“May the echoes of your azaan and the sacred sound of my conch be carried through time by our children, for a millennium. Let them be preserved under the watchful eyes of my companions and the deities.”
So declares Vishnumoorthy theyyam (the person playing the character of god Vishnu) during his ritualistic visit to Perumbatta Juma Masjid as part of the Mappila Theyyam festival held each year at Perumbatta Padarkulangara Bhagavathy temple in Kasargod, north Kerala. It is a festival celebrating the oneness of humanity, irrespective of caste and creed. At the mosque, the theyyam (the word literally means god or god incarmate) performer closes his eyes as the Asar prayer (the fourth of the six Islamic prayers performed in a day) echoes through the skies: his anklets fall silent. The entire village, gathered as the audience, takes the moment of silence as an invitation to reflect and introspect. The pause conveys deep wisdom, gesturing at the possibility of bridging the gap between the divine and the mundane.
Aali theyyam offers prayers at Kamballur Fort, Kasargod. | Photo Credit: Prasoon Kiran
The legend of Mappila Theyyam revolves around the mysterious death of Kalanthar Mukri, a religious teacher at Pulingom mosque, and its link to Karim Chamundi, a fierce female deity of the northern kaavu. When Karim Chamundi theyyam arrives at the mosque, Mukri theyyam goes to meet her after finishing his namaz. Later they decide on the date of the Pulingom Maqam Uroos (a festival at Pulingom mosque in Kasaragod marking the death anniversary of an Islamic religious leader) in the presence of the fort’s descendants. In the picture, we see Mukri theyyam and Karim Chamundi theyyam in Kamballur village, Kasargod. | Photo Credit: Prasoon Kiran
“Are we not one and the same? Like petals of a single flower, we exist. Your azaan should seep deep into my ears. In times when earth and air tremble in unspoken fear, we move and act, carrying the realisation that all—including the living and the lifeless—are one,” says Vishnumoorthy theyyam.
Pottan theyyam, lying on a pyre, calls out to Muslim believers, asking them to heed his words. Pottan theyyam is believed to be the reincarnation of Alankaran Pulayan, who challenged Shankaracharya’s mastery over the epics and the Vedas. Pottan, literally meaning “fool”, paradoxically denotes the wisdom of the Pulayans (a Dalit community of Kerala), who questioned caste fanaticism. | Photo Credit: Prasoon Kiran
The Theyyam season in Kerala starts from mid-October and lasts until end of May. The performances are concentrated in North Malabar, including the districts of Kannur, Kasargod, Wayanad, and the northern parts of Kozhikode. The speciality of Mappila Theyyam (the Mappilas are a Muslim community living in Kerala and the Lakshadweep Islands) is that it is an inclusive ritual, with characters performing in traditional Islamic attire (white vest, white skullcap, and lungi).
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The theyyam offers prayers in the courtyard of Koolom Bhagavathy kaavu, Maloth village, Kasargod. | Photo Credit: Prasoon Kiran
A Theyyam performer has a multitude of skills—from the art of face-painting, singing the thottam paattu (ritual song), making costumes, ornaments and head gear, playing drums and percussions, to mastering the dance techniques and rituals. Theyyam underscores a deep understanding of nature and conservation. The art of face-painting is particularly significant because its motifs are drawn from nature, with peacock, pigeon, tiger, deer, snake, conch, sun and moon serving as symbols. The make-up is created by mixing turmeric, rice flour and charcoal. In the picture, Bappiriyan theyyam gets his face painted in Cherukunnu village, Kannur. | Photo Credit: Prasoon Kiran
According to legend, the Mappila characters represent not daivas (spirit) but human personalities associated with the theyyam who died for a cause or were avenged. The myth of Mappila Theyyam is a conglomerate of stories speaking of Hindu-Muslim exchanges and unity, as well as an affirmation of identity. It is a statement against divisiveness, upholding the bond between the kavu (sacred grove) and its culture, represented by Theyyam, and all of humanity.
Bappiriyan was the captain of the wooden boat of Aryapoonganni, the chief deity who voyaged from Aryarnadu to Kolathunadu. The story of Aryapoonganni’s journey with her brothers and Bappiriyan is a powerful narrative about religion, caste and reverence. Here we see Bappiriyan theyyam and other Mappila characters gathered in Cherukunnu village. | Photo Credit: Prasoon Kiran
It is believed that goddess Karim Chamundi killed the pregnant wife of Aali Mappila, a fishseller from Payathu Hill. Aali theyyam performs as the fishseller at the Payyannur Minnadan ancestral kaavu. | Photo Credit: Prasoon Kiran
The affirmation harks back to the origins of Theyyam, which was performed in olden times by members of the indigenous tribal community: the “untouchables”. For the duration of the performance, when the god (daivam) descends on the performer (also called theyyam), he becomes more than human, a god himself, with power over everyone: Brahmins, Nambiars, Thiyyas, Malayans, Pulayans, or Vannans. By taking its life, voice, and breath from those deemed untouchable, Theyyam becomes an articulation of resistance.
Vishnumoorthy returns from Perumbatta Juma Masjid during the Kasaragod Perumbatta Padarkulangara Bhagavathy temple festival. On the festival day, the theyyam performer enters the mosque with a procession of devotees, who are welcomed by the mosque authorities and the mohalla committee with water and sweets. The rice for the communal meal is provided by the mosque. | Photo Credit: Prasoon Kiran
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The Mappila Theyyam of North Malabar goes one step further to announce the oneness of people not just across castes but also religions. It encapsulates the spirit of north Kerala, whose landscape—consisting of laterite hills, paddy fields, rivers, and forests— speaks of unity in diversity. Here harmony is not a borrowed concept but a living tradition, expressed in the message of the Theyyam oracle: “You and I are the one and the same.”
The revered space of the kaavus, protected down the ages, represents an age-old method of nature conservation. Villagers feed monkeys at the Kasargod Thrikaripoor Edayilakkad kaavu in an act of care. The board says, “Sacred groves are the lungs of the Earth”. | Photo Credit: Prasoon Kiran
No wonder then that small discords notwithstanding, Hindu-Muslim unity is still intact in the villages of Kasargod. In this land of synthesis, Islam is not otherised but embraced as a protector, an ally of the theyyam.
Prasoon Kiran has been a photojournalist for over 12 years, working with newspapers and magazines. His photographs have been featured on the covers of Mathrubhumi Weekly. At present, he leads the visual department at The Malabar Journal.
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