The world of spiritual deities

Captions: The book cover; author K. Hari Kumar; a Kola dancer


Best-selling author K Hari Kumar has written an eye-opening and engaging book about the folk practises in Tulu Nadu, South India

By Shevlin Sebastian

K Harikumar received an invitation to take part in a podcast in Mumbai in 2022. It was a time when Hari, a Pune-based best-selling author, was at a low ebb. Hari’s instinctive reaction was to avoid taking part in the podcast. But he changed his mind.

During the podcast, the host probed his origins in Tulu Nadu. And he ended up talking about the tradition of spirit worship in that area. Tulu Nadu comprises the regions of Dakshina Kannada, Udupi (Karnataka) and Kasaragod (Kerala). In Indian mythology, this area is said to be part of the Parashurama Kshetra and is steeped in legends and folklore.

After the podcast, Hari went into a restaurant to have an idli and sambhar. To his surprise, a familiar visage greeted him from behind the cashier’s desk. It was a framed photograph of Kateel’s Durgaparameshwari. ‘This was no ordinary picture of any goddess. She was the presiding deity of the very place I had discussed in the podcast,’ wrote Hari.

He took this as an omen. Thereafter, Hari embarked on writing the book, ‘Daiva – Discovering the Extraordinary World of Spirit Worship’.

The 245-page book, released on May 13, has a blurb by bestselling author Amish Tripathi.

‘To read Daiva is to experience a world that few from modern urban India have access to. It is to immerse oneself in the realm of spirit worship, which comes to life through Hari’s tireless research and spellbinding wordcraft.’

Indeed, it is a unique book. Perhaps, for the first time in recent history, the book highlights the language and beliefs of the people of Tulu Nadu.

In the early part of the book, Hari delves in detail about the history, culture, language and the customs of these little-known people.

He states that daivas is a Sanskrit word, relating to gods, caused by or coming from gods, divine or celestial. ‘According to some scholars and experts, daivas are those spirits which have originated from divine sources or from prakriti (primordial creative source),’ wrote Hari.

In most Tulu households there is a room where the deities are revered. Sometimes, a large wooden plank hangs from the ceiling. This is used as a cot for the deities. In the village, there is a sthana, a small hut or concrete structure, where people gather for a communal prayer.

Hari asks a question: ‘What if, in the world we inhabit, there exists a realm beyond our limited perception — a domain where spirits of various kinds dwell? Here, one might encounter the daivas, the bhutas, the ganas, the maatrs, the grahas, minor supernatural entities, and even the restless pretas. The notion that these otherworld beings, both benevolent and malevolent, roam amongst us unseen is a deeply rooted belief. It is a belief that holds sway over the people of Tulu Nadu as well, a belief that is old as time itself.’

However, since the spirit is intangible, and beyond human perception, there is a belief that during the time of a kola dance, the spirit joins the physical body of the dancer, who falls into a trance, and communicates with the people.

As Hari met people and did research on the deities, many told him that the spirits send omens. He had an experience himself. Once when he was in his aunt Shashi’s house, a neighbour came and spoke about a powerful female deity called Thannimaaniga.

A group of people came seeking donations for an upcoming kola. Hari discovered that one of them was a ‘mukkaldi’, an officiator who held a special position in the kola ritual.

Hari asked about the daivas who were involved in the kola. To his surprise, the man mentioned the name of Thannimaaniga. Hari wrote, ‘Was that merely a coincidence or a sign from the spirits themselves? I wondered whether spirit deities might be omnipresent, like the people believed, silently observing and foreseeing every unfolding plan that eludes our awareness? Did their subtle messages manifest as omens?’

Hari writes in specific detail about the kola ritual: the importance of bananas, and the purification of the land, which includes tilling the soil, levelling the land and using cow dung. ‘Cow dung is a revered agent of purification in the region’s ancient customs,’ wrote Hari.

