Kutiyattam: A Sacred Performance Where Eyes Speak a Thousand Words
Kutiyattam, a Sanskrit theatre tradition over 2,000 years old, demonstrates the art of storytelling not through words, but through animated eyes, lively expressions, and evocative gestures.
Sense of Wander: ★★★★★
A renowned Kutiyattam practitioner, Kapila Venu tells stories through her expressive and animated gestures. Image courtesy of the performer.
YILAN, Taiwan — As the lights dim, a musician, dressed in a white dhoti tied at the waist, steps onto the stage, moving towards the oil lamp placed at its front. He chants a mantra toward this lone source of light, a glow that remains throughout the performance and, as we’re told, symbolises the presence of the divine. The light also appears to draw an invisible boundary, marking this sacred space for the faithful alone.
Once his brief chant is complete, he makes his first strike on the mizhavu, a copper drum resembling the ancient Chinese wine vessels. The beat is so loud that, at first, it nearly shocks me out of my seat.
The rhythmic beats feel like a ritual cleansing, washing away the audience’s lingering thoughts and worries. He then comes to a pause as another musician, also in a white dhoti, joins the stage. Together, they lift a rectangular piece of ruby-coloured fabric bordered in white — a mini stage curtain that accentuates the ritualistic threshold before us.
As the drum beats intensify, we cross into a world beyond our own, one of myth and legend, while the sound of the conch shell signals the emergence of our storyteller. Her animated eye movements, shifting from left to right, are in rhythm with the drumbeats. Dark kohl lines her eyes, intensifying her gaze, while a row of white dots arcs above her eyebrows.
In the Kutiyattam tradition, this solo female performance is known as Nangiar Koothu, where female performers, called Nangiyars, take centre stage. Unlike other forms of Kutiyattam, which feature mixed-gender casts, Nangiar Koothu celebrates the art of a solo female storyteller.
Today, our storyteller is Kapila Venu, a practitioner of Kutiyattam hailing from Kerala. At the centre of her stunning red headdress rests a naga (serpent), a potent symbol of divinity and protection. Rows of lustrous pearls cascade across her chest, while a gleaming golden collar encircles her neck. Her wrist sparkles with gold bangles, amplifying her unique presence.
The oil lamp, positioned at the front of the stage, is lit during the performance to symbolise the presence of the divine.
Venu captivates us with a stunning feat that highlights the expressiveness of her eyes, drawing our full attention. Once this is complete, she gracefully pulls a wooden stool to the centre of the stage and begins narrating the episode of “Sita Parityagam” (“Abandonment of Sita”) from the Hindu epic Ramayana.
Throughout the performance, our Nangiyar remains silent, using her facial expressions and body movements to bring the story to life. The accompanying drum beats — sometimes slow, sometimes intense — help convey the emotions of this silent narrative. In her portrayal, our storyteller seamlessly shifts between characters: Sita, Lord Rama, Lakshmana, Valmiki, Sita’s two sons, and even animals. I must admit that, for first-timers like me, keeping up with these shifts can be quite challenging.
While the performance is largely silent, there are rare moments when our storyteller uses her voice. In one poignant scene, the pregnant Sita, upon learning of Lord Rama’s intention to abandon her due to doubts about her chastity, asks Lakshmana to convey her anguish: “You have abandoned me, who has been tested by fire. Does this align with your virtue? Is this the value of your education and royal bloodline?” Spoken in Sanskrit, these words capture the depth of Sita’s sorrow. The entire forest mourns with her — even the peacocks cease their dance in empathy. This scene resonates with me so deeply that I can literally feel my chest tightening. Thankfully, the saint Valmiki takes them in.
Years later, when Rama encounters his two sons and reunites with Sita, he requests her to undergo the fire test once more before he takes her back. Disheartened by this demand, Sita cries out, “Mother Earth, you must accept me.” The moment when Sita is embraced by the earth, vanishing from Rama’s sight, is vividly portrayed, despite the Nangiyar playing multiple roles almost simultaneously. Before I know it, the sound of the conch shell signals the end of the performance.
Throughout the performance, the Nangiyar’s opulent costumes are impossible to overlook. Image courtesy of National Centre for Traditional Arts.
Kapila Venu conveys profound emotions through her brilliant performances. Image courtesy of National Centre for Traditional Arts.
Though this isn’t my first encounter with Sita’s tragedy, it is my first experience witnessing the story unfold on stage. In this sacred space, akin to a temple, the tale is told not through words but the storyteller’s expressive gestures. The remarkable attention to detail and intricate performance style can stretch the telling of a single story to an astonishing 40 days. As crazy as that may sound, it becomes clear why after witnessing this play live.
Besides “Sita Parityagam,” Kapila Venu, in collaboration with Natanakairali (The Research Training and Performing Centre for Traditional Arts in India), also presented “Tapassaattam,” or “Ravana’s Penance,” as part of the 2024 Asia-Pacific Traditional Arts Festival.
For those unfamiliar with the story, “Tapassaattam” is also an episode from Ramayana. It delves into the story of Kaikesi, Ravana’s mother, who is consumed by jealousy toward her stepson Kubera, the god of wealth and ruler of Lanka. Wanting her son Ravana to surpass Kubera, she instills in him a fierce ambition for ultimate power.
In his quest to please Lord Shiva and attain invincibility, the ten-headed Ravana embarks on a grueling penance by sacrificing his own heads. Impressed by Ravana’s unwavering devotion, Shiva appears before him, granting him immense power and strength. With this newfound invincibility, Ravana returns to Lanka, defeats Kubera, and seizes the throne for himself.
What captivates me about Venu’s rendition is her portrayal of baby Ravana resting in his mother’s arms, awakened by her tears — an entire narrative conveyed without a single word spoken! The moment when Ravana begins to cut off his own heads is equally striking; it starts slowly, then accelerates and intensifies, as the drum beats in the background heightening the dramatic effect. Venu masterfully captures the tension just before Ravana is about to sever his tenth and final head, only to be halted by Lord Shiva.
In collaboration with Natanakairali, Kapila Venu presents “Sita Parityagam” and “Tapassaattam” during the 2024 Asia-Pacific Traditional Arts Festival, marking the first performance of its kind in Taiwan. Image courtesy of National Centre for Traditional Arts.
As I watch Venu perform, I can’t help but draw parallels between this ancient Indian art form and Peking opera. Both styles maintain a minimalist stage presentation — while the Nangiar uses just a single stool, Peking opera typically features a simple setting with one table and two chairs. The way the Nangiar communicates through her rapid, exaggerated blinking and expressive gestures reminds me of the character type Hualien, or “flower face,” in Peking opera, who employs similar techniques to convey anger and frustration.
The sound and rhythm of the mizhavu evoke the bangu drum, the which leads the orchestra in Peking opera and other Chinese performing arts. This resemblance piques my curiosity about the potential influences and exchanges between the two cultures.
Setting curiosity aside, I’m genuinely impressed by the Nangiar Koothu performance presented by Kapila Venu and Natanakairali — to the extent that I willingly embarked on a three-hour journey over two consecutive days just to experience the 70-minute performance.
Modern audiences are also fortunate; as I’ve learned, such performances were once exclusive to temples and not open to the public. Today, what began as a sacred ritual has transcended its original confines, allowing us to appreciate this ancient art form on stage, alongside the divine.
Kutiyattam was showcased from October 10–13, 2024, as part of the Asia-Pacific Traditional Arts Festival at the National Centre for Traditional Arts in Yilan, Taiwan.