"Is there something in your heart you wish to tell me?”
As the deity asked me this, looking in the eye, I froze. There was a sense of lightness within. I was unable to sense even a trace of turmoil within me.
She blessed me with the wisdom to discern good from evil. I felt cleansed, free.
I was in Class 8 when I first heard the word ‘Theyyam’. Back then, it was merely the theme for a school cultural event. The rhyme and rhythm, however, never left me.
Over the past couple of years, Theyyam has been part of mainstream conversation, thanks to social media. And Kantara, of course. The ancient ritual form felt closer than ever.
Though I had long desired to witness a real Theyyam, the moment never quite arrived. Finally, the ‘Kaliyatta Mahotsavam’ at Ramanthali in Kannur called me this year.
I reached Payyanur by 4pm. There, the Ramanthali Parathi Ara shrine was being readied for the long night ahead. It was quiet — prayers murmured softly, preparations unfolding with unhurried precision.
Villagers advised me to watch closely. I got to get a peek of ‘mukhathezhuthu’, the intricate Theyyam face painting. A villager explained that every aspect of Theyyam — painting, costume-making, drumming — belongs to specific communities.
From them, I learnt that the actual Theyyam entry is preceded by Vellattam (preliminary performance in partial costume). It begins with an invocation song.
Soon, drumbeats rose, announcing the Vellattam of Thondachan, also known as Vayanattu Kulavan. The deity of the Thiyya community, Thondachan’s story is one of transgression and redemption.
According to legend, he drank the toddy meant to be offered to Lord Shiva. Enraged, Shiva cursed him with blindness. Eventually, yielding to his penance, Thondachan was granted divine vision.
The deity circled the shrine, singing and dancing. He gathered children, asking them to shout into his ears. The child within me, too, jumped in excitement.
Next came the Vellattam of Korachan, or Kunjikoran, who is believed to have sacrificed his life in devotion to Vayanattu Kulavan. Guided into the shrine by members of his community, the Theyyam was fierce.
He lunged towards the crowd. His gaze was intense. At one point, he looked directly at me and moved closer. Stunned, I bowed in reverence.
Meanwhile, a ritual fire was being prepared. Word spread that Kandanar Kelan would soon arrive.
An orphan who was later adopted, Kelan’s story is marked by fire — both destructive and transformative. Once, in a drunken state, he set a forest ablaze and perished in the flames. Thondachan is said to have revived him from the ashes.
Kandanar Kelan’s entry was explosive. He moved wildly around the fire, stoking it, sending embers into the air. People instinctively moved back.
By 10pm, the Vellattams began to conclude. Annadhanam (community feast) was served at the tharavadu. The crowd slowly dispersed.
After a break, we were back at the shrine in the wee hours. Rakthachamundi Theyyam stood before the shrine, blessing devotees. A manifestation of Goddess Kali, she is believed to have slain the demon Raktabija.
Korachan, too, returned in full form. The crowd waited eagerly for Kandanar Kelan’s ‘Agnipravesham’.
Around 4:30am, Kelan entered as drumbeats peaked. Watching the Theyyam walk into flames was spellbinding. Members of the community guided out of the fire, splashing water on his body.
Next, at 10:30am, Pramancheri Bhagavathi arrived, blessing devotees. Said to have originated from Lord Shiva, she resides in Puramancheri Kavu.
I observed the details that distinguish female Theyyams — the long silver teeth (ekir), the larger headgear, the distinct presence.
Devotees approached her to share their woes as she settled in a corner. And the Theyyam comforted them one after the other. I had not intended to step forward, but found myself drawn in.
For a few seconds, I could not even meet her gaze. Yet, she treated me as though she already knew me. With manjal prasadam in hand, I sat beside her, taking a few minutes to steady myself.
Next to enter the compound was Vishnumoorthi. Regarded as an incarnation of Vishnu, the story traces back to Palanthai Kannan, an orphan from the Thiyya community who was mistreated and eventually killed. His oppressor, Kuruvat Kurup, later repented and began honouring him as a Theyyam.
Valiya Bhagavathy, revered as a form of Bhadrakali, came next. Her massive crown was placed only after she entered the shrine. Watching the transformation felt like witnessing a mortal ascend into divinity.
At around 2:40pm came my final Theyyam before leaving Payyanur — Thondachan in full form. With towering headgear and fire in hand, he moved in slow, deliberate steps. All eyes on him.
I was not even aware such a deity existed until I arrived in this land. Yet, his presence made me feel reassured. In fact, that was the experience with every Theyyam I encountered. Their energies enveloped one with a calming sense of protection.
As I returned to Kochi, there was a quiet sense of fulfilment. I knew it was only the beginning of a bond.