The sacred area where the dance is going to take place has natural decorations like mango leaf garlands, coconuts as well as tender leaves of coconuts. For luck, a bunch of bananas hang in front of the performance arena.

The dancer wears a skirt comprising the leaves of the coconut palm. He also wears a headdress called ani, and a face mask made of areca leaf sheaths.

During the preparation for the dance, the artist passionately strikes a steel plate against their head. This results in a deformation of the vessel. ‘I have felt a profound sense of energy in the atmosphere, stirring deep emotions,’ wrote Hari.

When the artist starts dancing, in rhythmic movements and accompanied by music, within a matter of time, he gets possessed. Soon, he experiences an altered state of consciousness and starts uttering words. ‘During this period, the spirit is believed to impart wisdom, resolving conflicts and providing answers to the questions posed by the assembled devotees,’ wrote Hari.

Once you get into the atmosphere of the book, each page is an eye-opener.

The second half of the book is about folk tales about the daivas and heroes from Tulu Nadu. The tales had been passed orally from generation to generation. So, it keeps changing or as Hari said, over time, these stories would naturally evolve and be adapted to suit the cultural, social and political contexts of the communities in which they were told.

Here is one tale:

There was a boar who was dark at night and a sow who was very fair. They sought the blessings of Subbaramanya, the lord of snakes. The Lord blessed them and said, “You may now become husband and wife.”

While they descended from the ghats, the sow became pregnant. By the time they arrived in the plains, the sow was seven months pregnant. She craved yams. The boar got it by destroying crops and gardens.

Eventually, the sow gave birth to a few piglets. One night, the couple wandered into the garden of Ishvara and wreaked havoc upon the flowers and the creepers.

A furious Ishvara asked, “Who committed this heinous act?”

The attendants searched all over the forest, saw the sleeping boar and sow and killed them. When Ishvara noticed the piglets, he asked them to bring them to him. Feeling pity, he gave it to Parvati and asked her to look after them. The childless Parvati nurtured them with great love and care.

But when these piglets grew up, owing to their innate nature, they ravaged Ishvara’s garden. Ishvara cursed them and was going to destroy them when a sorrowful Parvati begged her husband not to do so.

A mollified Ishvara said they would ascend to the spirit realm as Panjurli. And from there they can descend to earth, seeking tribute from the people who live there.

Hari’s skill as a storyteller is on full display in this section.

Overall, this is an important book. And on a subject that few people know about.

As an author, Hari has put in a lot of hard work. Over several months, he visited about 30 villages and towns in Tulu Nadu. Hari stayed for a few days in some places. He observed the rituals first-hand. He interacted with a host of people and meticulously took notes.

Hari also read a few books on the subject but did admit books in English were only about five. But he got important archival material from British civil servant AC Burnell, who was a scholar in Sanskrit and Dravidian languages. Burnell published a book on the Tulavas in 1879. He also read up on research papers on the subject in India and abroad. Thereafter, he sat down to write.

Little did he realise that after completing the first draft, he would rewrite it numerous times in order to satisfy himself. It has been a labour of love. After all, he was writing about his homeland. And readers have responded positively. The book has become a best-seller.

(Published in kitaab.org – Singapore)

Book Details:

Title: ‘Daiva’ – Discovering the Extraordinary World of Spirit Worship

Author: K Hari Kumar

Publisher: HarperCollins

Pages: 245

Price: Rs 399

A ‘Malayali’ beer becomes popular in Poland

 

Photos: Sargheve Sukumaran (left) with Chandramohan Nallur; Chandramohan with his wife Anna and with his family; happy clients

A Warsaw-based Malayali Chandramohan Nallur has made a beer that has hit the jackpot. He will enter the Indian market next year. Chandramohan also talks about his love story

By Shevlin Sebastian

Chandramohan Nallur is director, business relations, at the Indo-Polish Chamber of Commerce and Industries at Warsaw, Poland. He sourced clients for Indian businesses. One client was a Nigerian business owner, Yusuf Jimoh, who ordered five tonnes of rice flakes. Following a message from Chandramohan, the Warsaw-based entrepreneur Shantanu Roy imported the rice flakes from Varanasi. Price: Rs. 8.5 lakh.

