Triveni Journal

1927 | 11,233,916 words

Triveni is a journal dedicated to ancient Indian culture, history, philosophy, art, spirituality, music and all sorts of literature. Triveni was founded at Madras in 1927 and since that time various authors have donated their creativity in the form of articles, covering many aspects of public life....

Kathakali: The Classical Dance Art of India

‘ART-LOVER’

Kathakali: The Classical Dance

Art of India

Kerala is a fascinating bit of coastal country in the extreme south-west corner of India. Its wooded hills with vegetations of variegated kind; its green paddy fields running in serpentine curves, flanked by thickly planted plantain and arecanut groves and garden-houses; its waters with little islands, and lovely lagoons reflecting dreamily the blue sky and the fantastically-bent palms on the banks; the grey huts and the red-tiled roofs peeping through the rich foliage of garden compounds; the big bare-breasted women working bent all-day long in the fields, singing sad songs to forget their hardships; the dark, strong-limbed men at their ploughs and oxen; the white-clad and clean-looking Nairs and their womenfolk of soft, olive complexion, dark eyes and shy looks; the proud, exclusive Nambudri with his caste arrogance and social tyranny; the oppressed untouchable and the unseeable with their long-drawn agony and misery; the magic and mystery that still surround life here; all these exert a strange fascination on a visitor. Kerala is a tropical paradise, with palm-fringed horizons and surf-swept beaches, only to be rivaled by Lanka or Java.

Kerala is rich in arts too. The old temples and palaces contain fragments of fresco paintings as interesting as any in India, and some of the figures and groups on the walls of the

Trichur temple and Mattancheri palace are not much inferior in artistic quality to those of Ajanta or Bagh. Stone-carvings and bronze images of the gods are also to be seen in abundance. Folk-arts here have met the same fate as in other parts of India, and, of late, some interest is being evinced in their revival, especially in the two popular folk dances of Kummi and Kaikottukali which are being taught to girls in schools. But by far the most unique and famous art of Kerala is Kathakali, the dance art par excellence in India.

It is one of the ironies of Indian life and art that real talent and genuine merit are not so much recognised and appreciated as spurious ones sponsored by vested interests. The New Delhi scheme was a well-known instance. With such master-artists like Nandalal Bose, Venkatappa, Ukil, Asit Haldar and others in the country, whose knowledge and skill in fresco painting cannot easily be equaled or surpassed, it was amusing to see the Government holding competitions among school students and third-rate artists for the execution of that work, with what result the world now knows! It is the same with the art of dancing. Much of the so-called Indian classical dances, ‘performed’ by both professionals and amateurs, is neither classical nor Indian, but a quaint jumble of Arabian, Egyptian, and Indian dances, with sensuous bodily movements, meaningless steps and gestures set to some popular tune.

Even the so-called Ajanta dances are preposterous impostures, for there is nothing in the whole series of Ajanta paintings, excepting a single dance scene in Cave No, 2, that can give a student of dance art any valuable material save certain motifs, and ideas for costumes, ornaments, headdress and, perhaps, some graceful and dignified poses and postures. And yet how that name is wickedly exploited and what funny kinds of dances are exhibited under that name! A notable exception was the interpretation given by Menaka, (Mrs. Leila Sokhey), entitled ‘Ajanta Darshan’, which was a sincere attempt to bring to life something of the spirit of Ajanta.

But how many in this country who have seen the so-called classical dances of India have heard of, not to say seen, Kathakali, the only genuine hundred-per-cent classical dance art of ancient India, one of the most highly perfected dance arts in the world? Kathakali is not merely based upon the science of Bharata Natya Sastra, but on traditions more ancient than that; and this art has remained, save in its own birth-place, unknown, unhonoured and unsung even by the enthusiastic exponents of Indian cultural renaissance. But thanks to the genius of a poet and his flaming enthusiasm, it refuses to remain any longer in obscurity, and the day is not far off when it will take its place in the world of art as prominently as the Russian Ballet or the Javanese Wayong Wong; and also considerably influence the future dance art of the world.

Kathakali, is its present form, may be, said to date from the early eighteenth century, and its association with a prince of Travancore may, to a certain extent, be historically correct. But its real beginnings can be traced to a race and civilisation much anterior to the Aryan, and its antiquity must indeed be very remote, considering it has certain primitive elements in its rhythm, music, make-up, dress and ornaments, and considering also it gave birth, at a distant past, to the Javanese and Kandyan dances. One can also trace elements of Polynesian rhythms and movements in it. It has most undoubtedly absorbed and assimilated the whole of Bharata Natya, which gives it its present cultured character.

