For centuries, Tholpavakoothu remained confined to temple precincts. Today, the ancient shadow puppetry tradition stretches beyond these sacred spaces, finding new life in urban settings.
Here, the aesthetics of the past meet the sensibilities of the present. Performances unfold within a striking visual frame, bathed in warm amber light. A row of oil lamps behind a translucent screen illuminate intricately carved leather puppets.
Silhouettes come alive — deities, warriors, animals and mythical figures gliding across the surface — as narrations in Malayalam, Tamil and Sanskrit weave together layered stories. The surrounding darkness heightens the experience, transforming a ritual practice into an immersive visual spectacle for city audiences.
Until a few decades ago, it was mainly the tranquil courtyards of Valluvanad temples that came alive with Tholpavakoothu during festival evenings. The performance space or the ‘koothumadam’ would host puppet plays based on the Ramayana, as composed by the Tamil poet Kambar.
Held across temples in Palakkad, Thrissur and Malappuram, the performance would begin by about 10pm and go on till the wee hours.
According to legend, Tholpavakoothu was initially performed to inform Goddess Bhadrakali about Lord Rama’s victory over Ravana, while She was engaged in a battle against the demon Darika. Now, the tradition continues as a ritual offering.
Devotion defines these performances. And the practice has largely remained within the ritual framework, sustained by hereditary lineages.
Palakkad-based Vipin Viswanatha Pulavar and his cousin Sajeesh Pulavar belong to one such lineage. They grew up listening to the shlokas of Tholpavakoothu as lullabies.
“Learning Tholpavakoothu is a long journey — learning through seeing, hearing, doing and teaching as well,” says Vipin, whose father Vishwanathan, uncles Ramachandra and Lakshmana, and grandfather Guru Krishnankutty Pulavar are renowned exponents of the artform.
“A practitioner must know scriptures, philosophy and classical texts. Those who master it are given the title of ‘Pulavar’.”
Despite its richness, the tradition has struggled. “In temple contexts, it is not a financially viable profession,” says Sajeesh, who recently helmed a performance as part of a lit fest of University College in thiruvananthapuram.
Vipin adds that while nearly ten families once practised it, only four remain today.
As performances moved beyond temple spaces, they had to adapt. Traditionally, they spanned 7, 14 or 21 nights, covering over 2,100 verses — from Lord Rama’s birth to his coronation.
“Many people today do not have the patience to sit through an all-night performance,” says event organiser Ajeesh Ashokan, who grew up watching Tholpavakoothu in temples and now seeks to reinterpret it for urban audiences.
Ajeesh recently curated two such retellings led by Vipin at Shala Twam performance space in Kochi. These one-hour presentations condense the narrative into a cinematic experience, enhanced with sound design and contemporary storytelling techniques.
“A sequence that would take hours in a temple is shown here in just minutes,” Ajeesh says.
Changes have also emerged in materials and music. A full performance traditionally requires around 180 puppets made of deer skin, but wildlife regulations have led practitioners to use buffalo or goat skin instead.
The musical ensemble was once performed live using instruments such as chengila, chenda, ezhupara, ilathalam, shankh, maddalam, kurumkuzhal and kombu.
Today, it is sometimes pre-recorded and supplemented with instruments like the violin, as seen in ‘Shadow Play’, which premiered in Bengaluru’s BLR Hubba festival in January.
‘Shadow Play’ represents a new wave of experimentation. A collaboration between Bengaluru-based musician Amata Bob and Penntholpaavakoothu, an all-women shadow puppetry collective, it foregrounds both innovation and inclusion.
Led by Rajitha Pulavar, the group operates from the Tholpavakoothu Puppet Centre at Koonathara, Shoranur, considered the last major hub of traditional practitioners in Kerala.
“This is another change,” Vipin notes. “Women, who were once restricted, began entering the field in the 1990s. My mother was among the first to learn Tholpavakoothu from my grandfather.”
The evolution extends to content as well. While the Kamba Ramayanam remains central within temple performances, presentations outside have expanded to include ‘Poothappattu’, ‘Maya Seetha’, Bhagavad Gita and the tale of Narasimha avatar, along with themes drawn from contemporary life.
“There have been productions based on modern themes, including election awareness, Covid combat and Swachh Bharat,” says Sajeesh.
This thematic expansion reflects an effort to make the tradition speak to the present. Once largely concentrated in the Bharathapuzha belt, it now travels to stages across India and abroad.
Vipin credits social media too. “It has played a crucial role in giving Tholpavakoothu a strong visual reach,” he says.
Innovation continues in unexpected ways. Notably, Sajeesh had created a buzz a couple of years ago for a three-minute clip demonstrating robotic automation of puppets.
The engineer, who left his MNC job to pursue the craft, has also experimented with formats ranging from classical poetry presentations to ‘save-the-date’ wedding invitations.
Sajeesh says he draws inspiration from his grandfather’s (Krishnankutty Pulavar) collaboration with filmmaker G Aravindan to create ‘Lanka Lakshmi’ — the IFFK mascot — nearly three decades ago.
Adaptation, he adds, is essential for survival. “Temple patronage is no longer sufficient to sustain a family,” he says. “Public platforms demand a different pace and presentation. Yet, the core visual grammar remains intact.”
Echoing the view, Vipin notes that the response to the recent Kochi performances was overwhelming. “If we do not adapt, we risk losing this practice. Curiosity must be channelled creatively,” he says, adding that workshops and backstage access now help audiences engage with puppet-making and performance techniques.
That said, the artform’s deep connection to temples remains unchanged. “The temple performance is for the Goddess. It must strictly follow the age-old schedule and Kamba Ramayanam.
That continues as a ritual, mainly during the January-to-May festival season,” says Vipin. Ultimately, whether within the sanctity of a temple or on a modern stage, the glow of a single oil lamp is enough. The shadows still carry forward timeless stories of good over evil.