes a while for them to revive, after which devotees seek their blessings A CONTINUED ON PAGE 11 kinds of ritual Theyyam) had ceased for several years at this grove, which was situated on a property owned for generations by a feudal lord. At the insistence of the villagers, the ritual was revived. The villagers consulted an astrologer for advice on the rituals to be followed. The astrologer divined that the gods and goddesses were cramped inside the confines of the sacred grove. The only solution was their re-consecration in a temple complex outside the grove. A priest was given the charge of invoking the favour of the gods and the village celebrated the consecration with an annual Kaliyattam. And thus the kaavu faded from the Periya Bhagavathi kaavu, and it is certain to become the Periya Bhagavathi ‘temple’ in no time. This story is not restricted to Periya Bhagavathi, but has recurred across sacred groves all over North Kerala. You have to look no further than Nandapuram Sreekrishna Temple, where the Vishnumoorthi Theyyam and the Gulikan Theyyam hold annual performances. Unsurprisingly, a recent consultation with the astrologer again revealed that the Theyyam ritual itself ought to be replaced with more conventional Brahminical temple rituals to obtain divine favours. Like the kaavu, will the ritual performance too fade or morph into something else? Only time will tell. Meanwhile, the theyyam that has for so long watched over the land and its denizens must come to its own rescue. The Brahminisation and the loss of the sacred grove have not escaped the notice of the theyyam, I observed. During a recent performance, the Kadayankathi bellowed at the village elders: ‘Where have my groves gone?’ The answer perhaps lies in a question the Pethalan posed during the performance to his gentrified cousin, Palenthayi Kannan (originating from a local myth, but whose identity is now subsumed by the Narasimha avatar of Vishnu). “Did you christen me Kaatumoorthi (primitive forest deity) because you found the name Pethalan uncouth?” he asked. (The photos featured here are part of a project called Lost Wilderness that won the India Habitat Centre Photosphere Award last year. A selection is on display at India Habitat Centre, New Delhi, till March 18.) Besides the ecological consequence of such a development, a second threat looms large over the pantheistic origins and identity of Theyyam. A gradual Brahminisation has uprooted the primal spirits from the rock and the wood of the sacred groves they used to inhabit. Unlike Brahminical temples, the kaavu features no priestly rituals or lighting of lamps during non-Theyyam times. And the rituals are performed by the people themselves, not by priests. Thus, the sacred grove remains closed for most of the year, which allows the wilderness to grow back. The theyyams, however, are now lodged in brick-and-mortar temple structures outside the sacred grove — and worshipped through rituals unfamiliar to the elemental deities, and their favour is mediated by the priestly classes. The evicted theyyam takes with it the sacral protection extended to the grove. From grove to temple A grove located in Kasargod district in North Kerala — the Periya Bhagavathi kaavu — illustrates the changes occurring in and around all of Kerala’s sacred groves. Kaliyattam (one of many ‘Where have my groves gone?’ A When the Theyyam was a sacred ritual, its performance was in the nature of an offering to the deity. And the forest, the deity’s domain, was the performance space Sacred elements Gulikan Theyyam at Tharanthatta Karimchamundi kaavu in Kasargod. THULASI KAKKAT A CONTINUED FROM PAGE 9
Transcript of SYNERGIES … · theyyam would have more room to perform if the forest was cleared further. When...
There’s a lake underneath theforest where a crocodile runsriot. Thus goes a myth aboutone of Kerala’s sacred groves,
and it’s a myth that is fi��rmly believedby the people who inhabit the areaaround the grove. And aspects of themyth colour the local Theyyamperformed there.
There has always been anunmistakable umbilical link betweenthe dance form of Kerala calledTheyyam and nature. A Theyyam is aritualistic performance wherepantheistic deities are summoned tothe body of the performing man, onewho is almost always from a subalterncommunity. Each of these instances of“possession” is rooted in a unique localmyth, which in turn is rooted in theancient sacred groves of Kerala calledkaavu. Each kaavu is a smallrainforest, and these were inabundance in the State until someyears ago.