I have no doubt, whatsoever, that its origin was in magi, and even today its elemental nature can be felt by any sensitive person. It must have played a tremendous part in the religious rites of the ancients who knew how to invoke invisible powers, both of evil and good, by symbols of sounds, and gestures. Both primitive and civilised nations of the world have recognised and used this symbolic language for communication with subtler worlds and invisible beings. The Egyptian masonry, the Hindu Vedic rites, the Chaldean magic, all these were several forms of magic based on a deeper understanding of the laws of nature and their psychic effects. It was well known to the ancients that sounds and gestures create definite forms and colours in subtler matter, as they have a certain meaning and message to the spirits

whose aids are sought by these magical formulas and rites. Some of the sounds and gestures and the accompanying drum-beats in Kathakali, especially as in the opening scene of Keechakavatha and the like, are distinctly of the spirit-invoking kind. I do not know how far the actors themselves realise the magical quality of their arts–I suppose they feel but do not understand–but I am certain that the powers they invoke and release are tremendous.

Hence I venture to claim for this art an antiquity far greater than is usually assigned to it. To say that this art is only about 250 years old is absurd. In the first place it cannot be the word of anyone single individual or a group of individuals, however clever and talented he or they may be; it is a heritage of a race, as old as itself. In the second place, it is not humanly possible to evolve and perfect an art of this kind within the short space of two centuries, even if a whole nation had put its whole energy in perfecting it, and we know for certain that this art was dying a natural death during the last two centuries, except for isolated patronage here and there by a few landlords and petty chieftains. I claim for Kathakali an age anterior to Bharata Natya or Ajanta Chitra or Sanchi Silpa; in fact this art is as great, in its own line, as Ajanta frescoes are in painting or Bahrut friezes are in sculpture.

Now what then is this Kathakali? the impatient reader may ask. It is, as its name indicates, story-play (katha: story, kali: play,) or the narration of a story in the form of a drama. But in this case the drama is a pantomime or dumb-show, accompanied by music, song and dance. It is a unique dramatic art, as daring in its conception as it is complex in its expression. Even a whole epic like the Mahabharata or the Ramayana is presented to the public, without a single word spoken by the actors, but through an evolved technique of suitable gestures, suggestive poses, clever facial expressions, and appropriate song and music. It is more elaborate than a musical play and more exacting than ordinary dramatic acting.

It is an open-air show, meant to be performed in a grove or maidan, and never inside a theatre. It has, therefore, not the usual painted curtains and horrid grounds of the Indian stage to mar its general effect. Its settings are simple and admirably serve the purpose. Just a shamiana, with a high roof supported by four poles; two tall bell-metal oillamps burning bright all through the night and shedding cool light, not trying to the eyes of both the actors and audience; a beautifully coloured cloth, held in front by two dressed-up boys every time an actor or actors make entry or exit, serving as a drop-curtain; and a stool for actors to sit upon or rest their legsas the case may be. The audience sit in front on matted floor, and the singers and drummers sing and play, standing immediately behind the actors. The orchestra consists of two singers (or narrators of stories), a maddalam player, a chendai player, a cymbal and a gong player. Conch is sounded at the beginning of a show. The first impression of this music is rather loud and harsh, but when the ears get used to them it is pleasing and enjoyable. Certain changes would need to be effected if they are to be played in a closed theatre, as the sound would be deafening, but as far as possible it is wiser to have them in open air.

The play, usually a story or scene from the Indian classics, lasts a whole night, from 9 p.m. to 6 a.m; at times continuing for several nights. In its own place and among its own people this may be all right, but when it has to be presented outside Kerala and to people with modern tastes and ideas, there must be a time-limit to it; say, two to three hours at the most. This much-needed reform is being introduced by the Kerala Kalamandalam, under the leadership of the poet Vallathol, who is devoting all his time, energy and money for the revival of this ancient art, with a hope that it would be accepted and appreciated by the world at large in its reformed state. He himself is an expert exponent of the science of gesture, and his enthusiasm is contagious. He has a keen and energetic colloborator in this work in Mr. Mukunda Raja of Kunnamkulam, the honorary secretary of the Kalamandalam.

