That the ritual and performance context of theyyam called kaliyattam maintains a “secular realm”, as it incorporates the worship of Muslim deities within its fold, has gained popular acceptance today. True, there are a few Muslim deities being worshipped, and there are also a handful of Muslim families that traditionally perform some rituals in certain places. However, the ‘religious harmony’ being projected through these instances is largely a product of decontextualisation of mythic and performative expression.
The most popular Mappila (Muslim) theyyam performed across the two districts of Malabar (Kannur and Kasaragod) is Mukri theyyam. However, it may be noted that Mukri theyyam is always performed along with Karimchamundi, the chief deity propitiated in the respective shrines. It suggests that having no independent performance, Mukri theyyam has only a subordinate position in the hierarchy of deities. The visual and performative aspects of the given deity prove this further.
Generally a theyyam is made up of elaborate face-painting with embellished headgear and costume, which helps convincingly transform the impersonator from the real to a mythical being. As opposed to this spectacular form, in the Mukri theyyam, the Muslim protagonist sells fish, which was one of the main occupations of the community there. Wearing a checked dhoti, white banyan and skullcap with the namaz mark on the forehead, his identity is made explicit in order to show that he is not transformed into a deity.
This would assume more significance, if we take into account some rationale pertaining to visual formation in art. Accordingly a particular form or style of representation does not come into being for its stylistic preference, but rather to make itself to be an expressive structure of meaning that is distinct in itself. In other words, it is the content that determines the form as much as function determines the form of an object of practical use. To get into this interrelationship, we can have a cursory look into the myth of Mukri theyyam.
Kalanthan mukri leaves home in search of a midwife, as his wife is suffering from labour pain. To his surprise, he happens to see on his way an enchanting woman at the foot of a hill. She offers help, as she is herself a midwife and follows him back home. On reaching home she closes the doors of the room in which she is to assist with childbirth. Hours pass and there is no sign of life inside the room, either of his wife or of the newborn, except the sight of blood seeping out beneath the doors. Wasting no time, he crashes into the room only to see his wife dead with the womb shattered and the infant devoured by the ogress-midwife, who flees the scene miraculously. To retaliate, Kalanthan rushes out to track her down. Seeing her at the same place where he met her earlier, he strikes a hard kick at her back. She falls down with her backbone broken but then tears him into pieces.
It is believed that the midwife was Karimchamundi, disguised as a yakshi who feeds on human blood and flesh. It seems plausible as the performance of Karimchamundi theyyam incorporates the repeated rhythmic enactment of the yakshi as if taking bath and doing the hair. This corresponds to popular imageries of yakshis as conceived in folklore.
However, in the myth, the male Muslim appears to be protagonist, and the female yakshi the antagonist, so to speak. But contrary to our general perception, it is the perpetrator Karimchamundi (yakshi) who gains prominence in the realms of ritual and worship. This inversion is striking. Its meaning can be found in the performance. Performance begins from where the mythic narrative ends; it also begins to disclose what is enclosed in the myth.
Observing namaz, Kalanthan mukri keeps on moving around the shrine by enacting fish-mongering. A bit later, Karimchamundi as a yakshi appears in the scene. As soon as she performs initial rituals, Mukri or the Mappila stealthily moves towards Karimchamundi and kicks her hard at the back and moves out of her sight. Karimchamundi falls down. She crawls and rolls over the ground with her broken spine in an astonishingly ferocious form to perform a counterattack. Finally Karimchamundi slaughters him (While she unleashes her boundless fury at these terrific moments, no Muslim is expected to be there even as a spectator, as he may fall prey to her wrath—what a secular/harmonious realm!).
The dominant note of the performance is the stunning and terror-striking sweep of Karimchamundi. For the same reason, Mappila becomes a villain, but is conspicuously vulnerable before the devastating power of Karimchamundi.
As most spectator-devotees are quite unaware of the original myth, what is performed is original and complete in itself. With the striking contrasts in the visual and performative aspects between Karimchamundi and Mappila theyyam, it seeks to construct meanings upon the binaries like the powerful/powerless, the mythical/real, devouring/ the devoured, Hindu/Muslim and so on, which in effect strives for the assertion of identity, superiority and domination of the worshippers of Karimchamundi over the religious Other.
It is tenable to think more in this line because Kalanthan in the myth is not just an ordinary Muslim. As the Imam (mukri) of Peringome mosque, he symbolically represents the whole community. So does his wife—a symbol of motherhood and female energy. Their innocence in the bloodshed, therefore, is ignored. For the same reason the myth envelopes an unconscious attitude to subdue and control the religious Other who has emerged as a challenging force, either real or imagined.
The given myth and its performance in this sense may not be the reflection of a historical reality, but they reflect upon a historical moment that was probably running into a rough weather of communal conflict experienced at least in the collective mind. In this line, there are some more records and oral traditions to construe that today’s ‘harmony’ was born out of yesterday’s disharmony.
Art critic & author. Teaches art history at the College of Fine Arts, Thiruvananthapuram