This was four days before Russia invaded Ukraine on February 24, 2022. Because of the volatile movement of the exchange rate, Jimoh wanted to back out of the deal.

Chandramohan allowed Jimoh to do so because he felt he could find another customer. But when he did not do so, Chandramohan came up with an idea. He would buy the rice flakes himself. Chandramohan went on the net to find out what he could do with the rice flakes. That was when he stumbled on the idea of making beer.

Chandramohan asked his designer friend Sargheve Sukumaran whether he wanted to join the venture. Sukumaran agreed. The duo went to different breweries in Warsaw. They made a beer and provided it to local customers.

“There was no ‘Wow’ factor in the beer,” said Chandramohan. “And there were no repeat orders.” Some customers complained the beer was too bitter. Others said the beer was flat.

The production of all beers involves either malt or wheat. In their fourth version, they used the usual method but with one difference. They added rice flakes along with a reduced amount of malt.

“This reduced the bitterness and added a bit of sweetness,” said Chandramohan. “It became super light. It was an accidental discovery.”

Chandramohan had been using Polish hops. According to Wikipedia, hops are the hanging flowers of the Humulus lupulus plant. They are the driving source of bitterness, aroma, and flavour in all beers.

After doing research, Chandramohan discovered that the best hops come from Slovakia while the best malt comes from Bavaria in Germany. So, he imported both.

When Chandramohan thought about what name to give the beer, he decided on the name Malayali. “It was a crazy idea,” he said.

As for the label, the duo realised that Kingfisher beer has a kingfisher on the bottle. Bira 91 has a monkey on the bottle. Since the beer was going to be called Malayali, they took the help of a design firm in Kochi to find out what Malayalis relate to.

One was Kathakali and the other was the Mollywood superstar Mohanlal.

They launched the beer on November 13, 2022. Initially, they used the Mohanlal and Kathakali images on the bottles.

“The design gave the impression it was a craft beer and not a mass market one,” said Chandramohan. “So we changed the design.”

Two months ago, they began using the alphabet called ‘Ma’ (Mother) in Malayalam. “It is on the lines of a Heineken beer,” said Chandramohan.

The initial word of mouth in the Indian restaurants in Warsaw — ‘Mr. India’, ‘Namaste India’, ‘India Gate’ and ‘Coco Lounge’ (Polish) — was that this was a different beer.

Arun Barot, owner of the Mr. India restaurant said that ‘Malayali’ is super light and easy to drink. “It doesn’t make you feel heavy,” he said. “With other Indian brands, especially when you have it with our food, burping is an issue. But that is not the case with ‘Malayali’. One reason why the beer is so good is because Chandramohan uses the best ingredients. Hence, the beer is of a very high quality. All my customers like it.”

Now ‘Malayali’ is outselling ‘Kingfisher’ three to one in Warsaw, said Chandramohan.

“We are the only Indian beer which is also sold outside of Indian restaurants,” said Chandramohan. One cause was that the Europeans did not know what the word Malayali meant. “For them, it is like ordering Heineken or Carlsberg,” said Chandramohan. “We are a hybrid beer. We sell in Mexican and Italian bars, too.” In the Coco Lounge, Malayali beer outsells Polish brands like Zuber and Tyskie.

Now Chandramohan has plans to enter the diaspora market in Britain, America and the United Arab Emirates.

In 2023, Chandramohan sold around 36,000 bottles from July to December. Each bottle contains 500 ml and retails at 3.75 Euros (Rs 342).

In the first quarter of 2024, he has already sold 157000 bottles. “Because of this type of growth, I am looking for investors from India,” said Chandramohan. “In 2025, I want to enter the Indian market.”

