Story 3: Dance of the Gods
7.30 am
Constable Santhosh stood at the window of the Edakkad Police Station, watching the sunrise. A bird chirped somewhere, and a few moments later, another chimed in. A gentle breeze blew across the room. Santhosh was ready for yet another hectic day.
An official car glided to a stop outside the Police Station. Santhosh wondered who this early visitor was. He turned from the window just in time to see a tall man rushing into the room, hands moving into the inside of his jacket. Santhosh’s hands rushed to his own weapon. A moment later, he relaxed.
The guy had brought out an ID and was saying “Sharma. Superintendent of Police, Crime Branch Investigation Department, Kannur.”
Santhosh clicked his heels together and saluted. “Constable Santhosh. Good Morning, Sir.”
SP Sharma waved him down. “I’m here to meet Sub Inspector Rajan.”
“He’ll be here in a few minutes. In the meantime, is there anything I can help you with?”
“Hmmm..yes. Tell me about the security arrangements in place for today’s program.”
 |
| Theyyam - ancient tribal art form |
Santhosh realized the SP was asking about the Theyyam that was to take place that evening in the Devi Bhagavathy temple premises.
“We’ve been told the Kannur District Collector is attending and so, security has been beefed up. 30 police personnel will be stationed around the temple. Another 30 will be checking the roads and vehicles….”
“Barricades in place?”
Santhosh stared. Be courteous to the senior official, he reminded himself. “Have you ever seen a Theyyam performance?”
“This is my first posting in Kerala. So, no, I’ve never seen it before.”
“I thought so. If you knew the setting, you wouldn’t ask about barricades.”
“Then explain it, Santhosh.”
“Theyyam is a mixture of music, dance and drama that’s performed in an open space outside the main temple. It’s an ancient tribal cultural practice that continues to this day. The performers dress up as different gods, and dance around the courtyard. The crowd stands all around, watching and praying to the ‘gods’, and the ‘gods’ mix among them, blessing, giving advice, and even handing out prophecies,” laughed Santhosh.
“I see.”
“This time, because the DC is coming, there’s a special seating area set up with a few chairs, but nothing fancy.”
SI Rajan rushed into the room, barking orders at the subordinates following him. Seeing a new face, he stopped short and raised his eyebrows questioningly at Santhosh, who made the introduction and moved away.
“I have everything under control, SP Sharma.”
“This isn’t just a routine check from the CBID, Rajan. We’ve received a tip off about today’s event.” He passed a computer printout and Rajan read, his eyes growing wider. With a shrewd look, he demanded, “Oh! Why wasn’t I intimated earlier?”
“We got the intel late last night, Rajan. I’m here now and telling you. And yes, let’s keep this on a strict need-to-know level. No point in alerting anyone.”
Sharma glanced meaningfully at Santhosh who was busy with some paperwork at another table.
“He’s alright,” Rajan mumbled.
“If you can spare him, send Santhosh to show me around?”
“Sure. Keep me posted on your findings.”
“Alright. I’m praying the Devi protects herself and all of us.”
“Faithful devotee, are you, SP Sharma? We’ll see…”
Sharma laughed, “I’m not much of a devotee. I’ve left that department to my wife who says her prayers are the reason for my miraculous escapes in this dangerous profession.”
“Hahaha…how could we ever survive without our wives’ prayers! Okay, see you later.”
10.00 am
Santhosh and Sharma got out of the car and walked to the Bhagavathy temple. A few locals were milling around, helping to set things up for the evening show.
Without warning, a tramp sitting near the temple entrance ran to Sharma. Wagging a finger under his nose, the tramp whispered, “Don’t be fooled by the gods! Watch everyone.”
Santhosh shooed the tramp away. Leaving their footwear at the designated spot, the two men walked up the steps to enter the temple. The massive wood and stone structure was filled with people and yet, serene. The fragrance of jasmine flowers mingled with the pungent odour of incense to give a heady aroma. A few windows let sunlight into the temple, but the area around the shrine was dark. The deity’s face was illuminated by the glow of the wicks burning in the brass lamp hanging inside the sanctum sanctorum. He was no ardent devotee and yet, Sharma felt some kind of prayer welling up from deep within as he stood in front of Bhagavathy.
