One act at a time

The revival of ‘Ravanankam’ offers a glimpse into the possibilities and precarious future of Koodiyattam

Amid the festive fervour of Onam, with colourful pageantry and streets reverberating with chenda melam across the state, a small hamlet around the Moozhikulam Sree Lakshmana temple is quietly adding new chapters to the ancient art of Koodiyattam.

The performers, part of a minuscule community keeping the classical Sanskrit theatre tradition alive, are staging a rare juxtaposition of two episodes from the Ramayana: ‘Ravanankam’, Act V of Bhasa’s ‘Pratima Natakam’, and ‘Mayasitankam’, Act III of Saktibhadra’s ‘Ascharyachudamani’. The performances are part of Nepathya’s 17th Koodiyattam festival, being held from Aug 19 to Sept 3, with a two-day break for the Onam holidays.

‘Ravanankam’ is being presented in its complete form at the festival, a rare revival after centuries. Margi Madhu Chakyar found only a one-and-a-half-page reference to the act in the theatre manual ‘Kramadeepika’, which mainly describes its characters.

“Based on that, I have written the script and planned the play,” says Madhu Chakyar, who has been working to revive Bhasa’s ‘Pratima Natakam’ in its complete form.

The Ramayana in Koodiyattam is traditionally presented through three Sanskrit plays— Bhasa’s ‘Pratima’, and ‘Abhishekam’ and Saktibhadra’s ‘Ascharyachudamani’. Despite Koodiyattam’s claim to a tradition stretching back around 2,000 years, its performance history is poorly documented.

Of the seven acts of ‘Ascharyachudamani’, only three were part of the earlier repertoire, while the remaining four entered performance only from the latter part of the 20th century.

The gaps in the repertoire point to one of the peculiar challenges of Koodiyattam: an ancient theatre tradition has survived largely through oral transmission, manuscripts and the persistence of individual practitioners rather than extensive written documentation of its performances.

Though its repertoire is rooted in classical Sanskrit plays, Koodiyattam is deeply embedded in Kerala’s cultural and temple traditions. It has thrived on the support of royal families, who were once custodians and patrons of the temples where it was performed. Several legends are associated with this relationship.

One local account says that a newly installed king was expected to arrange a complete performance of the Ramayana in Koodiyattam within a stipulated period. The story adds that a king eventually failed to fulfil the obligation, after which the practice was discontinued.

What sets Koodiyattam apart is its capacity to explore a character’s inner world in extraordinary depth. ‘Ravanankam’ offers a striking example. In it, Ravana appears not as the familiar antagonist but as a learned sage, well-versed in scripture. He encounters Rama, who is searching for a priest to conduct the shraddha ceremony for his deceased father, King Dasharatha.

Ravana speaks of his knowledge and persuades Rama that he is qualified to officiate the ritual. When Rama asks what special offering could be made in homage to his father, Ravana lists an exceptional offering from each category of plants, birds, fish and animals. He mentions a golden deer that can be found in the mountains. Rama then decides that the deer should be captured for the ceremony when it appears.

At this point, Lakshmana is away, having been sent to receive sage Agastya, who is returning from his penance. When Sita says she would be left alone, Rama asks her to attend to the sage and assures her that he will return soon. The act culminates in Sita’s abduction and Ravana’s battle with Jatayu. The play begins with a joyful Sita enjoying life in the forest, surrounded by trees, animals and birds, making the eventual turn of events all the more dramatic.

Interestingly, the festival brings together two different Koodiyattam versions of Sita’s abduction. In ‘Ravanankam’, Ravana appears as a sage and sets in motion the events that leave Sita alone in the forest. In ‘Mayasitankam’, from ‘Ascharyachudamani’, Ravana takes on Rama’s appearance before abducting her.

“We never planned it like that. Among our audience are scholars from Hebrew University. These are Sanskrit scholars who wanted to watch the ‘Mayasitankam’, as some of them had not seen it before. So we included it and later realised that we would be performing two different tales of the abduction,” says Madhu Chakyar.
For Madhu Chakyar, however, reviving forgotten chapters of Koodiyattam is only one part of the challenge. Keeping the tradition alive for the next generation is proving equally difficult.

Koodiyattam was inscribed in 2008 on Unesco’s representative list of the intangible cultural heritage of Humanity. Yet, Madhu says, the art form receives little institutional support from the Kerala govt and is rarely included in govt cultural programmes.

“There are hardly 15 male artists in Koodiyattam today in the state, of whom three are above 75 years. The state supports training of theatre and film artists. If these artists were given a monthly salary, accountable through grading and auditing of their performances, it would probably stem the downfall,” he says.

There is, however, a small sign of hope. More young women are coming forward to study Koodiyattam. The bigger concern, he says, is retaining young male practitioners who, after years of training, may eventually leave the field because it does not provide the financial stability needed to support a family.

The contradiction is stark. At a time when Sanskrit and India’s classical traditions are receiving renewed attention, one of the country’s oldest surviving theatre traditions remains dependent on a small group of artists willing to devote their lives to preserving it.

(The writer is an independent journalist)

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