In an extraordinary play betweenculture and nature, the grove nurturedthe dance form and the dance formwas instrumental in arresting thedestruction of the groves even whendevelopment and modernity cameknocking. Theyyam’s accoutrementshave always been drawn from nature —such as garlands and decorations ofripe areca nuts, fl��owers, leaves andfruits — just as the biodiversity-richwilderness of the groves has been thehome of the pantheistic deities thatthrived in the Malabar region.
Spirit-worship, ancestor-worship,tree-worship, animal worship, serpent-worship, the worship of the goddessesof disease and the worship of theGraamadevata or village god, all arepart of the Theyyam cult, which is a
SYNERGIESCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC
‘Wherehave mygrovesgone?’The unique pantheistic art form ofthe Theyyam faces increasingthreats of gentrifi��cation andBrahminisation, thus paving the wayfor the destruction of the sacredgroves where it was born
THULASI KAKKAT
folk religion for millions. The numberof major deities surviving now is about100, while the number of Theyyams ismore than 400.
The ritualistic art form is ancient,predating organised Hinduism andharking back to a time of tribalanimism. Over the years, Hinduelements have been slowly taken in andadapted to the ritual. This might wellhave enriched it but might also spellthe death knell for a certain vitalattribute of the Theyyam.
Complete faithIt was always a symbiotic
relationship. The deities —goddesses in most part and
hereditarily embodied bydesignated men fromspecifi��c communities —towered over a feudal
society with its undividedlandholdings. The land and the dance
and the myths nurtured each other.The people of the region hadcomplete and sanguine faith in
the god or goddess who presidedover the region, and the sacrednessattached to the deity was extended tothe grove, thereby giving it a protectivecover.
The hereditary nature of theTheyyam has meant that each custom
and traditional practice is carefullyprotected, fostered and handed over.At a recent performance, for instance,of the Karimchamundi Theyyam at theTharanthatta Karimchamundi shrine innorth Malabar, Naranthan, a veteran
performer, spoke appreciatively of howthe younger generations after him eventoday reverently observe every custombefore transforming into the theyyam.
My village in north Malabar has akaavu. The presiding theyyams —Kadayankathi and Pethalan — inhabitthe perennial darkness of the densewoods, entertaining a particularfondness for the mysterious hours ofdusk or high noon. None dared disturbthe sacred groves at these times, unlessit was to request an exorcism.
The aloof magnifi��cence ofKadayankathi and Pethalan obscuredtheir myths and origin stories, but thedevout knew they had unmediatedaccess to these deities when they
manifested as theyyams during thedays of the ritual.
Missing the woodsOn a recent trip to the kaavu to payrespects to the theyyam during theirannual visit, I was dismayed to fi��nd thatthe surrounding forest had all butdisappeared. When I commented onthis, a neighbour remarked,completely missing the irony, that thetheyyam would have more room toperform if the forest was clearedfurther.
When the Theyyam was a sacredritual, its performance was in thenature of an off��ering to the deity. Andthe forest, the deity’s domain, was theperformance space. Slowly, over theyears, as the Theyyam has increasinglybeen marketed as a tourist attraction, ithas become less ritual and moreentertainment. This has meant that thedance aspect of it has takenprecedence over the space and indeedover the sacred itself. And therecognition of Theyyam’s deeplysymbolic character has begun to giveway to an understanding of it merely asan art form. This, in turn, has impactedthe sanctity of the forests or kaavu,and they are cut down carelessly.