Guided by Santhosh, Sharma walked around the temple, observing and casting surreptitious glances at the people around. They trooped into a makeshift tent that had been set up at one corner and watched as the police personnel and plainclothes people gave and received orders.
Next they walked to the temporary shelter that was being set up to seat the DC and his coterie. Santhosh explained, “He hails from this village although he has now shifted to Kannur. His coming here today is a big event for the villagers. Many of them will want to talk to him, asking help for some or the other problem.”
They walked ahead. “Hmmm…how many people are you expecting?”
“About two to three thousand for sure. Theyyam is not just the temple event; it’s a celebration for the entire village and even the neighbouring villages. Many of the youngsters from here who’re studying outside the state make it a point to visit at this time.”
As they moved further, Sharma pointed at a small house and asked what it was.
“Oh, this is the temple’s store room. Come, I’ll show you.”
Santhosh spoke to an elderly priest sitting in the front room, who glanced at Sharma and nodded. The two men went in and were confronted by a strange sight.
A heap of blood red and cheery yellow shirts. Bundles of golden lace. Cans of bright red, orange and yellow skin paint. Skirts made by weaving together spliced coconut leaves. Silver and golden crowns. Masks with hideous faces resembling the tiger, lion, and other nameless spirits. Heavy ornaments of wood and other metals coated with gold and silver paint.
“This time, because the DC is coming, there’s a special seating area set up with a few chairs, but nothing fancy.”
SI Rajan rushed into the room, barking orders at the subordinates following him. Seeing a new face, he stopped short and raised his eyebrows questioningly at Santhosh, who made the introduction and moved away.
“I have everything under control, SP Sharma.”
“This isn’t just a routine check from the CBID, Rajan. We’ve received a tip off about today’s event.” He passed a computer printout and Rajan read, his eyes growing wider. With a shrewd look, he demanded, “Oh! Why wasn’t I intimated earlier?”
“We got the intel late last night, Rajan. I’m here now and telling you. And yes, let’s keep this on a strict need-to-know level. No point in alerting anyone.”
Sharma glanced meaningfully at Santhosh who was busy with some paperwork at another table.
“He’s alright,” Rajan mumbled.
“If you can spare him, send Santhosh to show me around?”
“Sure. Keep me posted on your findings.”
“Alright. I’m praying the Devi protects herself and all of us.”
“Faithful devotee, are you, SP Sharma? We’ll see…”
Sharma laughed, “I’m not much of a devotee. I’ve left that department to my wife who says her prayers are the reason for my miraculous escapes in this dangerous profession.”
“Hahaha…how could we ever survive without our wives’ prayers! Okay, see you later.”
10.00 am
Santhosh and Sharma got out of the car and walked to the Bhagavathy temple. A few locals were milling around, helping to set things up for the evening show.
Without warning, a tramp sitting near the temple entrance ran to Sharma. Wagging a finger under his nose, the tramp whispered, “Don’t be fooled by the gods! Watch everyone.”
Santhosh shooed the tramp away. Leaving their footwear at the designated spot, the two men walked up the steps to enter the temple. The massive wood and stone structure was filled with people and yet, serene. The fragrance of jasmine flowers mingled with the pungent odour of incense to give a heady aroma. A few windows let sunlight into the temple, but the area around the shrine was dark. The deity’s face was illuminated by the glow of the wicks burning in the brass lamp hanging inside the sanctum sanctorum. He was no ardent devotee and yet, Sharma felt some kind of prayer welling up from deep within as he stood in front of Bhagavathy.
Guided by Santhosh, Sharma walked around the temple, observing and casting surreptitious glances at the people around. They trooped into a makeshift tent that had been set up at one corner and watched as the police personnel and plainclothes people gave and received orders.
Next they walked to the temporary shelter that was being set up to seat the DC and his coterie. Santhosh explained, “He hails from this village although he has now shifted to Kannur. His coming here today is a big event for the villagers. Many of them will want to talk to him, asking help for some or the other problem.”
They walked ahead. “Hmmm…how many people are you expecting?”
