The Dance of a Theyyam

It is a festive night as people start to gather in front of a small temple in Kannur, Kerala.

In the darkness, suffused with excitement, the drums are beating fast and slow, hypnotic. The occasion is a ritualistic dance of Theyyam, or bhuta-in-human-form, which comes to the coastal Malabar area of Kerala every year from January to April.

There are more than 500 bhutas in the district, all can solve (or bring) a particular type of a problem, a disease, a dosha. These bhutas have been there since a long, long time. Much much longer than humans who came here. Longer even than the dinosaurs probably. They are so old that Mahabharata mentions them as ancient.

We are waiting for the bhuta-of-the-night, Hem Vayanattu, to come and retell his story, like he does every year.

I sit in a makeshift greenroom outside the temple.

This is where a man who is about 40 years of age is dressing up in elaborate costumes. He has bright vermillion lips and dramatic eyes drawn with black charcoal. His whole body is green, spotted with white polka dots. His stomach protrudes, a man in his 60s, eyes sunken behind the paint, holding a dirtied glass of toddy in his right hand as his son, who is in his 20s, fusses on him.

He’s the vehicle for Hem Vayanattu tonight and everything needs to be perfect. After all, his is the mouth through which the god will speak. He knows it will happen and so readies himself. There’s excitement in the camp. There’s also nervousness. Mere men are never comfortable when a spirit from another world is about to enter their world. He wears the heavy headgear and swathes of colourful clothes in the sweaty balmy night. He’s in the theyyam-becoming business so knows that this is his moment—when he becomes god-like, from the mere man he is. He’s sweating and looks tense. He takes a sip from his glass. I am assured it’s a kind of ginger tea.

An hour later, Hem Vayanattu comes. He hunches and sits down next to me and spits. I turn to him and try to take a photo. He shakes his head. Listen, he whispers. His breath smells of toddy and his eyes glitter dangerously. I become a little wary. I have to be, being a female in today’s time. I smile hesitantly. He grins and begins.

A long, long time ago Hem used to be a mere man. He doesn’t remember when. All he remembers was that he lived in a village next to the Forbidden Forest, where no humans were allowed. Rumour was that the Forbidden Forests was the abode of Lord Shiva himself, who came there in the nights and made merry with his ganas, his hordes of bhuta and preta. Anyone who would go there would die. He never ventured close to the forest.

Then one day a sweet breeze from the Forbidden Forest ruffled his hair. A flame hit his heart. He became restless and angry and frustrated. He would catch himself walking to the end of the village everyday where the Forbidden Forest stood. He stood there for hours at the Edge, trying to peer inside the forests, to see what it was that made it forbidden. One night, as his family slept (did he tell you he had a family? A wife and two children) he stood up and left. He took a deep breath, and entered the Forbidden Forest. There was no trail to show him the way, since no one had entered the forests before. No human that is. He walked on.

The forest thrummed with a rhythm. It grew dense and dark. So dark that even black kajal would shine like a lamp in there. He was scared, his heart hitting his chest, irregular like a bad drum beat. The hair on his back and arms stood up, guarding him from evils around him. He knew that he was in danger. In those times, real tigers and poisonous snakes and other things roamed the forests. They weren’t afraid of people. They ruled the forests.  He walked and walked. He doesn’t really remember why.

Darkness gave way to a clearing and cool moonlight blinded his eyes. A blue coloured being wearing tiger skin danced in the moonlight with deformed creatures. Lord Shiva together with his companions in ganas and bhutas and pretas made merry, laughing and screeching. Lord Shiva turned to him, his eyes glittering. “Do you want to join us, Hem?” he asked kindly. Hem nodded, mesmerized. What else could he have said? So he became a gana, a creature of the night. For a thousand years, he danced, drank and made merry. It was a happy time. One night, quietly Lord Shiva left without saying a good-bye. The ganas were devastated. Every night, they started to keep 108 pots of fresh toddy in pots to call Lord Shiva back to the Forbidden Forest.

“Do anything but don’t drink from those pots, Hem,” warned a senior gana as he was about to reach the pot, “They are prasadam for Lord Shiva.”

Another thousand years passed. For what is time in Forbidden Forest? Lord Shiva didn’t come. Every day, the ganas would keep those 108 pots of toddy reserved for him. Every night he wouldn’t come and the toddy would go waste. Meanwhile, the forest begin to change. Its leaves turned yellow and brown spots appeared on its feet. It begun to die, being rhythmically cut by humans whose population was growing stronger. All the ganas, except Hem, one by one left the Forest to go deeper into the lands of the Earth. But Hem didn’t leave. He sat in the clearing alone, under the moonlight, looking at the toddy that was going waste every night. He was so thirsty. He wanted a sip.

One night, as he sat alone in the forest, waiting for Lord Shiva, he felt so thirsty that he couldn’t resist. He picked up a pot of toddy meant for Lord Shiva. Then he drank. He drank and drank till his sweat became stinky. He drank till his eyes dilated and he fell on the ground. He drank till his bloodstream and piss was full of toddy. That night, Lord Shiva came to the Forbidden Forest. He saw the empty pots and a dead-drunk Hem. He got angry and with a flash of thunder, tore out Hem’s eyes. For he had sinned and taken the toddy that belonged to Lord Shiva.

Blind and bleeding, Hem roared through the Forbidden Forest. He fell and tripped on branches. He was bitten by many insects. He couldn’t see. He was angry! What kind of a Lord is so wrathful that he cannot share a mere drink with his servants? As his anger softened, he felt remorse. He realised that he had done wrong. He prayed to Lord Shiva for forgiveness. He was after all a man, a spirit, not a god. He was prone to mistakes. A thousand years more he prayed and Lord Shiva came. He smiled and said:

“Hem Vayanattu (for that was the name of the Forbidden Forest), I will give you divine sight so you can see. Stay here and see what is Real. See into other men’s hearts and tell them what they want to know. Show them their deepest desires and fears and guide them.” So Lord Shiva left and Hem Vayanattu was left behind to handhold the people living beyond the Forbidden Forest.

Hem lights up a beedi and smiles with his crooked teeth, “I am not a man or a god. I am just someone who has to do Lord Shiva’s work. I am just someone who crossed a line, twice and lived to tell the tale. And now I come here to guide my people. What do I know about choosing the right path? I just like to come here and drink toddy that is offered to me.”

His eyes are sharp daggers. His powdery lips bend like a bow into a frozen smile. He gets up, rubs off the dust and hollers. The audience shivers as the drums start to beat faster and faster. The coal lights up and in its burning embers he dances and dances as the night falls darker and darker.