Masks - The one and the other

Masks often carry the same function as that of the stage – a plane of space where one can feel as if they were someone or something else. The deep inter-linkages between the role of masks and the place of the stage manifest themselves everywhere. Masks become a metaphor for something that need not even be human – sometimes it could be a superhuman deity while at other times, it could be an animal in the wild. Masks allow that degree of freedom to don one identity over another and tell the tales that regale, horrify and sensitise. Masks are indeed inseparable from the stage – performance is what binds them through disparate cultures and modes of socialisation.

We write in this article about the kinds of masks that play specific cultural roles in different parts of southern Asia. How these masks are made, what they signify and what becomes of them – these are the kinds of questions any empathetic traveller would seek to ask when they encounter such a plethora of masked performances. Here is how we looked through some of them.

The cold nights in Ladakh never impede its famous mask craftsmen – they craft some of the most exquisite masks for annual mask dancing events. One such event that draws huge crowds is the Tsechu of the Drukpa Buddhists – a celebration of the spread of Tibetan Budhhism in other areas such as Leh and Bhutan. While most are annual festivals, the Hemis Tsechu at the Hemis monastery takes place once in twelve years and finds itself a host to vast gatherings of devotees who come to see the dances in order to gain their share of holy blessings. The commemoration of the Padmasambhava who is considered by these sects to be almost as divine as the Buddha is the running theme of these celebrations – the dances depict scenes from his life which range from his birth to his conquests of previously existing devils which enable the spread of his form of Buddhism.

Referred to as the Charm dances, these dance performances have most monks playing demons while the wrathful Guru Rimpoche vanquishes them after duels which are choreographed with great sense of detail. The themes of these dances are an act of memory – to remember the feats of the Guru Rimpoche is an exercise in cementing his authority in Buddhist thought, given the several philosophical and factional tensions within south Asian Buddhist streams. The same articulations of dances with corresponding narratives line the celebrations of Buddhist festivals in Bhutan. Mask makers in Bhutan, right from the valley of Ha, believe in their own act of devotion as that being a supreme one – that they give the face, literally and metaphorically, to the dance form. To labour on the creation of the masks is an act of devotion that is considered a service that brings more blessing than just being mere spectators of these elaborate performances.

Another such instance of intricate mask craft is the Theyyam – a cult of worshippers concentrated along Wayanad, Kannur and Kozhikode districts of Kerala. The Theyyam cult is fascinating in its own right for several reasons – the most important of which is the constructive presence of non-Brahminic and non-Vedic forms of deity worship. The larger chunk of work during ritual processions or regular acts of worship is performed by either lower or middle caste devotees – this makes the institution a unique site of contestation for different forms of power relations. Something that is most crucial to the Theyyam cult is the role of the mask in its ritualised forms of worship – the mask is intended at exhibiting that which is transitional, or indeed, metamorphic. The dance routine begins with decorations of the face using paint that reflects upon the character that the dancer is portraying – colours match aptitudes of the mythical character itself. This segment of a routine that is often close to or more than 12 hours long is called the Vellattam. Transitioning into the next segment, an ornate head-dress is added to the dancer’s performance – this produces an effect of balance between the bodily movements of the dancer and the intended message of the act, since the head-dress is an even more qualified signifier of the nature of the narrative at hand. Balance is even more evident when one sees the movements of the head being co-ordinated with those of the arms – either one of which hold the sword and the shield. Often masks are changed or added while the devotees respond to this open air performance – stories mostly follow standard scripts that have little use of words but pronounce heavily with the use of percussion and other musical instruments. Stories of Theyyam dance performances have characters that number in hundreds – each with a distinct role and distinct relation to some shrine or deity within the Theyyam cult. While many performances happen for popular audiences as Theyyam is not originally rooted in exclusivist forms of temple worship, there is also a certain kind of centrality given to the local shrine in some groups of Theyyam practitioners.

By the final segment of these performances, the face practically looks like a mask in its own right, given the intricate paint-work. There are dancers who also use an entire mask along with the head-dress. While the former allows for a different play on expressions and facial modulations, the latter gives the dancer the ability to focus more on the sword or shield or other props which makes the dance more animated and expressive in a language of its own. One of Theyyam’s most popular narratives is that of a deity, the Sree Mutthappan Maddapura, demanding drink, or at least some form of intoxicant liquor, as part of the offering – this becomes yet another trope for the articulation of popular religion. One of the larger cosmologies that such narratives are a part of is that of the devotee’s need – given the poverty of devotees, it is argued, that offerings of milk, honey and other such things became less feasible, as a result of which, it was the betel nut, the betel leaf, the cannabis leaf or sometimes even drink, that made up for offerings.

One other tremendously enriching art of mask-making finds its home in the old island town of Majuli, sleepily settled within the course of the Brahmaputra. Hailed within monotheistic branches of Hinduism for its Vaishnav culture and its satras, which can be broadly described as monasteries, this island has preserved its craft for centuries. The craft we’re most interested in, here, is practised specifically by some satras, led by their satradhikaris, while others excel in wood-crafts and weaving crafts. Take the instance of the premises of the Shamaguri Satra, where mask-makers work more than 6 hours a day to produce masks of various sizes using cloth, bamboo and clay which are either used for dance performances during Raas festivals, which celebrate Krishna’s life and myths around his character, or sent to Jorhat or Guwahati – centres for exporting these delicate masks. Recently, mask makers have begun making masks to tailor-made sizes depending upon the market they are exporting to.

Most of the masks represent characters directly from the stories of Krishna’s life and that of the different avatars of Vishnu. But since the mukh bhaavanas festivities are the largest but a limited forum for the exposition of these masks, and exports don’t draw in enough for the craftsmen, the mask-makers of Majuli are not very optimistic about their craft. The story is quite the same with other craftsmen on the island – they claim to live in the same hues as the oil paints that their masks are dyed in but reality is starker still. While the government tries to bring Majuli out into a broader audience, it is really up to keen travellers to make sense of what Majuli is about.

In the theme of mask-craft itself, there are many interesting stories to tell. We’ll leave you to tell some of your own.