“About two to three thousand for sure. Theyyam is not just the temple event; it’s a celebration for the entire village and even the neighbouring villages. Many of the youngsters from here who’re studying outside the state make it a point to visit at this time.”
As they moved further, Sharma pointed at a small house and asked what it was.
“Oh, this is the temple’s store room. Come, I’ll show you.”
Santhosh spoke to an elderly priest sitting in the front room, who glanced at Sharma and nodded. The two men went in and were confronted by a strange sight.
A heap of blood red and cheery yellow shirts. Bundles of golden lace. Cans of bright red, orange and yellow skin paint. Skirts made by weaving together spliced coconut leaves. Silver and golden crowns. Masks with hideous faces resembling the tiger, lion, and other nameless spirits. Heavy ornaments of wood and other metals coated with gold and silver paint.
“Thank God we don’t have to check through these things,” said Santhosh watching Sharma’s lost look. With an apologetic shrug, he smiled, “It’s quite a mess, no?”
“What’s that?”
Sharma was gesturing towards a set of oversized wooden headgear which seemed to take pride of place in the room. Set separate on a wooden platform, the objects seemed to have recently been worshipped with turmeric, vermilion and incense.
“That’s called ‘Mudi’ – the ceremonial headgear that will be worn by the Theyyam performers. It is revered like a deity itself. You won’t believe it – I didn’t either before seeing it for myself – the men get transformed as soon as it’s tied to their heads. They seem to actually become the god or goddess they’re playing. Believers say the spirits enter into them, making them say things that reveal the past and predict the future.”
“What’s that?”
Sharma was gesturing towards a set of oversized wooden headgear which seemed to take pride of place in the room. Set separate on a wooden platform, the objects seemed to have recently been worshipped with turmeric, vermilion and incense.
“That’s called ‘Mudi’ – the ceremonial headgear that will be worn by the Theyyam performers. It is revered like a deity itself. You won’t believe it – I didn’t either before seeing it for myself – the men get transformed as soon as it’s tied to their heads. They seem to actually become the god or goddess they’re playing. Believers say the spirits enter into them, making them say things that reveal the past and predict the future.”
 |
| Typical dress of a Theyyam performer |
“Really?” Sharma was sceptical of such legends. A little knowledge of human psychology and some exposure to personal pain with a glib tongue was enough for anyone to turn into a prophet or soothsayer.
“Where can we have some lunch, Santhosh? I had an early breakfast, you know.”
They walked to an eatery near the temple. The tramp they had seen earlier was sitting in a corner of the thatched hut, picking listlessly at his meal. As Sharma passed by, the tramp caught his eye and whispered with menace, “Did you check the gods?”
Shaken, Sharma stared at him before being rescued yet again by Santhosh.
After lunch, they walked back to the temple premises. Sharma wandered around, checking to see how the security arrangements were coming along, giving a word of advice here, lending a helping hand there, and keeping an eye on all the comings and goings.
4.00 pm
Startled by loud voices like those of people in a brawl, Sharma raced to the house that served as the store room. He met Santhosh who explained, “Someone saw that tramp hanging around the store room and pushed him away. You see, the Theyyam performers keep themselves pure by abstaining from non-vegetarian food and alcohol for at least a month before this event. They didn’t want this drunk polluting the place.”
As they walked away, Sharma racked his brain for something that eluded him. Was it something the tramp said? Or something Santhosh said? Below the serene setting of the temple and the festival, something was off, and Sharma could feel it in his gut, but try as he might, he couldn’t put a finger on it. Relax, he told himself, it’ll come to you when your mind is calm.
6.30 pm
The sun was setting and yet, even as darkness advanced, the temple and its surroundings began to throb with a new energy. Flaming torches were placed at strategic positions to throw light into the temple courtyard. Their dancing flames gave a bright glow to some places and threw long shadows elsewhere.
The police were directing vehicles into the makeshift parking lot that had been created a little away from the temple. Those exiting their vehicles had to pass through a body and baggage check before they could enter the Theyyam premises. What about the villagers who were already inside, Sharma wondered? Would SI Rajan’s men have checked them as thoroughly? It was an emotionally charged event for the villagers who naturally resented all these trappings that arise from modern day law and order problems.
