Contesting the Sacred: Caste, Culture, and Power in Kerala’s Temple Grounds

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Part One

With the arrival of the month of Thulam, (the third month in the Malayalam Calendar) the festival season begins in our area. Everything kicks off with the grand ten-day Deepavali celebration at Thuravoor Mahakshethram in Alappuzha district of Kerala. After that, festivals continue in temples such as Pazhukkat, Nalukulangara, Pattukulangara, Kadathuruth, Kalarikkal, Chammanad, Vilanjur, Purandareshwaram, Puthenkavu, Kandamangalam, Thaikkattussery, and Thirumala Devaswom, lasting until the month of Medam. As little ones, we were cradled in our elders’ arms and taken to a nearby temple. As we got older, we ventured out with friends to temple grounds farther from home. Back then, these grounds would overflow with people whenever there was a ballet or ganamela (film music concert). Everyone would sit on the bare earth, noisily chatting about anything and everything, all while waiting eagerly for the midnight event to start.

It was during the ballet and ganamela that Thuravoor temple would draw its largest crowds. That day, it was pure bliss listening to Chacko of Muvattupuzha Angel Voice singing “Illimulam kaadukalil lallallallam paadi varum thennale…” (“O breeze, singing ‘lallallallam’ through the bamboo groves…”). Edava Basheer, who rose to fame as a playback singer with the song “Azhithiramalakal, Azhakinte Malakal” (“Sea waves, garlands of beauty”) from the film Mukkuvane Snehicha Bhootham (The Ghost Who Loved the Fisherman), also performed at Thuravoor temple along with his troupe. It was at the Thuravoor festival that I watched the ballet performances of Edappally Ashok Raj, Kottayam Chellappan, and Amritham Gopinath. The stories in ballet performances were mostly drawn from the Puranas. Sometimes, they also included tales like that of Kovilan and Kannaki. In ganamela, there were love songs like “Akale Akale Neelaakasham” (“Far away, far away, the blue sky”), as well as religious songs such as “Sathya Nayaka Mukthidayaka” (“Lord of truth, granter of salvation”), “Rasoole Ninkanivale” (“Rasool, by your mercy”), and “Pallikkettu Shabarimalakku” (Pilgrims go to Sabarimala carrying the irumudi kettu — a sacred bundle filled with offerings).

No dramas have ever been played at Thuravoor temple. As popular art forms, only ballet, ganamela, and kathaprasangam (a narrative art form that combines storytelling with music and acting) were performed there. It was said that the reason for the absence of theatre presentations at Thuravoor temple was that it was under the control of the Devaswom Board ( socio-religious trusts that manage Hindu temples and their assets). This meant that the Devaswom Board only accommodated temple-linked art forms on its platforms. Although ganamela wasn’t classified as a temple art form, its inclusion in the Thuravoor festival was a different story. In contrast, at Kalarikkal, Kadathuruth, Puthenkavu, and Nalukulangara — which remained independent of the Travancore Devaswom Board’s administration — festivals attracted massive audiences with professional theatre productions. During that period, the stage was graced by stars like William D’Cruz, Seythan Joseph, O. Madhavan, and Risabava. There was a long line of drama troupes — Kottayam National Theatres, Chalakudy Sarathi, Changanassery Geetha, Kollam Kalidasa Kalakendram, and many more. We sat on the sand for hours, waiting for their curtain to rise. With characters descending staircases in overcoats, puffing on pipes, the stage came alive with family drama, political satire, and bursts of humor — and the audience responded with thunderous applause.

In those days, kathaprasangam (lyrical narrative or storytelling performance) was a beloved performance art and an inseparable part of village festivals. Crowds gathered in temple courtyards, spellbound as Sambasivan transformed Shakespearean plays, Vayalar’s verses, and Bimal Mitra’s novels into gripping narratives. Pure political shows like Ningalenne Communistaakki (“You Made Me a Communist”) were once staged on temple platforms as part of the festivals. Even today, folk music groups and mimicry troupes continue to be featured in festival programmes. Just last year, I witnessed the renowned percussionist Sivamani’s electrifying performance at the Guruvayur temple festival.