Early Life

Chandramohan grew up in Palakkad, Kerala. He earned his B. Com degree from the Government Arts and Science College in Meenchanda, Kozhikode in 2007.

Then Chandramohan decided to study abroad. He wanted to do so in Scotland. A friend of his was studying at the Robert Gordon University in Aberdeen. He went to an agency which sends students abroad for higher studies.

While waiting to meet the staff, he saw a poster on the wall. It advertised a two-year degree course at the ESERP Digital Business and Law School in Barcelona. The fees were 1500 euros less than what he would have to pay to study in Scotland for a course. When he asked about the details, the agency said they had just connected with the school and had not sent anybody yet.

Chandramohan decided to go to Barcelona. “It was a random hunch,” he said.

After he successfully completed the course in political science and marketing, Chandramohan got a job in O’Hara’s Irish bar and restaurant at Barcelona. He worked there for three years. Then he joined a company called LycaMobile, the world’s largest network operator.

Chandramohan joined as a salesperson and began his climb up the corporate ladder. He travelled to Portugal, Germany, Italy, the USA and other countries. He ended up becoming the Director, Global Operations in 2012. In that year, he came to Warsaw to launch LycaMobile.

Earlier, in Barcelona, Chandramohan met a Polish girl by the name of Anna Lachmaniuk. She was a student and had come to O’Hara’s with her CV, looking for a job. They went on dates after that. And love blossomed between the two.

At Warsaw, Chandramohan continued to date Anna, a doctor for autistic and Down’s Syndrome children. Chandramohan took her to Kerala in 2010 so that his parents could meet Anna. They got married on August 17, 2013. The couple has two children, nine-year-old Maya, and four-year-old Julia.

Asked about his connections to the Chamber, Chandramohan said that it happened through a nomination process. Because of his background, he got into business relations. The chamber wanted to concentrate on business in South India. “Many South Indian companies approach us because they want to do business in Europe,” he said.

Chandramohan, on the other hand, wants to do business in India. Expect to see a lot of ‘Malayalis’ across the country in the near future.

(An edited version was published in The Sunday Magazine, The New Indian Express, South India and Delhi)

Snapshots of a genius

 

Captions: The book cover; Director K. Balachander (centre) with Kamal Haasan (left) and Rajnikanth; Producer LV Prasad (1908-1994); Author K Hariharan 

Author K. Hariharan gives an insightful look at the magnificent career of Tamil superstar Kamal Haasan

By Shevlin Sebastian

After almost 25 years of marriage to D. Srinivasan, Rajalakshmi became pregnant. She already had two sons and a daughter. The eldest boy was 23. Srinivasan, a Brahmin lawyer and freedom fighter, was worried. His wife was a diabetic. She was also overweight and had shortness of breath.

When the time came, the family rushed Rajalakshmi to a local hospital. This was in the town of Paramakudi (506 kms from Chennai). The doctor looked at her and said that a normal delivery would not be possible. Even so, Rajalakshmi went into labour.

After several hours, she gave birth to a chubby baby.

The doctor told Rajalakshmi’s eight-year-old daughter Nalini to keep an eye on the baby. Then he rushed Rajalakshmi for an emergency post-delivery surgical procedure.

It was in such dramatic circumstances that Kamal Haasan, the future film superstar, was born. The year was 1954.

While he was a child, a helper tasked with looking after him would take him to an old thatched cinema talkie. Kamal watched many of MG Ramachandran and Sivaji Ganesan’s movies. When he returned home, he would quote all the dialogues and mimic the acting. Thus, his love for acting was born.

Serendipity played a role for Kamal to get his first acting role. His mother took the six-year-old Kamal to consult with Dr Sarah Ramachandran. She immediately saw something in him. The doctor told Rajalakshmi that Kamal should do a screen test with another patient of hers. He was the renowned producer AV Meiyappan.