The crowd around the temple swelled, waiting for the spectacle that was to follow.
Sharma watched the DC and his group being led to their seats. As Santhosh had rightly pointed out, some villagers were trying to get close to him, but the police were pushing them away, leading to a few disgruntled shouts. Sharma had got separated from Santhosh a little while ago, leaving the Constable to his tasks. Everything seemed okay so far.
8.00 pm
The air was thick with the heady fragrance of incense, flowers and burning camphor. The torches burned bright, throwing a few sparks here and there. A conch blew, long and deep, and some kind of a wind instrument let out a prolonged wail. Sharma heard the beating of drums and felt the intensity of their vibrations in the pit of his stomach. He leaned against a tree with eyes lightly closed and an observer would have thought he was in a trance. He felt once again, a prayer escaping his lips, asking Bhagavathy to ensure all went smoothly.
The next moment, his eyes flew open and Sharma stumbled, rushing to find Santhosh. What a fool he’d been! Had anyone thought of running a security check through the store room that housed the costumes? What if....He didn’t have Santhosh’s cell number but had to find him at once. ‘Let it not be too late,’ he prayed as he ran.
Almost as if in answer, Devi Bhagavathy danced her way into the arena, her flamboyant costume and headgear swaying with sublime grace to the beat of the drums and the blow of the conch. Sharma stood mesmerised by the sight, unable to take his eyes off the deity and her massive ‘Mudi’. In her hand was the customary turmeric, that she smeared and sprinkled on the devotees who rushed and bowed with respect, beseeching Her blessings.
“Where can we have some lunch, Santhosh? I had an early breakfast, you know.”
They walked to an eatery near the temple. The tramp they had seen earlier was sitting in a corner of the thatched hut, picking listlessly at his meal. As Sharma passed by, the tramp caught his eye and whispered with menace, “Did you check the gods?”
Shaken, Sharma stared at him before being rescued yet again by Santhosh.
After lunch, they walked back to the temple premises. Sharma wandered around, checking to see how the security arrangements were coming along, giving a word of advice here, lending a helping hand there, and keeping an eye on all the comings and goings.
4.00 pm
Startled by loud voices like those of people in a brawl, Sharma raced to the house that served as the store room. He met Santhosh who explained, “Someone saw that tramp hanging around the store room and pushed him away. You see, the Theyyam performers keep themselves pure by abstaining from non-vegetarian food and alcohol for at least a month before this event. They didn’t want this drunk polluting the place.”
As they walked away, Sharma racked his brain for something that eluded him. Was it something the tramp said? Or something Santhosh said? Below the serene setting of the temple and the festival, something was off, and Sharma could feel it in his gut, but try as he might, he couldn’t put a finger on it. Relax, he told himself, it’ll come to you when your mind is calm.
6.30 pm
The sun was setting and yet, even as darkness advanced, the temple and its surroundings began to throb with a new energy. Flaming torches were placed at strategic positions to throw light into the temple courtyard. Their dancing flames gave a bright glow to some places and threw long shadows elsewhere.
The police were directing vehicles into the makeshift parking lot that had been created a little away from the temple. Those exiting their vehicles had to pass through a body and baggage check before they could enter the Theyyam premises. What about the villagers who were already inside, Sharma wondered? Would SI Rajan’s men have checked them as thoroughly? It was an emotionally charged event for the villagers who naturally resented all these trappings that arise from modern day law and order problems.
The crowd around the temple swelled, waiting for the spectacle that was to follow.
Sharma watched the DC and his group being led to their seats. As Santhosh had rightly pointed out, some villagers were trying to get close to him, but the police were pushing them away, leading to a few disgruntled shouts. Sharma had got separated from Santhosh a little while ago, leaving the Constable to his tasks. Everything seemed okay so far.
8.00 pm
The air was thick with the heady fragrance of incense, flowers and burning camphor. The torches burned bright, throwing a few sparks here and there. A conch blew, long and deep, and some kind of a wind instrument let out a prolonged wail. Sharma heard the beating of drums and felt the intensity of their vibrations in the pit of his stomach. He leaned against a tree with eyes lightly closed and an observer would have thought he was in a trance. He felt once again, a prayer escaping his lips, asking Bhagavathy to ensure all went smoothly.