The history of art performances at temple festivals is also the history of the socialisation of festivals in Kerala. After independence, when royal rule came to an end and Travancore and Cochin were unified as Travancore–Cochin in 1949, the administration of major temples—once under the crown—was transferred to the government-appointed Devaswom Boards established that same year. Before independence, the Temple Entry Proclamation was issued, and the great temples under royal power in Travancore were opened to all Hindus. However, it was only in the 1960s that members of the OBC communities—particularly the generation born in the 1940s who first experienced the shifts brought about by temple entry and independence—began to find a place, even in name, in the festival committees of some of these major temples.

In the same period, many local temples in Kerala, which were not part of the royal temple network but were owned by traditionally powerful caste families, were taken over by the local communities. With the decline of the feudal system and the end of hereditary privileges, these families could no longer maintain them, prompting the villagers to assume responsibility and begin organizing temple festivals themselves. The third category comprised the sacred groves of OBC and SC communities. As social and economic progress gradually took place among the marginalized sections of society, these temples too were developed further through increased public participation. Additionally, during the 1950s and 1960s, a fourth category of temples rose to prominence. These were the temples established by Sree Narayana Guru, beginning with the consecration at Aruvippuram, and they developed significantly alongside the growing social and political influence of the Ezhava community.

Those decades—from the 1960s to the 1980s—marked a golden age for modern visual arts in Kerala, as temples, reshaped through popular participation in four distinct ways, became vibrant platforms for artistic expression and progress. It is likely that from the mid-19th century onwards, during the period of Swathi Thirunal, Karnatic music gradually gained entry into major temples, which had until then primarily featured performances of Kathakali, Koothu, Koodiyattam, Thullal, and temple percussion ensembles. Even today, these traditional forms continue to receive preference in temples governed by the Devaswom Board. In contrast, art forms like drama, kathaprasangam, ballet, and ganamela were enthusiastically welcomed in older temples where local communities had taken over administration, in newly built temples established by OBC and SC communities in the 20th century, and in the socialised family sacred groves. These temple venues became vibrant public spaces where thousands gathered during festivals, transcending barriers of caste and religion.

In these community-organized village celebrations, people enthusiastically embraced Sambasivan’s Irupatham Noottandu (Twentieth Century), sighed with emotion while watching KPAC’s Ashwamedham, and got immersed in Kalabhavan’s musical performances. Troupes of kathaprasangam and ballet artists from places like Cherthala in the south travelled northward, reaching the sacred groves of Malabar, where they narrated both epic tales and contemporary love stories. The same plays, dances, and songs that the emerging Malayalee middle class in cities watched in fine arts societies by purchasing tickets were now brought to temple grounds through public contributions. These aesthetic events, hosted by people’s temples during festivals, blurred the rigid lines between religion and secularism, rendering such official distinctions irrelevant.

The same people who stood with folded hands before the idol during deeparadhana (lamp worship) and watched the ezhunnallathu (procession of the deity atop elephants) also sat nearby on the ground, engrossed in drama presentations like Kadalinte Makkal (People of the Sea) by Alappey Theatres and Kattukuthira (Wild Horse) by Suryasoma. They crowded around to find a spot to listen to classical concerts by musicians like Yesudas and Dakshinamurthy. Alongside them, people of other faiths were also associated with the temple grounds, sharing the space and the experience. Major temples, which had traditionally hosted only classical concerts, Kathakali, and Koothu, gradually became part of the broader wave of popular festive art forms. This shift was enabled by the emergence of an OBC middle class who had gained entry into temple festival committees. As these committees began to loosen the grip of caste restrictions, they started inviting celebrated ganamela troupes. Singers would arrive and perform film songs like “Pavada venam, melada venam” (“I need a skirt, I need a blouse”) from the movie Angadi (The Market), right in the courtyards of these once-exclusive temple grounds. It was also during this time that temple Mandapams slowly opened their doors—at least partially—to acclaimed artists from marginalized communities, such as Neyyattinkara Vasudevan. Even film dancers like Srividya and Manju Bhargavi performed on these temple platforms, marking a significant cultural shift.

