… one night in a small theyam park
I had read in that infamous guidebook about a style of ritual dance-performance, Theyam… it seemed like something worth exploring … a full night of trancy beats had eluded me so far, and this seemed to be about as close as I was going to get. Theyyam is centred around Kannur in northern Kerala … in itself, a nice town with a few of its own quirks, with its reputation as a Theyam hub being its main appeal to travellers.
A few questions to people I’d met around Kunnur had put me off at first, with the average opinion being that Theyyam season had finished (though of course with the occaisional unbacked dissenter). Just as I was wandering through the railway station dreaming of beaches and sunsets and planning the move, I stumbled across an information booth similar to one described in the infamous book. A few quick questions here, and it seems not only is that Theyyam happens just about every nigh till monsoon, in lots of little place, but that it was on tonight at this small village (local script) on this stop (local script) that it did go all night, and that I’d probably be stuck there … in fact I had so much information now that it seemed I had to check out a performance.
A few hours later I am on another packed little local bus talking cricketers and making sure I had eye conduct with the conductor, who would let me off at the right stop.
The village was a tiny one street affair (almost an outer suburb of Kunnur), a few shops, a few houses, a signpost advertising an event which must be the Theyyam festival (in the local script), a few people gathered around a brightly lit jeep at one end of the street. I start chatting to a few people around, trying to find some information on the supposed Theyyam festival (it all seems quiet except for the work on the jeep). Then I’m swept along towards a group of the senior people in the village, told that something would be arranged, that it was happening, but it was all a touch secretive. I’m dragged along to one of their houses am fed fresh pinapple and halva, drink scotch with the local cop, watch a bit of the cricket, have a wash, and then am hauled along to the top of the street.
Back on the main street, it seems a festival is in fact in progress. Rows of young kids with glitter on their faces, intensifying work on the jeep, a Keralan style percussion group filled out with local lads. Everybody wants to meet me, perhaps because I fill an increasingly important role … interested spectator rather than participant … as if sharing the experience with an outsider lent the whole ritual more purpose.
Come nine o’clock (and just past the last bus back to Kunnur), the parade kicks off with a few fireworks, and some beats from the drumming crew. The procession. umbrellas kids drummers in orange a jeep someone in a wolf costume scaring small kids, a tiger costume doing an even shonkier job at fierceness, rows of teenage boys dancing to the drums. Me in tow by one of the senior villagers who had decided to keep me close and safe … a bit too close, I found it annoying, and it cramped the experience … I scarpered and joinded the revellers. The procession ran from house to house through the back streets of the village, through dirt roads, past new houses, some older shacks, stopping at anywhere slightly welcoming for a new round of percussion firework and dances, boys jumping, adults watching kids joyful, more people joining the procession as it moved. I danced most of the journey, and for me it was maybe the best part.
Eventually we reach a small grove at the bottom of the path, two ancient trees decorated and painted up, a small shrine, most of the village women, and the rest of the kids. Unquestionably felt like the local sacred grove, and clearly had been for quite some time. A few rennovations in place, a another level with a small tank being built and a couple of small temple buildings.
The lady at the information booth had a spiel about the meaning of the various costumes and characters. Talked to a few people, and most of the participants didn’t seem to find the story that important. It was more about the sharing of culture, and communal togetherness than a religious ritual with particular meanings. The dancers themselves probably have a full spiel for their character/role, but they were kept quite away from the main body of the village. There was clearly a lot of personal focus and intention in their role.
The dancing, as it took place was more of a parading around in character. The first character was in a large deity rig with a pile of makeup. At this stage, the actor seemed to take a second place to the percussion group… it was the lads big night, and people were as much there for them. More energy was in the drumming, and the Theyyam figure moved in and out of the rhythms. Rhythms changed occaisionally, abruptly when they did so, and seemed to tell as much a part of the story as the character. After maybe 45minutes the group mellowed out, and the drummers moved off. The Theyyam figure wandered around in bulky costume and character for another half an hour or so, dispensing blessings. Another half hour, another procession arrives from a different path to the grove. A different neon jeep, and a giant white elephant statue, drummers in white this time … it seems to be a slightly stronger, more experienced percussion group, and the energy of the crowd picked up a notch. The same dancer held court for the next hour or so … tired towards the end of this performance, and nodded off in a chair briefly. Exhausting night, and many brief encounters with the Indian twenty questions (country marital status job exchange rate of the country you are living in).
Wake up to next performance, past midnight, a different kind of character … more of a trickster, mischeif maker … with what looked like a cigar in its mouth. The percussion group was older looser a bit crazier. A player of the small Keralan shennai with mad improvisations, more programmatic than musical. This theme continues for the rest of the night. Occaisionally I nap, on the ground, in a chair, eventually (after a donation) in the temple information booth. Very disjointed sleeps, waking up to slight shifts in the performance. The new dancer is a lot more dynamic a bit crazier and more in key with the looser smaller drumming group. Eventually he is joined by a twin, and the two run around the drummers talking nonsense amongst themselves, dispensing blessings. In the morning, they are joined by a more stately character with a four or five metre lashed bamboo frame, slower moving.
Definitely a night to remember. Powerful in that it was very real. Amazing costumes hand made by regular people to satisfy their traditions. Whether people were still believing it literally as a story or religious ritual, it is more that it’s a part of their culture and identity. Definitely the Theyyam has a long line back to ancient magical ritual theatre in the sacred groves … the stories implied now rather than carried in the worshippers heart. But the moments of regular folk bringing a sense of magic and ritual into their lives with their traditional culture are profound and endearing.
Very tired, eventually wake up a bit dazed about six o’clock, the first bus back to Kunnur has started, and I’m pretty much alone. A few of the hard core have waited till morning, running the full distance of the night … mostly asleep. Most of the village has made it back home to bed sometime between 2 and 4 am (a very late night out by Indian standards). I stumble back up the path to the village, bus arriving within minutes, coming in to Kunnur with office commuters. Dirty from the forest floor sleep and concrete nap, but content and with my senses having taken a hammering from the nights craziness. Still waiting for an all night trance event where you can dance all night without having to sit down and watch a show.
