In Focus: Muslim Theyyams                      K.K. Gopalakrishnan

Theyyam is a deeply religious, pantheistic Dravidian ritual, preserved and practised in the northern villages of Kerala—primarily in the present-day Kasaragod and Kannur districts. Though classified as ritual folk art, Theyyam stands as the most prominent regional mainstream tradition of Kerala, on par with other classical forms that enjoy the freedom to be performed widely. In essence, Theyyam is total theatre: a belief-driven ritual performed within an agrarian society, historically, structured by caste divisions and class-based occupations.

The entire fraternity of Theyyam artists hails from historically marginalised communities within Kerala’s caste structure, largely comprising the peasant class. Yet, during the ritual, when these performers take on divine form, even upper-caste patrons bow before them—acknowledging their transformation into sacrosanct figures, transcending social boundaries— briefly.

The cult deities revered by historically marginalised communities often emerge from local legends and oral traditions, while those associated with Nair communities and their sub-sections—barring a few exceptions—tend to be linked to local myths that intersect with broader Hindu mythologies. In Theyyam, this results in both the personification of deities and the deification of individuals. The vital worship concepts in Theyyam are mother goddess, spirit of warriors and ancestors. Snakes and animals are also worshipped as Theyyam.

Theyyam is deeply intertwined with agricultural life—its rituals reflecting land preparation, crop protection, prayers for harvest, and reverence for nature and ancestors. Agriculture and kaavus (the sacred grooves) coexisted symbiotically, with Theyyam embodying an urge to safeguard both land and ecosystem by sanctifying them as divine spaces. Over time, this evolved through feudal and caste structures, which remained embedded in its practice until some years after the Land Reforms Act of 1963.

Muthuswami Dikshitar 250: In the footsteps of his father     Sriram V

We often tend to look upon the Trinity as three standalone men – geniuses in music whose skills were devoid of any external influences. Nothing could be farther than the truth. Circumstances, and people, shaped the Trinity in what they became, though it has to be acknowledged that they were head and shoulders above their predecessors and their peers. In the case of Muthuswami Dikshitar, his father Ramaswami Dikshitar was perhaps the greatest influence. He was to leave his impress in not just the music of his son, but on the way the latter’s life unfolded. Surprisingly Ramaswami Dikshitar gets very little credit. He is dismissed as Muthuswami Dikshitar’s father and nothing more.

If music was the one abiding trait that spanned the entire family ranging from Ramaswami Dikshitar to Ambi Dikshitar, travel was another. Everyone moved about, be it Muthuswami, Chinnaswami and Baluswami, and later towards the end of his life Subbarama and Ambi Dikshitars. But it was Ramaswami Dikshitar that began the trend. He moved depending on where his livelihood took him. And in that he set the trend. The Dikshitar family was highly peripatetic. They moved at times owing to historic circumstances. At other times it was due to career prospects. It seems therefore apt that our introduction to Ramaswami Dikshitar is by way of a journey he undertook, when he was just seven.

From Subbarama Dikshitar’s Vaggeyakara Charitramu (VC), it is clear that Ramaswami Dikshitar was born in 1735 to Venkateswara Dikshita and Bhagirathi. His initial years were spent in Kanchipuram. Scholars have extrapolated on this to state that the Dikshitar family came from Virinchipuram in North Arcot district but there is no substantiation of this claim from Subbarama Dikshitar himself. When Ramaswami Dikshitar was seven, he was forced to flee Kanchipuram with his ‘aged’ parents as Subbarama Dikshitar carefully states. The term aged may not tally with what we understand of it now. Anyone nearing fifty may have been considered so. Certainly, it is safe to surmise that Ramaswami Dikshitar was a late born and probably only offspring of his parents. 

Morsing—An uncommon instrument and a remarkable legacy     Srilatha Krishna

Morsing, the smallest instrument in a Carnatic concert, adds a distinct melodic flavour in a percussion ensemble. It has other names such as jaw harp, Jew’s harp, mouth harp, and mukha shankha; versions of this instrument are played in many parts of the world. The state of Assam in India is home to a bamboo variant of this instrument called the gogona, which is played during the festival of Bihu. The instrument made its entry at Carnatic concerts, possibly, in the early 1900s. The South Indian version of this instrument (morsing) is made of brass and can be tuned to slightly different pitches. Percussionists typically articulate the mridangam syllables (jati) while playing the instrument, allowing it to blend with the percussion ensemble.

The story of this instrument in Karnataka is closely tied to the legendary artist L. Bhimachar. Born on 20 May 1931, he had a rich career as a morsing artist. He passed away on 1 October 2024. Currently, his children and grandchildren are torchbearers of his legacy. Trained under his artistic guidance, they have been lighting up concert stages with their masterful handling of this pocket-sized instrument.

No Ordinary Intellect: Shatavadhani R. Ganesh            Jagyaseni Chatterjee

It was a busy Wednesday night when he offered what might be the most scholar-like time for an interview—9 p.m. I had my questions ready, a notepad filled with scribbles. There he was on Zoom, seated upright, his calm eyes reflecting a clarity
honed by years of scholarship. His tone was gentle—no rushing, no flamboyant emphasis, just steady, unbroken composure.

Dr R. Ganesh is no ordinary intellect. A scholar, poet, philosopher, and master of the ancient Indian art of Avadhana, where he simultaneously composes verses in multiple languages, solves intricate mathematical puzzles, and responds to a hundred questioners—all while preserving the rhythm and aesthetic grace of classical poetry.

He is credited with reviving the art of Avadhana in Kannada. He has per-formed over 1,300 Ashtavadhanams and five Shatavadhanams in both Kannada and Sanskrit. He has conceptualised new art forms such as Ekavyakti-Yakshagana,Yugala-Yakshagana, Ekavyakti-talamaddale, and Kavya-chitra-gita-nritya, which have seen numerous performances both in India and abroad. As veteran danseuse Padma Subrahmanyam points out, “Such intellectuals are born once in a century.”

With a sparkle in his eyes, Ganesh began the conver­sation, “Avadhana is an intellectual sport, indeed a demanding art—it calls for sponta­neous retention, exposition, multi­tasking, and lateral thinking.” He continued, “In most other art forms, spontaneity is constrained within a performer’s choices. But in Avadhana, spontaneity is tested by external forces—scholars pose unpredictable questions, distractors attempt to unsettle the performer, and all answers must conform to classical prosody while retaining rasa and novelty.”