During the era of royal rule, faith and politics were deeply intertwined. Marthanda Varma himself ruled as Padmanabha Dasa—the servant of Lord Vishnu—symbolizing the inseparability of temporal power and religious devotion. The great temples were not attacked for reasons of faith; rather, they were targeted because they served as strongholds of the enemy’s political and economic power. Those who seized power did not conquer temples out of religious zeal, but to gain political control and plunder the gold and silver stored within them. Kings may have clung tightly to their faith and rituals, but they also adopted and shifted religious affiliations whenever it served their pursuit of power and public support. A king who followed Shaivism could easily shift to Vaishnavism, and vice versa. The priestly class and their religious tradition could neither survive nor expand without aligning the ruler to their side and securing material or political patronage. Therefore, the first target of priestly influence was always the ruler.

It is said that Rajaraja Chola I (985–1014 CE) abandoned his earlier Vaishnava and Jain affiliations and firmly embraced Shaivism, partly to gain the support of the powerful Shaiva priesthood of his time. King Harsha transitioned from Shaivism to Buddhism. Several monarchs extended patronage to multiple religious traditions at the same time. Changes in the religious leanings of rulers, whether driven by personal or political reasons, rarely influenced the beliefs of the general population. Common people gathered at Arthunkal Church, for the Chandanakkudam festival at the mosques, on the sands of the Aluva River, and at the Mannarkkad Pooram. They bought baskets, clay pots, wooden pestles, and dried fish—becoming believers in all traditions. Local trade, leisure, entertainment, and the arts blended seamlessly with faith, without clear boundaries. No one scratched around for the caste or religion behind the festival markets or the Vela-Pooram (festivals) at Allimalarkavu. The distinction between religion and secularism was alien to ordinary life in those days, simply because such concepts had not yet been formulated. Debates and divisions around matters of faith were likely concerns of a small elite minority, not of the common people.

Our festival traditions reflect the historical continuity of a lived world at the grassroots, where daily life practice was not split into categories like religious and secular. With the arrival of temple entry reforms, political independence, and democracy, even the caste-dominated temples with their narrow koothambalams were gradually compelled to move—if only slightly—toward the inclusive path of local festivals, where no rigid separation existed between the religious and the secular. That is how, in grand temples like the one at Thuravoor—once under the custody of the Travancore king and later administered by the Devaswom Board under democratic governance—traditional art norms were gradually broken. Musical troupes like Muvattupuzha Angel Voices were invited, where a Christian singer named Chacko sang “Illimulum Kaadukalil.” Edava Basheer performed the romantic number “Aazhithiramaalakal.” People, regardless of caste or religion, applauded enthusiastically.

Our temple grounds—where performers sang stories from Shakespeare, where K. T. Muhammed’s Ithu Bhoomiyanu (This Is the Earth) was staged, and where N. N. Pillai’s Kapaalika, written by an avowed atheist, found space—stand as markers of the continuity and evolution of a life-culture that never rigidly separated the religious from the secular. Even as grand temples—shaped by the legacy of royal governance and caste supremacy—continued to uphold classical traditions like Kathakali, Koothu, Thullal, and Koodiyattam, all rooted in mythological themes, it was the changes in festival organization that allowed newer art forms like ganamela and kathaprasangam to enter these temple spaces.

These changes also enabled the content of such performances to move beyond conventional mythological subjects. Not only were festivals conducted using donations from the local public, but members of OBC and SC communities also gained, at least nominally, a place in the festival committees. In addition, during the period from 1960 to 1980, the local culture—unmarked by any rigid division between the religious and the secular—reached its peak in nearby temples and sacred groves, which had been built and maintained by OBC communities and other marginalised groups. Even the grand temples owned by hegemonic castes through the Devaswom Boards ( socio-religious trusts  that manage Hindu temples and their assets) were, by then, compelled to imitate—at least to some extent—the grassroots humanism expressed in local faith practices, festivals, and artistic culture. Within the dominant castes themselves, the spirit of equality and fraternity born of independence and democracy quietly stirred, becoming a force that caused tiny cracks to appear in the hardened customs of the grand temples.

Remember this: Kalamandalam Hyderali was allowed to sing inside temples managed by the Devaswom Board—and in one striking instance, the compound wall of the Haripad temple was broken down to build a stage outside so he could perform.

(To be continued)

Part Two

Cover image: Kuruli Kavu Temple located in Kannur district, Kerala. The temple is famous for a ritual known as Pantham Pachil. 

The Malayalam version of this article was published in Truecopy Think