When Meiyappan saw Kamal, he was impressed. He immediately cast Kamal as the main child artiste in his film, ‘Kalathur Kannamma’.

Kamal said, “I truly consider myself fortunate that a stalwart like AV Meiyappan turned the spotlight on me.”

The film became an enormous success. Kamal won the National Award For Best Child Actor. This was presented to him by President S Radhakrishnan.

K. Hariharan recounts all this in vivid detail in his book, ‘Kamal Haasan — A Cinematic Journey’. The Chennai-based Hariharan is a national film award winner who has made nine feature films and over 350 short and documentary films. He is also a film academician.

Hariharan traces Kamal’s film career from the beginning. He talks about his fruitful partnership with director K. Balachander. They did 26 films together. And it all began with ‘Arangetram’ (1973), in which the 17-year-old Kamal played a villain.

In ‘Moondru Mudichu’ (‘Three Knots of a Wedding’-1976) Balachander used sound effects to replace the spoken word. So when Kamal and Sridevi met for the first time in a clock shop, they were interrupted by the incessant chiming of the clocks. The next time, they communicated by hitting clothes on a wet stone.

Kamal said, “At another instance, I played a melody on the mouth organ for her. Rajini (Rajnikanth) watched this with the sound of a hand pump in the background. What a way to define characters!”

Much later, Balachander said, “In our first few films, I can take the credit for propelling Kamal to become a genuine artist. But for the rest, I cruised on his success.”

Right from the beginning of his career, Kamal received mass appreciation. So much so that he acted in 150 films between 1972 and 1987.

By the time he acted in Bharathiraja’s debut film, ‘16 Vayathinile’ (1977), Kamal was the most prominent actor. So, he received Rs 27,000, while Rajnikanth got Rs 3000. The shooting took place in a remote village. The actors stayed in a small government guest house.

While Kamal slept in the bedroom, Rajnikanth and Bharathiraja spent the night on the verandah. Such are the struggles from which film icons like Rajnikanth rose.

For each film that Hariharan describes, he gives the socio-political, religious, and cultural background of that time. He also analyses the themes, plots, the camera angles and reasons behind why a scene was shot in a particular way. Many of Hariharan’s observations were insightful.

Here’s one: Hariharan said that early Tamil cinema was engaged in a battle to counter the hegemony of Hindi cinema and its so-called nationalistic politics. ‘Until 1975, it was intrinsically bound with the vernacular Dravidian movement to unsettle the pseudo-nationalist vision of Nehruvian dynastic politics,’ he wrote.

Entry into Bollywood

Kamal’s first foray into Bollywood was with ‘Ek Duuje Ke Liye’ (EDKL, 1981). The legendary LV Prasad produced it. Despite an initially lacklustre response by Mumbai film distributors, EDDL became an all-India hit.

Little did Kamal know then that the Laxmikant-Pyarelal song, ‘Tere mere beech mein, kaisa ye bandhan anjana’, would become the romantic anthem for youngsters all over India for the next few years.

Kamal also did not know that his success would open the doors in Bollywood for singers like KJ Yesudas, KS Chithra, and the legendary music composer AR Rahman. In reverse, Lata, Mangeshkar, Asha Bhosle and Udit Narayan sang Tamil and Telugu songs.

When EKDL reached 50 weeks, Kamal flew to Mumbai for a celebratory function at Novelty Theatre.

At the theatre, LV Prasad told Kamal, “The floor is spanking and clean, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is clean, but what is so special about that?” said Kamal.

Prasad told Kamal that when he was 26 years old, the same age as Kamal in EDKL, he used to be an usher in the same theatre.

“Between screenings, I had to mop this floor clean every day. I am happy such traditions are still being followed by the workers here,” said Prasad.

It was a lesson in humility that Kamal never forgot.

