What his father performed on the stage did fascinate and amuse the boy, but as he grew up P K Narayanan Nambiar realised that Koodiyattam and Koothu weren’t exactly his metier. It wasn’t that the young man—now an octogenarian—completely sidetracked from the family’s artistic legacy. He settled for the slot of a playback drummer for the ancient Sanskrit theatre that is Koodiyattam. As for Koothu, which allowed unbridled social commentary—even while the tales narrated were from the Puranas—Nambiar chose a more restrained version of it: Patakam.
Nambiar is the son of none other than Mani Madhava Chakyar, the overarching titan of 20th-century Koodiyattam, whose histrionic powers and focused scholarship eventually gave his art world-wide audience (and a Unesco recognition). Chakyar’s theatrical portrayal of Hindu mythological characters and Koothu-style verbal accounts of plots involving them had a deep impact on little Narayanan. But he preferred to be no actor—instead a percussionist playing the high-decibel mizhavu (a big ethnic copper drum).
It is as a Patakam artiste that he appeared as a front-stage performer. “There,” as mild-mannered Nambiar notes, “the tone is more spiritual. The idea is to introduce a moral tenet by telling the gathering a story.” Now, that is quite unlike Koothu, which revels in sarcasm sometimes bordering on vulgarity.
Whatever, Nambiar’s decision benefited Patakam, which is basically a temple art. At 86 now, he is the oldest living performer of this art.
It is another matter that Nambiar’s father initially trained him in Koothu. “That was, typically, at a very early age.” Outside the learning sessions in their native central Kerala village of Lakkidi, Nambiar soon saw his father take the art outside the Koothambalam—the theatre in temple precincts that traditionally staged Koothu and Koodiyattam. The move, pioneered by another master called Painkulam Rama Chakyar (also from west Palakkad), gave the common man access to both forms.
“It changed the custom of only upper-caste people being allowed to watch a performance,” says Nambiar, who retired from Kalamandalam, the state’s premier performing-arts institute. Patakam too came to be staged outside temples. Nambiar notes that its unembellished narrative technique attracted him. “The story teller wears simple costumes and recounts the tales in verse with explanations in between. He needs no elaborate make-up.” The verses are in Sanskrit, but the narration is in simple Malayalam, with no major detours. That is, “enough for the audience to grasp the meaning,” as Nambiar points out.
The serene expression on his wrinkled face speaks volumes about the fulfillment he has found in the offbeat path he chose years ago. “Patakam is a submission before the Almighty,” he says, and shuts his eye for a while—meditatively.