Feature: Theyyam: of the people, for the people

Dancing with fire and spirits

The human aspects of the mystic ritual are fascinating, heartwarming

Photo: Sheila Kumar.

It`s still dark at 4.20 am and the crowds are slowly building. The atmosphere is akin to a carnival, underpinned by stalls selling plastic toys and hard-boiled eggs. Friends are greeting each other, enquiring after Shantechi, and why Jibin hasn’t managed leave for the theyyam season this time. One of our set is busy trying to buy a baby`s friendship with biscuits but Biscuit Baby firmly keeps her distance. The regulation quota Kerala has of grey-heads is on full display here. As the chenda-beats start to gather steam, the air slowly turns electric.

Photo: Sheila Kumar.

We are at the Thee (fire ) Chamundi or Ottakolam Theyyam and the meleri (sacred pyre) is slowly being prepped to become a mass of glowing embers into which the koladhari (practitioner) will repeatedly fling himself. As with all theyyams, this too has a back-story, of Agni the fire god aggressively challenging all the gods. Vishnu takes up the challenge, throws himself into the fire 108 times and of course emerges unscathed each time, thoroughly extinguishing Agni`s boastful pride.

Our `story-teller,` the splendid performance artist Sangeeth Bhaskar, has managed to steer us to a vantage point but here`s the thing: wherever we stand, people shuffle along to give us a better view, sometimes giving up their own spots quite happily. We meet with this Malabar brand of graciousness all through the trip, and realise that old cliché is actually true: the north Keralite is really the nicest in all of the tiny strip that makes up God`s Own….

A 2000-year-old tradition

We are on a Theyyam Lite trip, trying to take in as many theyyams as we can in a packed schedule, out in Kasargode, in northernmost Kerala. The north is the birthplace of theyyam, which typically runs from the tenth day of thulam in mid-October, to the middle of edavam in late May/early June.

We have been hearing reports of huge crowds (more enthusiasts than devotees) massing at theyyams in the Kannur area, mobile cameras out, loud chatter filling the air.

Dr Suma, the owner of the Ayurvedic spa next to our resort, congratulates me on having come to Kasargode to watch theyyam. The divinity attached to the ritual diminishes as one goes south, she informs me sagely.

Photo: Sangeeth Bhaskar.

The 2000-year-old ritual of theyyam has its roots firmly planted in religion. The koladharis (practitioners), almost all men, usually belong to a lower caste — Vannans, Malayans, Velans — and when they carry the theyyam of a deity, in the process they are believed to be touched by that deity`s divinity. The moment the intricate and fascinating face-writing of the koladhari is finished and the mudi (headgear) is put on, the transformation is complete; it is the deity – Shiva, Chamundi, Badrakali, Gulikan, forest deity, tiger, monkey, snake — who is now controlling the theyyam.

Photo: Sheila Kumar.

There is complete and total faith evident in the locals who attend the theyyams, but they carry that faith lightly, watching the ritual with characteristic impassivity, chatting lightly, casually going up to get blessings from the koladhari afterwards. I watch slack-jawed as quite a few women make a monetary offering to the koladhari, then have his assistant give them change for the large notes they proffer! Many families host theyyams in their home temples, since the ritual is usually performed at small kavus, sacred groves, and local shrines.

Photo: Sheila Kumar.

The Thee Theyyam is hard to watch. The koladhari repeatedly throws himself into the meleri which is now a mass of smouldering cinders. He has a protective skirt of ola (palm fronds) around him but I notice the edges of the skirt are glowing, tiny embers sticking to them. His two assistants, who have mastered the angle at which they must enable him to fall on the fire mound, are glowing with the sweat of their efforts.

Photo: Sangeeth Bhaskar.

Sangeeth tells us of an even more dramatic Thee Theyyam, that of Kandanar Kelan, where the koladhari repeatedly enters a roaring fire and at times, stands in the middle of it, too. We decide we do not have the stomach for that; as it is, I was gasping every time this koladhari flung himself on the live coals, and he did it around 14 times.

Photo: Sheila Kumar.

Muthappan and his canine familiar

At the famous Parassini Madappura Sree Muthappan temple, we watch the Muthappan koladhari interact with devotees, bless them, advice them; since he is a canine-friendly deity whose familiar is a dog, he blesses a pug, somewhat incongruously dressed in a crimson ghagra-choli. There are stray dogs everywhere, looking like they really belong here. Devotees often offer small statues of dogs to Muthappan as thanksgiving for prayers answered.

Casual yet festive

The casual almost festive air is in direct counterpoint to the intensity of the theyyams being performed.This is religious imagery at its most vivid and the atmosphere is a charged one. Again, it’s the sidelights that interest me. The Poomaruthan theyyam is being chased by a motley group of small boys half-excited, half-scared. One of them wears a T-shirt that proclaims `this is trash` on its back. another`s T-shirt states` Say it in a calm way: I`m the best.`

I meet two young women studying psychology in Pondicherry who have come to explore the mental toll the theyyam ritual takes on the practitioner. Probing behind the mystic veil, I ask in wonder. They aren’t going to find the going easy.

At the Adot Moothedath Kuthir Pazhayasthanam Sree Padarkulangara Bhagavathi Devasthanam, we are approached and given ringside seats by Raghavan, a temple committee member, and repeatedly urged to eat the food prepared at the temple.

It’s a community effort, with everyone pitching in to produce a wholesome sadya, topped by a simply divine paruppu payasam.

We are seated on a separate platform, heaped plates of food are brought to us by a genial Raju, and we are introduced to a whole host of puzzled local dignitaries on their way into the pandal for lunch.

Photo: Sheila Kumar.

For me, the best moment of all comes when a young Muslim man in a skull cap comes up to the Poomaruthan theyyam for advice, a beatific smile on his face. Truly, theyyam is for all. And all avail of it, too.