The conventional form of Presenting a play is as follows: - First there is the announcement to the villages all around, known as Kelikottu, drum-beating about sunset time, and this is followed by Todayam and Vandanaslokams (dance music and prayers) behind the curtains, a little before the commencement of the play, and after this the first appearance of characters amidst a loud flourish of drums and conch, known as Purappadu, and the interval between this and the actual commencement of the story is taken by Melappada, musical contests between the maddalam and chendai players and the singers.

The stories interpreted by Kathakali are in poetic forms set to music, which closely resembles the temple music of South India. Several gifted poets of Kerala, some of them princes of the royal blood, have contributed much to this art in the form of poems and plays written for this purpose, which the actors faithfully try to interpret in Kathakali. The singers here, like the Dalangs in Java, are not gifted with a good voice, which is unfortunate, and even the drummers should be trained to play softer music than they do now. It would not be a bad idea if Edaka (stringed-drum) be introduced in certain scenes where solo dances are performed, conveying the sringara or soka rasas. For a proper appreciation of this art by the world at large, certain innovations and changes need to be effected, and experiments to that end should soon be made.

There are thirty varieties of dances, some simple and some complex, in Kathakali, and they are based on a sound knowledge of rhythmic laws of body movements. There is very little ‘foot-work’ in the Western sense of the term, and some of the steps are obviously primitive and uncouth. The main emphasis seems to be not so much on grace or beauty but on strength, but still there are a good number of graceful movements and steps in the dance. A student of Indian sculpture can easily trace in this art the varied bends and flexions, poses and postures that one sees in stone and bronze images.

This art is not merely suggestive and interpretative but highly descriptive and realistic too, such as, for instance, the Peacock Dance. It is an amazingly truthful portrayal of the bird’s moods and movements, its vanity and majesty. The composer of this dance was not only a keen observer of nature, and particularly of the life of the peacock, but also a psychologist who understood a little bird's flutterings of heart and mind. This clever imitation and interpretation of animal and bird life is an interesting feature of Kathakali. Knowledge and originality characterise everyone of these interpretative dances, and not the mere whim and fancy of the artist as in some of the modern dances.

It is here tradition helps and keeps in check individual idiosyncracies from running riot. A sad feature of modern art is this supreme conceit and folly in art interpretation and creation without the requisite talent or guidance. Tradition can both help or hinder; it all depends upon the artist and his genius. It is my conviction that the traditional forms evolved in Kathakali can greatly help any aspiring student of dance, and I have no doubt that more and more will go in search of it as Ragini Devi and Uday Shankar have done.

Abhinaya (i.e., interpretation and portrayal of moods, emotions and ideas through hand gestures (mudras) and facial expressions) is a singularly significant aspect of Indian dancing, and it is developed into an interesting science and art. Body movements and rhythmic foot-steps have their own important place in Hindu dancing, but not a primary place as in Western dancing. Bharata, the reputed author of Natya Sastra, has eleborated a system of gestures (mudras), and it is in use, though in a corrupt form, in the several styles of dancing existing today. But the unknown author or authors of Kathakali, either following a more ancient tradition or creating a new one, have enriched this with a wealth of words, idioms, phrases and expressions nearly as complete as the spoken language, and capable of interpreting even abstract ideas. Some of these mudras are as descriptive as any picture could be and some as suggestive as any symbol. They are based on a profound understanding of life and nature, and when you consider that the whole of the Ramayana or Mahabharata can be interpreted successfully by this gesture-language, its achievement becomes almost incredible. And yet that is what has been attempted in Kathakali!

Gods, Goddesses and Devas; Siva, Vishnu and Brahma; Parvati, Lakshmi and Saraswati; Indra, Varuna and Kubera; Rudra, Narasimha and Durga; Gandharvas, Kinnaras and Kimpurushas; Vyasa, Narada and Agastya; sun, moon and stars; clouds, thunder and lighting; rain, storm and wind; earth, sky and ocean; fire, water and air; man, woman and child; friend, foe and lover; king, queen and prince; saint, sinner and sage; teacher, warrior and workman; trees, flowers and buds; animals, birds and bees; peaks, valleys and mountains; moods, passions and thoughts; hatred, anger and jealousy; love, lust and affection; aspiration, devotion and worship; subtlety, cunning and greed; birth, death and growth; speculation, imagination and introspection; concentration, meditation and contemplation; description of scenes, incidents and, events; portrayal of persons, character and conduct; dialogues, soliloquy and conversation–all these have their appropriate mudras. Their description is, at times, true to life. Deer, fish, peacock, elephant, lotus, buds, creepers, etc. are picturesquely illustrated. Verbs, nouns, prepositions and even exclamations have their apt mudras.