The next moment, his eyes flew open and Sharma stumbled, rushing to find Santhosh. What a fool he’d been! Had anyone thought of running a security check through the store room that housed the costumes? What if....He didn’t have Santhosh’s cell number but had to find him at once. ‘Let it not be too late,’ he prayed as he ran.
Almost as if in answer, Devi Bhagavathy danced her way into the arena, her flamboyant costume and headgear swaying with sublime grace to the beat of the drums and the blow of the conch. Sharma stood mesmerised by the sight, unable to take his eyes off the deity and her massive ‘Mudi’. In her hand was the customary turmeric, that she smeared and sprinkled on the devotees who rushed and bowed with respect, beseeching Her blessings.
 |
| Bhagavathy |
Suddenly the goddess was near Sharma, putting out her left hand and tugging him close, hissing above the din, “Puliyoorkannan.” Chortling with laughter, she brandished the sword in her right arm and chopped the air. Just as suddenly, she pointed frantically to someone in the crowd, and shoved Sharma so hard that he fell against a policeman in the crowd, who had also witnessed the entire scene.
Breathing hard and struggling to find his footing in the crowd, Sharma used a mixture of Hindi and English to talk to the policeman. He understood that ‘Puliyoorkannan’ was another Theyyam performance that would follow. Sharma moved hurriedly through the crowd and found himself near the back of the temple, right outside the store room.
Two young men lay unconscious by the wall. Sharma noticed that their arms and ankles were tied with rope to make sure they didn’t get away..
All was quiet and a solitary light shone inside the room. As he crept towards the door, Sharma heard a loud thud, as if something heavy had dropped to the floor. Drawing his gun, he braced against the wall. When there was no further sound, he whipped the door open, and entered, raising his weapon, ready to fire.
A hood was slipped over Sharma’s head and as he thrashed about, he heard a voice bark, “We’re on the same side. Put your weapon away.”
He complied at once. The hood was removed and he saw the tramp grinning at him. “You’re a bit too late for ‘Puliyoorkannan’ but luckily I got here in time to see him fiddling with the ‘Mudi’.” He pointed to the prone form of a Theyyam performer sprawled on the floor. So that was the thud I heard, thought Sharma.
The tramp rushed to the wooden platform that held the ‘Mudi.’ There were only two left there. Gingerly, by turns, he turned them this way and that and finally handed one over to Sharma. “Don’t stand there gaping. There’s a bomb placed inside this ‘Mudi’. Take it out to the bomb disposal squad. They’re outside the temple gate. For God’s sake, be careful, will you? Here, cover it with this cloth or the crowd will think you’re stealing the headgear and then, even Devi Bhagavathy won’t be able to save you!”
Sharma was too shocked to move. Misunderstanding him, the tramp mocked, “Oh, too scared, are we? Fine, I’ll take it, but you’ll have to don the ‘Puliyoorkannan’ costume and dance and bless all those people waiting outside. Okay with you?”
At that, Sharma snapped out of his shock and took the headgear out of the tramp’s hands. He walked out, skirted around the crowd and finally delivered the object in his hands to the bomb disposal squad. After a few terse sentences explaining things, he left them to their job, and sprinted back to the Theyyam arena.
Sharma found Santhosh standing with SI Rajan who was busy on the phone. As he came up to them, Rajan finished his call and gave Sharma an appraising look. “That was quite a performance, SP Sharma. But I think this one beats yours,” he added with an amused grin, pointing ahead.
Sharma’s eyes followed Rajan’s fingers, lingering on the form of ‘Puliyoorkannan’ making his way towards them, swaying to the drumbeats, as he pulled hideous faces and made exaggerated, ferocious gestures at the crowd.
“He’s one of our undercover agents,” explained Rajan. “Very talented, as you can see. He’s the deity all our wives must be thanking tonight.”
 |
| Puliyoorkannan |
Absolutely beautiful story 🤞
ReplyDelete