A
Theyyam is ancient, predatingorganised Hinduism and harkingback to a time of tribal animism.Over time, Hindu elements havebeen slowly adapted to the ritualGreen roomDecorations alwayscome from nature— fl��owers, leavesand fruits. Worshipof ancestors, trees,animals, serpents,are all part of thecult. The photosshow various kinds of Theyyamsin fl��ow. Cover photo:KadayankathiTheyyam at Kakkat SreeVishnumoorthyKshethram inKasaragod. THULASI KAKKAT
Being god■ Traditionally,clans set upshrines in akaavu on theirland, where theTheyyam deitywould appearonce a year oreven once in 12 years■ The practicegoes back to theagrarian societyof a time whenclan heads heldmuch of the landaround■ The performersbelong tosubalterncommunities likeVannan, Velan,Malayan, etc. ■ The rituals aredifferent fromBrahminicalones, ofteninvolving bloodsacrifi��ces orwalking onembers■ It’s an open-airperformance infront of theforest shrinethat can go onfor hours ■ The costumesand face-painting areextraordinarilyelaborate, andart forms inthemselves. Theextravagantheadgear calledmudi can evenbe 50-60 ft high■ Musicalinstrumentsinclude chenda,tudi, kuzhal,ilathalam andveekni■ As the dancersspin and twirl tothe franticdrums, theyenter a state oftrance beforecollapsing. Ittakes a while forthem to revive,after whichdevotees seektheir blessings
A CONTINUED ON PAGE 11
kinds of ritual Theyyam) had ceasedfor several years at this grove, whichwas situated on a property owned forgenerations by a feudal lord. At theinsistence of the villagers, the ritualwas revived. The villagers consulted anastrologer for advice on the rituals tobe followed. The astrologer divinedthat the gods and goddesses werecramped inside the confi��nes of thesacred grove. The only solution wastheir re-consecration in a templecomplex outside the grove. A priestwas given the charge of invoking thefavour of the gods and the villagecelebrated the consecration with anannual Kaliyattam.
And thus the kaavu faded from thePeriya Bhagavathi kaavu, and it iscertain to become the PeriyaBhagavathi ‘temple’ in no time. Thisstory is not restricted to Periya
Bhagavathi, but has recurred acrosssacred groves all over North Kerala.You have to look no further thanNandapuram Sreekrishna Temple,where the Vishnumoorthi Theyyamand the Gulikan Theyyam hold annualperformances. Unsurprisingly, a recentconsultation with the astrologer againrevealed that the Theyyam ritual itselfought to be replaced with moreconventional Brahminical templerituals to obtain divine favours. Likethe kaavu, will the ritual performancetoo fade or morph into something else?Only time will tell.
Meanwhile, the theyyam that has forso long watched over the land and itsdenizens must come to its own rescue.The Brahminisation and the loss of thesacred grove have not escaped thenotice of the theyyam, I observed.During a recent performance, theKadayankathi bellowed at the villageelders: ‘Where have my groves gone?’The answer perhaps lies in a questionthe Pethalan posed during theperformance to his gentrifi��ed cousin,Palenthayi Kannan (originating from alocal myth, but whose identity is nowsubsumed by the Narasimha avatar ofVishnu). “Did you christen meKaatumoorthi (primitive forest deity)because you found the name Pethalanuncouth?” he asked.
(The photos featured here are partof a project called Lost Wilderness that
won the India Habitat CentrePhotosphere Award last year.
A selection is on display at India Habitat Centre, New Delhi, till March 18.)
Besides the ecological consequence ofsuch a development, a second threatlooms large over the pantheisticorigins and identity of Theyyam. Agradual Brahminisation has uprootedthe primal spirits from the rock andthe wood of the sacred groves theyused to inhabit. Unlike Brahminicaltemples, the kaavu features no priestlyrituals or lighting of lamps duringnon-Theyyam times. And the ritualsare performed by the peoplethemselves, not by priests. Thus, thesacred grove remains closed for mostof the year, which allows thewilderness to grow back. Thetheyyams, however, are now lodged inbrick-and-mortar temple structuresoutside the sacred grove — andworshipped through rituals unfamiliarto the elemental deities, and theirfavour is mediated by the priestlyclasses. The evicted theyyam takeswith it the sacral protection extendedto the grove.
From grove to templeA grove located in Kasargod district inNorth Kerala — the Periya Bhagavathikaavu — illustrates the changesoccurring in and around all of Kerala’ssacred groves. Kaliyattam (one of many
‘Where have my
groves gone?’A
When the Theyyam was asacred ritual, its performancewas in the nature of anoffering to the deity. And theforest, the deity’s domain, wasthe performance space
Sacred elements Gulikan Theyyam at Tharanthatta Karimchamundi kaavu in Kasargod. THULASI KAKKAT
A CONTINUED FROM PAGE 9
