In 1999, ICHR published a book titled We Lived Together, implying we no longer live together in the time of religious nationalism, which actively emerged in Indian politics since the beginning of 1990s. Corresponding to the same fervour that runs through the book, the Left wing scholars have always been overenthusiastic to interpret and project the ritual dance form of theyyam or kaliyattam of north Malabar as a tradition of the “secular realm”. They largely seem to have strained to construct such an image of theyyam under their own self-imposed secularist pressure in order to pit it against the political fervour of religious nationalism. However, perceiving theyyam as a secular realm of communal harmony as it cuts across caste and religious boundaries is simplistic and preposterous. To see it, we have to take a cursory look at a few aspects distinct in the cultic sphere of theyyam.
The village shrine called kavu, in front of which theyyam is performed, has no iconic images of god enshrined in it, only swords and shields that are symbolically to be used during the performance. In terms of worship, this very absence of icon manifests a distinct feature that is so central to the whole cultic practice of theyyam. There is no enshrined interior space demanding to be looked ‘in’ and conversely, on the part of the devotees, no ‘inward’ looking, as the theyyam or god is out there in their realm to be prayed to. For this obvious reason, the devotees visit the kavu only during the kaliyattam in which, instead of imagining and experiencing the god with their inner eye, they can see their gods as visible reality. Kavu is the space and kaliyattam is the time for theyyams to reappear before their devotees.
In this specific context, it would be wrong to use the term ‘performance’ the way it is used in the nomenclature of dance and theatre. Looking from the vantage point of devotees, theyyam is not the representation of the god, it is the god—the re-presentation of what had already been present (in the historical or mythical past).
An interesting point is to be noted here. Irrespective of caste and social position, an untouchable performer can step inside a Nambuthiri (Brahmin) house in the form of a theyyam, which is otherwise dealt with severe punishment. It may seem to be a paradox. However, it is possible in a society that is closely related to the following two concepts; one, the demand for impersonality and two, the belief in transformation—one form of organic life could become another and man could be transformed into god and so on—observes Kapila Vatsyayan, a leading scholar of Indian classical dance and art history. Whatever it might be, one can see here to a certain extent that the caste boundary and strict rules are suspended in kaliyattam.
Yet, there is a striking contradiction that secularist scholars have hardly taken note of. The domination of caste hierarchy seems to have a pivotal role in the evolution of both the cultic and performative aspects of theyyam. For instance, the Pulaya caste, which ranks lowest in the hierarchy, worships many mother goddesses and hero deities, larger in number than those worshipped and performed by any other single caste. A glaring feature is that with very few exceptions, the Pulaya community has no right to perform their theyyam in front of the kavu owned by other castes, so much so that they perform for themselves alone. Velan, to cite another example, is inferior in caste hierarchy and social position, and is allowed to perform his deities but in front of a small hut-like sub-shrine situated conspicuously away or off-centred from the ritual precinct of the main kavu.
Apart from this discrimination in the performative order, the dominance of caste hierarchy had resulted in the deification of numerous deities. There are innumerable thottam songs bearing references to caste-related violence leading to the death of many innocents who were later deified and worshipped as theyyams. The word worship here seems to be slightly misleading, because it is doubtful whether those innocent victims or heroes were absorbed into the cult either to satisfy the urge for worship or to perpetuate the memory or the message of those events in which they lost their lives. From a certain point in history, the whole cultic practice of theyyam was used as a symbolic strategy to disseminate a certain message rooted in the social and political consciousness of the lower caste people who fell prey to the dominance of caste hierarchy and related violence. Whatever might be those messages, today they are all submerged beneath the religious fervour of Hinduism.
One more point to be stressed in this line. Kaliyattam of any kavu owned by a particular caste requires towards its realisation active participation of various other castes. In some cases, even certain families of the Muslim community also play an important part of kaliyattam. This apart, considerably a few mappila theyyams (Muslim deities) are performed sporadically.
The so-called secular realm was built up by magnifying this aspect of participation and deification of Muslims which, in fact, are very scanty in the whole pantheon. Moreover, the secularist scholars seem to have refrained from probing into the specific historical moment in which those Muslims were deified into the cultic sphere of theyyam. Had they ever attempted to historicise the absorption of Muslim deities, they would have dropped them like hot potatoes, because the respective myth and enactment suggest that the Muslim deities are represented as inimical other; in the same fold, it also speaks of immeasurable destructive power of Hindu deities over the religious other. Theyyam is, therefore, not an expression of a symbiotic relationship, but a symbolic expression of conflicts embedded both in the social body and mind. This will be focused in the next discussion.
Art critic & author. Teaches art history at the College of Fine Arts, Thiruvananthapuram