As twilight fills the air, the light from torches arranged at sacred groves spreads an aura of mystery. It is in this ancient setting that art once became ritual, and emotions turned into prayer.
Here, art had a pattern: rustic yet esoteric; practised by a community of veterans; and inclusive, encompassing creativity both varied and unique.
Travel anywhere in Kerala — especially during the seasons when ritual arts are staged — and the scene remains familiar. Time may have waned their appeal, but the paraphernalia still harks back, perhaps, to the Sangam era, when Kerala and Tamil Nadu were a cultural whole, and such art forms were rooted in the soil and soul of the people.
According to the Kerala Folklore Academy, the state may have once been home to over 3,000 such ritual art forms. Yet most were invisible, lingering in various phases of obscurity. “Till three years ago, our list had just 145 art forms,” says O S Unnikrishnan, chairman of the academy.
It was three years ago that the academy ramped up efforts to rediscover these vanishing expressions. “We organised folk art melas even in remote areas and worked closely with artists. We have since chronicled 1,004 art forms still being practised in obscurity,” says Unnikrishnan. “Our next aim is to document them in detail and provide a platform for academic engagement.”
A major reason for this renewed focus is a changed social outlook, where traditions are being embraced with vigour. “There is now a pride associated with anything indigenous,” notes Unnikrishnan, recalling how Vaniyampaatu artists from socially backward communities now proclaim their role in the region’s cultural legacy.
‘Ayyappan Theeyattu’ artist Thiyadi Raman Nambiar observes that there was indeed a revival of such art forms in the 1990s — but with a transformation. “Until the 1970s, the ritual element was predominant, with performances held as acts of worship primarily in kaavus (sacred groves) where usually feminine energy was the deity,” he explains.
“Then came the land reforms, which dented the cultural significance of the kaavus. As a result, the art forms associated with them slipped into oblivion. Post-1990, there was a resurgence, but in a changed avatar — more as art than ritual. For example, the age-old ‘Ayyappan Theeyattu’ was traditionally performed in Ayyappankavu shrines between Chalakudy and north Kerala. Now, it is performed everywhere. The ritual element merely lends an enigmatic zing to the art.”
A former manager at the Kochi refinery of Bharat Petroleum, Nambiar adds that he strived to preserve the art even during his professional career. He’s not alone. Artist Sajaneev Ithithanam similarly sustained his passion for ‘Arjuna Nritham’ while working as an assistant engineer with KSEB.
The art form — also known as ‘Mayilpeelithookkam’ — came to him during “a personal quest” for cultural roots of the land. “It is traditionally practised by the Villukurup community in central Travancore and performed at Bhadrakali shrines. The legend traces back to the Mahabharata era,” he explains.
“Its vibrant costume, adorned with peacock feathers (mayilpeeli), gives the form its name. I learnt it from traditional practitioners and now run a school named Thalam Kalapeetam. The form is elaborate, with linguistic nuance and a distinct tala paddhati or rhythmic structure. These were historically preserved within the community. But today, it is appreciated across society.”
Such a democratic spread has its advantages. Yet, ritual arts also carry deep-rooted identities. Many were practised as assertions of existence by communities historically marginalised in the social hierarchy. Their artistic sparkle dimmed over time, overshadowed by the cultural dominance of classical art.
“They have been so sidelined that now, when we try to identify the artistic elements in them, we evaluate them against the benchmark of classical art,” says Manoj Kuroor, who has extensively researched ritual arts in Kerala and identified at least 650 forms.
Many, he adds, are from the southern regions of the state. “Art forms from central and southern Kerala are far less studied compared with those in the north,” Manoj observes.
The north Kerala list is vast, as reflected in the Folklore Academy records — ‘Villuthayambaka’, ‘Onapottan’, ‘Muthiyum Chozhiyum’, ‘Pootanum Thirayum’, ‘Poorakkali’, ‘Thirayattam’, and ‘Cheenimuttu’, to name some.
Even within the Muslim community, art forms such as ‘Kuturatheev’ — traced to liberal Sufi traditions — were once vibrant, unlike the Sunni practices now prevalent.
“For the obscurity that ritual arts faced, we only have our ignorance to blame. Look at the film songs in circulation, all are derived from Carnatic or Hindustani ragas. Why can’t we draw from the indigenous rhythms and tunes of Kerala’s ritual arts?” asks Manoj.
“I used one — the Kundanachi talam— in the film ‘Swaapanam (The Voiding Soul)’. The director, Shaji N Karun, encouraged its use. I found in my studies that this raga was used in many art forms, such as ‘Jeevatha Nritham’, practised around Haripad, and even in ‘Thullal’.”
Manoj insists on acknowledging each art form’s uniqueness. “We talk about reviving folk arts. But how can you revive something embedded in our psyche?” wonders Manoj, who helped introduce Kerala’s unique tala systems into the syllabi of Kerala Kalamandalam and RLV College, Tripunithura.
“A Tamil researcher once asked me about indigenous ragas such as ‘Paadi’, ‘Khanadaram’ and ‘Kurinji’, which faded away in Tamil Nadu’s cultural mash-up. They survived in Kerala and continue to thrive even in classical forms. We need to understand, and respect these forms within their geographic, cultural context — they are part of who we are.”
A significant step in this direction was the ‘Cult Culture Agriculture’ project of the Kerala Agricultural University (KAU), which has been documenting indigenous art forms for their ties to the land.
“We have recorded ‘Mudiyeduppu’, ‘Paranettu’, ‘Velayum Pooravum’, ‘Kanyarkali’, ‘Paanaporattu’, ‘Tholpavakkoothu’, ‘Chavittukali’, ‘Kalappaattu’, and ‘Bharani Paattu’, along with ‘Padayani’ and ‘Theyyam’,” says ace musician Sreevalsan J Menon, who is a director of extension at KAU.
Another sign that ritual arts are emerging from the shadows is their increasing presence in popular media. Hanumankind’s recent track ‘Run it up’, for instance, featured ritual forms like ‘Garudanparava’, ‘Kandanar Kelan’, and ‘Vellattam’. Folk tunes also dominate the work of popular groups like Chandiroor Maya.
“These reflect a societal shift,” Unnikrishnan notes, “of valuing art as part of nature’s own aesthetics.”