Dancing like the 'devadasis'

Every February, 25-year-old commerce graduate Usha Kiran lets go of her 21st century concerns. Draped in a resplendent sari with antiquated wooden jewellery around her neck and head, she along with three other dancers walks into the sanctum sanctorum of the 400-year-old Ranganathaswamy Temple in Hyderabad for an ancient ritual.

Amidst the chants of the priests, the music strikes up and she begins her dance in praise of the deity. The transformation is complete. In spirit, she is now a kalavantalu, as temple dancers were once known.

"I feel like I slip into another world altogether. It gives me a great sense of peace and satisfaction to dance these beautiful pieces in the garbhalaya," says Usha who made her debut at the temple two years ago.

The devadasi tradition was stamped out with an Abolition Act more than 50 years ago. But along with the whole social system — that many considered socially and sexually exploitative — an entire world of ritual music and dance almost perished. In mid-1990s, however, Kuchipudi dancer Swapnasundari, with some help from the few surviving devadasis and historian/poet Dr Arudra, pieced together several items of this worship dance and called it Vilasini Natyam. She took it to the stage and found that the dance with its lyrical format held immense appeal for viewers.

What is interesting is that Vilasini Natyam is drawing eager and dedicated youngsters into its fold in Delhi and Hyderabad. The everyday world they inhabit may have no social connect with the feudal times of the devadasis but they find its rules and rituals fascinating enough to dig deeper into it.

“It is true that the art grew in a feudal society, especially when the devadasi cult was in vogue. Pieces like Salaam Daravu sung in praise of a king may seem odd but we still perform them to establish the historicity of the art. I do not analyse a dance form as a product of a feudal society. For me it is coming together of different inputs from the field of sculpture, painting, literature, music and cultural history — inputs which have a deep connection to my identity as an Indian,” says 30-year old Vilasini Natyam dancer Purvadhanashree.

The dancer, a postgraduate student of sociology, says her classmates are intrigued by the art. Some of them land up at her annual worship dance at the Ranganathaswamy temple to watch the rituals.

Vilasini Natyam has a grammar of its own, distinct from the other classical dance traditions of the south. It has detailed abhinaya practices and the movements are economical. Not just that, it also encompasses theatrical and courtly traditions of its times. All of this makes Vilasini Natyam more than just an engrossing spectacle; it in fact showcases an entire history and culture. The abolition of the devadasi system had meant that the few remaining temple dancers had to go underground. The story goes that the humiliated and impoverished dancers had to swear on their ghunghroo never to dance again. Only a few like Maddula Lakshminarayana fought to keep the art alive. The dedication of such artistes, say the young dancers, moved them deeply.

“I have actually seen a few of these aged artistes dancing. Their passion, energy and pure love for the art taught me a few lessons,” says dancer Yashoda Thakore. “This is one dance form where you have to know the subject thoroughly, intellectualise it, internalise it and then execute it.” Temple dancers who excelled in their art were sometimes summoned to the royal courts for performances. Some became permanent court dancers. The repertoire in the courts of course differed and included laudatory items sung in praise of the king.

These young dancers say they have no trouble slipping into the kind of roles that seem to lack any contemporary context. “I  realise we’re living in a jet-set world where time and space is shrinking.  Dance forms like Vilasini Natyam might seem out of place today, but for me an art form has its own beauty — aesthetic and spiritual, which cannot and should not be measured in terms of factors which define the contemporary world,” says Purvadhanashree.

Anupama Kylash, another Vilasini Natyam dancer, has done extensive research on the subject. She explains how art thrives within certain social contexts: “When the temple was the centre of all social and cultural activity, art flourished in its precincts.  When the patronage of art shifted to the courts, the kings and landlords actively encouraged art. Simultaneously theatrical presentations of a wide variety were staged for the common man.”

To all appearances the sringar ingrained in these dances may seem archaic. But as Kylash points out, the skills of the kalavantulu had many facets. They danced to lyrics that bemoaned the lover’s perfidy with lyrics like “a woman’s life is wasted without a man’s appreciation”. But also uninhibitedly sang: “Hey! What kind of a man are you to shy away from a young and beautiful woman?”