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.