‘Lost and Found’

One film which Hariharan focused on was the superhit, ‘Michael Madana Kamal Rajan’ (MMKR-1990). It was a comedy film made by the director Singeetam Srinivasa Rao. The film tells the story of a woman having quadruplets. They get kidnapped at birth and grow up in different places. Later, after many twists and turns, they reunite with their mother.

Hariharan writes that this theme of ‘lost and found’ children in MMKR is a continuation of films made on this theme in the 1950s and 60s in many languages, including Hindi. He mentions Raj Kapoor’s ‘Awaara’ (1951) and ‘Amar Akbar Antony’ (1977).

‘On introspection, one realises they are all resonating with a part of Indian history which most filmmakers and other artists were unwilling to directly talk about: the great Indian Partition of 1947,’ writes Hariharan. ‘Millions died and thousands of families fled across the borders, leaving their loved ones behind and or losing them somewhere in their journeys. More impactful than the loss of lives was the loss of one’s identity.’

Some of the other films that Hariharan wrote about include ‘Raja Paarvai’, ‘Nayakan’, ‘Pushpak’, ‘Sathya’, ‘Gunaa’, ‘Thevar Magan’, ‘Indian’ and ‘Anbe Sivam’.

The impact of stardom

Being a superstar for decades, many fans are crazy about Kamal.

In the book, Kamal said, “I was once going back in a car after finishing the day’s shooting. A big crowd had assembled to watch us at the location and suddenly one young boy ran alongside the car with a blade in his right hand, slitting his left wrist, and shouting out my name like a possessed person. I was shocked, even angry, at this insane act of fandom. I stopped the car and rebuked him never to do such an act again.”

For the ardent Kamal fan, this is a not-to-be-missed book. For those who don’t know much about Kamal’s Tamil film oeuvre, this is a beautiful way to understand it.

Since many of the films, especially the early ones, are available on YouTube, you can watch them. And then read the commentary of the film by Hariharan. This will deepen your understanding.

Kamal has defied time, and the massive changes in cinema and society, and remained relevant. His career has lasted a mind-boggling 63 years. And the journey continues.

‘Kalki 2898 AD’ was released on June 27, while ‘Indian 2’ hit the screens on July 12.

There is no doubt he is a genius.

And, like Bharat Ratna Lata Mangeshkar, Kamal Haasan is also a national treasure.

(Published in The Sunday Magazine, The Hindustan Times, New Delhi and other editions)

Book Details

Title: Kamal Haasan – A Cinematic Journey

Author: K. Hariharan

Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers

Pages: 259

Price: Rs 699

An unforgettable moment for Ramachandra

 

Photos: Ramachandra Pulavar; Moscow in winter

By Shevlin Sebastian

In November 1979, a six-member team of Tholpavakoothu artists travelled to Moscow.

They included Ramachandra Pulavar and his father, K.L. Krishnan Kutty. They were going to take part in the art festival at the Tashkent International Trade Fair. “This is the first time we were travelling abroad,” said Ramachandra. 

Artists from 56 nations had arrived to perform at the fair.  

After their performance, the team flew to Moscow (3393 kms away). From there, they were supposed to take a flight to Delhi. 

The Indian delegation leader was G. Venu, a Koodiyattam master. He was the only one who could speak English. They arrived at the Sheremetyevo airport and discovered that two seats were wait-listed. The two who stayed behind were the youngsters, Ramachandra and Ramaswamy. 

“It was freezing,” said Ramachandra. “We could see ice on the streets. At dawn, loaders had to sweep the ice away using a plough so that the roads could be usable. We had thin coats. We did not know Moscow would be so cold.” 

In the end, a lady member of the festival organising committee took the pair to a posh hotel. “Since it was non-vegetarian food, we ate a lot of fruits,” said Ramachandra. They enjoyed their stay. November 7 was October Revolution Day. They could observe the ceremonies on the street. 

Because of a lack of telephonic contact, the team in Delhi was unaware of the whereabouts of the two youths. Neither was any information passed from Moscow to Delhi. 

