A ritualistic form of theatre believed to have originated two millennia ago, theyyam acts as the bridge between the believers and immortal spirits. It is unlike any other celebration in the subcontinent. For centuries, its practitioners have come from various subaltern communities of untouchables in Kerala’s caste hierarchy.
Legacy and years of committed obeisance turn the artists into divine incarnates and their performance into a supreme expression of myths, legends, metaphysical strains of thought and organic art.
But when does the mythical element of a culture morph into an art form that seeps into the lives of people and turns divine? From the moment a theyyam artist, who otherwise has an ordinary life, dons the face paint, the characters come alive on the streets of Kannur and Kasaragod in north Kerala. The cadence of the chendas (drums) set the tone for the night-long performances, as theyyam resuscitates myths and enlivens a culture.
Theyyam season gets underway from November, when the nights are filled with loud prayers and chants — the flames of torches gnawing away at darkness. Tales of caste humiliation give way to dignity, even honour and adulation. The earth is stamped with stories of revenge. The intensity of the ritual, the folklore, permeates the entire Malabar region.
One wonders what happens to the artists when they revert to being faces in the crowd though. How does it feel to suddenly give up the powers and magic of divinity bestowed upon them? Do the nights feel the same ever again?
Thulasi Kakkat