Being a descriptive language, it is naturally much more elaborate and intricate than spoken language and takes time to learn. The memorising of the 24 ‘root-mudras’ and their endless permutations and combinations would itself take a long time, but to be efficient in their exposition and to master, simultaneously with it, the nine movements of the head, eight glances of the eye, six movements of the eyebrows, four postures of the neck, and other 64 movements of the feet, heels, toes, ankles, knees, thighs, waist, sides, , arms, elbows, shoulders, wrists, palms, lips, nose, chin, cheeks and eyelids, as practised in Kathakali, is indeed a matter of strict and careful training for several years. That is why a pupil takes six years the least to get some proficiency in the art, and no one is allowed to teach another unless one has learnt it for over twelve years. The discipline and regular practice these pupils have to undergo are very rigorous and exacting, and the course of physical exercise and massage of the body are exceedingly interesting, albeit a little crude and primitive.

What a mockery then it is that, after an easy and indifferent training for six months or so, young dancers come forward most brazenly to interpret the classical dance art of India before the public and expect patronage, appreciation and applause! Art is a jealous mistress and the aspirant must pay her price. In the whole of Kerala there are now only two masters of this art, who have been practising it for over forty years, and who now teach at the Kalamandalam–Kunju Kurup of Thakazhi and Narayana Nayar of Kavalapara, both great artists and good men. In any other country their genius would have been proclaimed from the house-tops, but here they live and teach in an insignificant village for no fame or money but for the love of the art and its traditions. All honour to them!

Make-up and mask play a great part in Kathakali. This art is an elaborate process needing years of practice, and there are men who specialise in it. The Kathakali make-up ordinarily consists of a white chutty (outline), made of rice paste and cleverly done in relief on the sides of the face from ear to ear, and the face within it painted green, red, or black, according to the character, on which one can observe the display of emotions and expressions of the actors. As a mask and a work of art, this is much more interesting than the artificial paper or pulp masks used in dances allover the world. Women characters do not have this make-up or mask. Personally I should prefer all characters, except the rakshassas and demons, to appear without these make-ups. To a certain extent they mar the aesthetic effects of the dance; and if any make-up is needed at all, a little paint of the flesh colour for the face, with attenuated eye-brows and slightly emphasised mouth, will equally serve the purpose.

This change in the make-up will nccessarily affect the present costumes and ornaments the actors wear, which are, truth to tell, barbaric, heavy and cumbersome. The dancers’ well-developed bodies and their graceful movements all get lost within the folds of the present long-sleeved blouses and pleated skirts. These dancers, with practically no dress, save a piece of loin cloth, create a far more beautiful impression and reveal more fully their supple form and sinuous lines than in their conventional costumes. The jewelleries too, though picturesque, are not elegant and refined. They are mostly copied from the ornaments of the temple images, and even the crowns (makutas) are heavy and can easily be replaced by a more elegant form of head-dress, like the Javanese dancers’.

A bold and courageous reform needs to be introduced in this direction; and much of the present misunderstanding about this art, in its own homeland, is due to this barbaric dress worn by the actors and the frightful rakshasa characters presented in their plays. In representing Bhayanaka and Bibhatsa rasas (fear and grotesque elements) on the stage, the Kathakali actors cannot be excelled by any in the world, and their characterisation of rakshasas is very realistic and terrible. The make-up, costume, gesture, music, and the tense atmosphere, are all awe-inspiring. This is only one feature of Kathakali, and most unfortunately, it is this aspect that is most emphasised, and hence the misunderstanding that it is inartistic, crude and primitive. This, however, is a mistake. The Kathakali actors are equally experts in presenting Sringara and Soka rasas (love and grief) or Vira and Karuna rasas (heroism and compassion), and few actors on the stage can excel them in these. But much of them is really lost in their traditional way of presentment, and it is here the authorities of the Kalamandalam can do much to make this art acceptable to the world. The poet Vallathol and his fellow-workers are eager to accept suggestions and criticisms, and it is for talented dancers and artistes like Sri Ragini Devi, Menaka, Shrimati Hutheesingh, Uday Shankar and others, to learn the art first and then suggest ways and means of modernising this ancient and glorious art.

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