Venu and Ramachandra’s father would come every day to the Palam Airport. They would wait to see the passengers of the flight from Moscow. Because of the tension about the fate of the youths, Venu’s hair turned white. In November 1979, a six-member team of Tholpavakoothu artists travelled to Moscow.

They included Ramachandra Pulavar and his father, K.L. Krishnan Kutty. They were going to take part in the art festival at the Tashkent International Trade Fair. “This is the first time we were travelling abroad,” said Ramachandra. 

Artists from 56 nations had arrived to perform at the fair.  

After their performance, the team flew to Moscow, 3393 kms away. From there, they were supposed to take a flight to Delhi. 

The Indian delegation leader was G. Venu, a Koodiyattam master. He was the only one who knew how to speak English. They arrived at the Sheremetyevo airport and discovered that two seats were wait-listed. The two who stayed behind were the youngsters, Ramachandra and Ramaswamy. 

“It was freezing,” said Ramachandra. “We could see ice on the streets. At dawn, lorries had to sweep the ice away through a particular machine so that the roads could be usable. We had skinny coats. We did not know Moscow would be so cold.” 

In the end, a lady member of the festival organising committee took the pair to a posh hotel. “Since it was non-vegetarian food, we ate a lot of fruits,” said Ramachandra. They enjoyed their stay. November 7 was October Revolution Day. They could observe the ceremonies. 

Because of a lack of telephonic contact, the team was unaware of the whereabouts of the two youths. Neither was this information passed from Moscow to Delhi. 

Venu and Ramachandra’s father would come every day to the Palam Airport. They would wait to see the passengers who came from the flight from Moscow. Because of the tension about the fate of the youths, Venu’s hair turned white. 

The group sighed in relief when the youths finally arrived on the seventh day. “This was an unforgettable experience for me,” said Ramachandra. 

Even now, whenever Venu meets Ramachandra, he will say, with a smile, “Because of you, my hair turned white.”  

Out of the shadows

 

Filmmaker Saheer Ali’s documentary on Tholpavakoothu (shadow puppetry) portrays the dismal state of the 2000-year-old art form

By Shevlin Sebastian

When documentary filmmaker Saheer Ali was shooting his documentary on the 2000-year-old art form, Tholpavakoothu, called ‘Nizhal Yathrikan’ (Shadow Traveller — A Puppeteer’s Tale), he came across an unforgettable scene.

It was 9 pm. There were another two hours for the Tholpavakoothu performance to begin at a Bhagavathy Devi temple in Palakkad, Kerala

Ramachandran Pulavar, one of the greatest artists of the art form and a Padma Shri Award winner, was sleeping on a mat. This was under a tree in a field. “Mollywood stars rest in air-conditioned caravans,” said Saheer. “This gives you an idea of the sad situation of the art form. I felt despondent when I saw that. These artists don’t get any facilities. Society should cherish them.”

Saheer said that society does not have much interest in art. “Earlier, people would flock to see plays and dramas,” said Saheer, who runs a drama troupe called ‘Keli’. “Now the audience has dwindled.”

The performances begin late at night and continue till 5 a.m. “They are paying homage to Devi,” said Saheer. “There is almost no audience for the entire show. There will be a few people at the beginning. After a while, they will drift away.”

But the Pulavar family is undeterred. They carry on. It is a devotion. They get paid a few hundred rupees for a performance. This is only during the festival season, which starts at the end of December and concludes at the end of May.

“Indeed, there is not much revenue,” said Ramachandra. “But we are lifelong devotees of the art form. So, we must remain dedicated. If we give up, Tholpavakoothu will die. That will be the most painful to watch. So, irrespective of the financial difficulties, we will continue to support it.”

When the season is over, the Pulavars cultivate the land and nurture cows at their farm at Palakkad. But because of climate change, global warming, and fewer workers, it has become difficult to do farming.

