The fantastic success of the Kannada film Kantara, which literally means forest and is based on the bhoota of southern Karnataka, has brought greater global attention to Theyyams for its similarity. The fantastic facial paintings, gaudy costumes and enriched theatrical elements bring larger crowds to the folk art form.
A typical Theyyam performance is known as Kaliyaattam. The 2017 Malayalam superhit film of this name—an adaptation of Shakespeare’s Othello in the form of Theyyam—earned a national award for actor Suresh Gopi, the current Union minister of state for tourism.
It’s a ritual folk form of northern Kerala that’s predominantly performed at venues known as kaavu, a sacred groove that sustains flora and fauna. Most kaavus have disappeared, having been replaced by constructions. Theyyam can be performed anywhere by making a temporary sacred space called pathi.
Despite efforts by the government and private agencies, the form is today inadequately disseminated across the country because of vested interests that restrict performances outside in the name of patronising the art. It doesn’t help that many Theyyam artists are not educated beyond basic schooling.
There is much to appreciate about the artform. The attributed divinity of Theyyam is supposed to be sustained for a maximum of moonne mukkal naazhika or 90 minutes. The rest is for entertainment and panam vechu thozhal, or blessing the people who may pay cash as a token of devotion. This sum is the artists’ kolu that helps sustain them during the off-season stretching from May to October.
Narayanan Peruvannan, a recipient of the Padma Shri last year and an acclaimed exponent, went to Ajman in the UAE in November 2024 with seven others and performed Theyyam in its traditional way, after making the pathi and with customary rituals. But shortly after, a few caste-based groups banned them from performing at traditional venues back home, declining their right to work and warning others to refrain from associating with them.
Peruvannan said, “Some of the people connected to the venues, where I have the traditional right to perform, expressed their helplessness for the fear of being snubbed too.” Those who bar them from performing never call it a ban for fear of being sued, but say they have said “not interested in inviting such people, and prefer a substitute”. Yet, they look the other way when Theyyams are presented during political roadshows or associated with films.
Years ago, Lakshmanan Peruvannan, a fine actor representing the deity Muchilot Bhagavathi, was banned from performing in Bengaluru. After a while, Pramod Komaram, known as Karivellur Valiyachchan in Theyyam parlance, told this writer, “We have not banned anyone, but decided not to invite [some of them] any longer.”
It’s high time we recognised the talent and artistry of Theyyam artists at a broader level. Due to the existing restrictions, they have been bestowed with very few national honours. The last time a Theyyam exponent got the Sangeet Natak Akademi award was in 2009, when U K Kunjirama Panickar was selected.
The more ancient Koodiyattam, the pan-Indian Sanskrit theatre tradition sustained only in Kerala temples as a ritual performance, has gone worldwide, earning in 2001 India’s first Unesco recognition as a ‘masterpiece of the oral and intangible heritage of humanity’, thanks to the foresightful endeavours of the maverick Painkulam Rama Chakyar. He brought the artform out of the temple precincts in 1949 and 1956, initiated teaching non-Chakyars in 1965, and took it to global stages in Poland and France in 1980, ignoring protests and threats of ostracisation from the orthodoxy. This resulted in the art’s global recognition. But Theyyam exponents are yet to learn from this.
Performed by people of subaltern backgrounds, with the upper classes having a supervisory right known as koyma, the so-called patrons wanted to keep their supremacy over the artist fraternity with the help of the elders. Seniority in the family still takes precedence for Theyyam clans during a performance. It doesn’t help that there are internecine disputes about who will execute their traditional rights.
There are other ways to overcome orthodoxy. Historian Manu S Pillai notes that when royals believed that travelling overseas would lead to social outcasting, some of them carried their gods’ idols with them, as such barriers did not apply to deities. Today, temples are being consecrated around the world and priests often fly abroad to conduct rituals.
Theyyams have been performed earlier in France and the UK, and on the precincts of Sangeet Natak Akademi in Delhi. Decades ago, the legendary Kodakkadan Kannan Peruvannan performed abroad. In 1964, Theyyam was presented before Rajendra Prasad and Jawaharlal Nehru. In 1969, Chirakkal T Balakrishnan Nair, a well-regarded expert on northern Kerala’s art and culture, led a troupe to present Chandu Peruvannan’s Muchilot Bhagavathi at the Kerala Sangeetha Nataka Akademi.
Given the history and possibilities of this gorgeous cultural heritage, we need to innovate to take it to the rest of the world more often. The ostracism faced by Theyyam artists today is nothing short of a violation of their fundamental rights. If we need to challenge the inward-looking orthodoxy to promote the artform, then that’s what we need to do.
(Views are personal)
K K Gopalakrishnan | Director, South Zone Cultural Centre, Thanjavur; cultural historian whose latest book is Theyyam: An Insider’s Vision