Please Don't Eat Us!

Cannanore (Kannur), Kerala - February 3

It's 9:30 AM and we've just left our first Theyyam performance. We sit in a small, roadside restaurant where the hot, sweet chai warms and revives me. We kinda screwed up on this one, not arriving until almost 6 AM, as we didn't really understand how it all works. We just weren't even sure WHEN to go as we'd been told the performances last all night, begin at 7 PM, and at midnight, and 4 in the morning, but go until Noon... Huh?! Even finding the right temple, especially in the middle of the night, is a bit of an adventure in itself. We could hear the beating of drums from the spot where the rickshaw dropped us and told us to follow the string of fluorescent tubes vertically suspended from tree branches. The first thing we saw upon entering the sacred grove where the temple stood was a seated figure, painted white with black designs and crowned with a 30-foot-high headress! We watched for awhile as people went to him for what looked to be fortune telling. Further in, the dance was underway. The dancer/God or Theyyam wore an elaborate red skirt with silver bells and large headress. He had white cotton around his mouth to enlarge it's appearance and silver orbs covering his eyes. The Theyyam danced around the sacred grove of the temple, shaking smoldering twigs which cast sparks about. The rhythm of the tablas + horns was tribal and infectious, and very fierce at times. Traditionally, the dancer works himself into a trance and blood sacrifices were sometimes made. There were only a handful of tourists in the crowd of 80ish and contrary to the Kathakali performance we'd just seen in Cochin, as good as that was, this was no Made for Tourists affair. Everyone, young and old, watched intently and at the end surrounded the God to receive a blessing.

It's amazing that this ancient ritual from the time of Shakespeare is still alive today. It's almost equally amazing, and what a great pleasure it is, to be welcomed as a foriegner into such an intimate and holy ceremony. We've never seen, or even DREAMED we'd see anything like this! We want to do it again.


The following day

Wow - The Theyyam this morning was AMAZING! I still feel shaken from it. The temple grounds with giant, old banyan and frangipani trees, the fire, the drums, the open curiosity of the people, the dimly-lit mysteriousness of it all... This gathering was at least 1-1/2 times the size of the previous nights and with no other foreigners. The whole aura was such, and combined with the fact that several men + older teens were asking an uncomfortable lot of questions about what hotel we're staying at, how did we get to the village, what are our jobs, did we bring cameras + mobile phones, etc. that in my mind it all began adding up to "Does anyone know you're here?" I began feeling apprehensive that we might not make it out of here all in one piece. My mind conjured the image of Johnny Depp when he was tied up by the tribe in Pirates - They liked us, but did our unexpected and possibly auspicious appearance at such a sacred event indicate the need for a sacrifice? Possibly human? Possibly us?! Starting to shiver, I turned to Darin and said "If the God turns and points at us and begins speaking excitedly to the people - RUN!" The vibe didn't SEEM menacing, but it was THAT intense. I know it sounds a bit paranoid, but you DO hear stories + read warnings about travellers disappearing without a trace, and I thought - Yup, and it happens JUST LIKE THIS. For more than three hours I tortured myself in this way while at the same time being mesmerized by the music + dance and feeling thankful for our good fortune to be there.

To start, this Theyyam had been more difficult to find than our last, especially at 3 in the morning. When we began to see families walking down the road and then the fluorescent tubes illuminating a dirt trail we knew we must be there. Within a minute of our arrival we realized that no dancing was happening and that all eyes were on US. We figured we'd take a seat at the circular bench surrounding the base of the old banyan and just try to, you know, blend in. As to be expected, within another minute we were surrounded by a group of children and a chorus of "Hello, what is your name's?" Then, the next tier of delegates, high-school-aged boys with a little English proficiency - one of whom was behaving strangely and had the bewildered look on his face of a boy getting drunk for the very first time. As soon as we could extricate ourselves, we migrated a few steps down to the shoeless, sacred ground surrounding the temple. The night was unusually chilly and I was grateful to be able to place my feet in the still-warm ashes of an extinguished fire. We were tentatively answering the men's questions (that I mentioned earlier) when we noticed people gathering around a figure that was now seated under the old banyan. Our self-appointed minder, Vysha, said it was the God having the finishing touches of his costume applied. We walked back over and noticed the villagers buying packs of white cotton which the Brahmin's/priests then affixed to the God's entire torso + arms so that he appeared a fierce Q-tip warrior. The words of the Kathakali narrator from the other night came to mind - Head bigger. Mouth bigger. Body bigger. - to create a larger-than-life God in human form.

The drums began and then the God ran around the banyan down onto the sacred ground. The band of drummers + horn players continually adjusted to his rhythm - slower, now faster, then steady, now faster again, now frenzied - in an endless ebb + flow like the sea. And me, frightened + hypnotised like a sailor to the Sirens, so that in my impotence I tasted bile in my throat. Honestly, I just didn't know - would, or could they harm us? Ultimately, I resolved it was all in my head, and by the dawns first light I was no longer afraid. The performance wound down and people trailed off to their respective homes in the village. And we departed too, the morning mist still hugging the ground and birds singing as we walked the 3km back to the main highway to flag a bus back to town.


In hindsight, one of the things I've realized I like best about Indian festivals and pilgrimages is the communal vibe. Whether it be a 1-day or 1-week event, the people come out in DROVES and seem to share a strong sense of camaraderie. We saw this at the Tiruvannamalai full moon walk and now at the annual temple Theyyams. Though these events essentially go all night, they involve several hours of down-time in between in which to hang out with your neighbors (though segregated by sex) and essentially enjoy a big, adult slumber party. It'd be great if we had more occasions for this at home.

Check the "link" for all our photos from Kerala. Darin's got a couple great ones from the big night as I was too scared to pull my camera out.