The 27-minute documentary begins with a scene where Ramachandra is paying homage at the tomb of his father, K.L. Krishnan Kutty Pulavar. His father was the eighth generation practitioner of the art form. It was he who taught Ramachandra about the art form.

The art form uses theatre, dance, visual arts and music. And they tell stories from Tamil poet Kamba’s version of the Ramayana.

The stage is 42 feet long. Behind the stage is a screen. This is made of white cloth. They place the puppets behind it. For the lighting, the team places 21 lamps behind the puppets. This causes the shadows to appear on the screen.

The puppets were earlier made of deerskin. But nowadays, the family uses goat or buffalo skin.

First, someone removes the hair. Then, they dry the skin. After that, an artist outlines the character. Then, they cut it out and paint it with vegetable colours.

The language spoken is a mix of Tamil, Sanskrit and Malayalam. The instruments used are the traditional drums, cymbals, and gongs.

The movements are manipulated by sticks extending from the figures. The filigreed puppets appear on the screen.

There is a fight between Jatayu and Ravana; another conflict is between Bali and Sugreeva. In between, birds are flying, while an elephant rumbles across, apart from rabbits, squirrels and a deer. There is the sound of a tree falling. Lord Hanuman comes along, apart from Lord Rama and Sita. And on and on, the characters come and go.

Incidentally, Saheer’s daughter, Fabi, has written the script. She has just completed her MA in Malayalam from Maharaja’s College, Kochi. The producer is Ramachandra’s second son, Rahul.

To attract a new audience, Ramachandra has diversified from the Ramayana. So he did a play on Mahatma Gandhi and Jesus Christ. “The artists have also done plays about the dangers of alcohol, women’s safety, and throwing garbage on the streets,” said Saheer.

And the second generation is stepping up. In 2016, Ramachandra’s eldest son Rajeev Pulavar won the Ustad Bismillah Khan Yuva Puraskar Award. The Sangeet Natak Akademi gives this for outstanding artists below 40.

His younger son Rahul is doing research on Tholpavakoothu through a fellowship at the University of Connecticut, USA. He is also doing his doctorate in Comparative Literature and Cultural Studies. Ramachandra’s daughter Rajitha has become a performer. His wife Rajalakshmi has won a central government fellowship to research Tholpavakoothu.

They screened a preview in Kochi on July 5. A select crowd was invited. The family is trying to get it released at the International Film Festival of Kerala in Thiruvananthapuram in December 2024. They are also trying to get it screened at other international festivals. They want to go on the festival circuit to spread knowledge of the art form across the world.

During the release function, Padma Shri Mattanoor Sankaran Kutty, a leading percussionist on the chenda (drum), praised the fact that the director was a Muslim. When there is such an intense effort to create polarisation, he said, this will help bring people together.

Sanskrit scholar and former vice chancellor of the Kerala Kalamandalam KG Paulose said that he had seen many performances, but it was only through the documentary he got a deeper understanding of the art form.

How Saheer got involved, he had worked as an associate on Mollywood actor P. Balachandran’s film, ‘Ivan Megharoopan’ (2012). This is a film based on the life of Malayalam poet P. Kunhiraman Nair. In the movie, there was a sequence of Tholpavakoothu.

As a result, Saheer became close to Ramachandra and his family. And when the family wanted to make a documentary, they immediately called on Saheer. They knew Saheer would draw on his experience of being associated with the Malayalam film industry for over 25 years.

A bit of history. In 1996, the International Film Festival of Kerala was being staged in Thiruvananthapuram for the first time. Noted director G. Aravindan told festival director Shaji N Karun about using a still from the Tholpavakoothu play, ‘Lanka Lakshmi’, as the logo for the festival. Saheer said, “It shows Lakshmi looking graceful after a curse on her was lifted by the touch of Hanuman.” The festival continues to use the same logo.

(An edited version was published in The Sunday Magazine, The New Indian Express, South India and Delhi)