Yakshagana’s women performers take the stage

When Mookambika’s grandfather caught her imitating Yakshagana movements, “he was very upset and scolded me.” He cautioned the teenage girl saying that women were not allowed to perform this folk-dance theatre from coastal Karnataka and Kasargod in Kerala.

As a young girl, Mookambika Varamballi, now 75, was drawn to Yakshagana performances in her village, Marvi in Udupi district. These dance dramas here often stretched from dusk to dawn, and she recalls walking long distances with large groups of women, family and neighbours to watch. The following day, she would gather friends in her front yard, imitating the dance moves using bed sheets or towels as costumes for the prasanga (drama).

“We used to perform in the front yard but only when my grandfather was not around” she says. “He believed Yakshagana was not meant for girls.”

Yakshagana literally translates to ‘songs of the gods’ and has been performed across Coastal Karnataka, and in Kasaragod district of Kerala, for centuries. Using music, dance, dialogue and narration, the performance draws on stories from mythology and epics such as the Ramayana and Mahabharata. Yakshagana melas were often patronised by the prominent temples of the region.

A physically vigorous art form, it is known locally as Gandu kale which literally translates to 'male art form.' The dance calls for high leaps and twirls which demand agility and fitness, typically considered the domain of men. When female characters had to be played, men stepped in.

“The audience already knows the dramas and the stories,” says M.L. Samaga, veteran Yakshagana performer and former president of the Yakshagana Academy. “But they see it in a new light with every performance, and relive the experience each time. What draws them in is how an actor interprets a character differently.”

Mookambika Varamballi says she grew up watching her grandfather Marvi Ramakrishna Hebbar perform. He was a revered artist, but was not keen on her joining. In those days Yakshagana artists were underpaid and seen just as entertainers; they were not respected in society, she adds.

But Mookambika, then in her early twenties, was not dissuaded: “I felt a deep urge to learn and perform Yakshagana.” Then employed by a bank, she looked around and found four to five women colleagues who also wanted to learn. They all had to take permission from their families to participate. The keen artist recalls asking her husband, a schoolteacher. He supported her decision, saying, “there are no restrictions in pursuing any art form.”

The group struck lucky when they found a colleague at the bank, Sreedhar Aithal, who was a trained Yakshagana artist, and he agreed to teach them. The group practiced after work, diving into the complexities of this demanding art form. There was no looking back, and in December 1976, Mookambika Varamballi and her all-women troupe made history by performing for their bank’s recreation day.

Their debut marked one of the earliest known instances of women taking the stage in Tulunadu, breaking the long-standing tradition of this male-dominated art form. “We had so many questions in our heads. How would people respond? Would they accept us?” she recalls. “But to our surprise, we received an encouraging response from the audience. Of course, there were a few who were not very keen on this experiment, but we were happy. The people came, they watched, and they enjoyed it.”

With Mookambika playing the lead role, the group chose to learn a play titled Babruvahana Kalaga (Battle of Babruvahana). “People had their reservations,” she recalls. “They were sceptical, yet curious to see women wearing men’s costumes and performing both male and female characters in Yakshagana. But for us, the desire to learn and perform was stronger than all the speculation around us.”

After their first performance, the troupe was invited to perform again in Mangalore. The next year, 1977, they were on stage to present Indrajeet Kalaga, and Mookambika portrayed Hanumantha.

“People ask me if I was the first woman to enter the realm of Yakshagana. To claim that is difficult, as it is a vast region spanning Dakshina Kannada, Udupi, Uttara Kannada, and even Kasargod in Kerala,” says Mookambika.

The art enjoys a wide geography and women may have learned or even performed without leaving behind formal records. But since Yakshagana has historically been performed in the open, known as bayalatha, it is unlikely that women participated in melas as regular performers.

Even to this date, melas feature Yakshagana in open fields on makeshift stages that run through the night. Troupes move from one village to another, setting up temporary stages and tents that double as green rooms.

A handful of women did and do perform in melas but usually when their husbands are already part of the troupe, as musicians or performers. On such occasions they are paid. But no financial structure exists for women to sustain themselves solely through Yakshagana even though melas are booked years in advance and draw audiences from across social and economic strata.

“Women performers are not taken seriously as traditional artists. Since they do not perform in the melas, their work has often been dismissed as hobbyist performance,” says Shruti Bangera, a research scholar at the Manipal Institute of Technology. She adds that most of the early women came from relatively well-off families, and often had jobs in banks. “They did not charge for their performances and continued to refuse personal compensation. That pattern remains. Even today, there are no women-led mela troupes,” adds Shruti, a Yakshagana artist herself.

But experts say that Mookambika’s troupe formally opened a path that had long been closed. It paved the way for experimentation and bold departures from what was once a tightly guarded form. In all women troupes, performers take up men’s roles often those of rakshasas compelling them to alter their voices and meet the physical vigour such parts demand. In outdoor performances, the stree vesha – women’s roles – were for centuries carried by men, often exaggerated, sometimes reduced to caricature. With women performing them in melas, the roles discovered new textures and a different kind of presence.

Yakshagana also moved from only mela-like surroundings to more formal stage performances, and it became easier for women to perform. So, while women from across social backgrounds learn and perform Yakshagana, their opportunity is a cultural event – a staged gathering, and rarely the melas.

In recent times it has gone even further: there have been experiments where men take on all the women’s roles and women step into men’s roles.

Yakshagana has two distinct styles: Tenkutittu and Badagatittu. Tenkutittu is primarily performed in southern Tulunadu – a region of Karnataka that lies on the coast of the Arabian Sea, i.e. Dakshina Kannada and Kasargod districts. Badagatittu is more common in the northern region and is performed in the interior parts of Udupi and Uttara Kannada.

Mookambika initially learned and performed Tenkutittu but she was keen to learn Badagatittu, and so she and a few colleagues approached the Yakshagana Kendra to learn the Badagatittu style.

The Yakshagana Kendra was established in Udupi in 1972 by Dr. K. Shivarama Karanth, a Jnanpith awardee. When Mookambika and her troupe approached Kendra, the teachers agreed to train them whenever they could find time outside their regular classes. After two to three months of training, they were ready to perform Tamradhwaja Kalaga when a co-founder of the Kendra who was an influential figure in coastal Karnataka's cultural community, dropped by unannounced to watch.

Mookambika recalls him saying, “women should not perform Yakshagana.” Promptly after that he placed a board at the Yakshagana Kendra stating that female students would not be taught there.

“I cried so much after this incident,” she told PARI.

But the group of 10 women picked themselves up and sought training from Hiriyadka Gopal Rai. The group called themselves the “Syndicate Bank Recreation Club Mahila Dashaavatara Mela’.

Training was intense and Mookambika recalls experiencing dizziness. When she collapsed one day, she went for a check and found that she was four months pregnant. So, in 1981, she decided to take a year-long break from Yakshagana.

When she resumed, performances of the mahila Yakshagana were met with enthusiasm. Changes in the seventies were not institutional reforms but individual breakthroughs that gathered into something larger over time, she says. “We did not perform in the melas, the all-night village shows that travel from village to village, but were invited instead to auditoriums, cultural gatherings, and staged events.” Her troupe was invited to perform at several events across North and South Canara districts, Bangalore, Goa, and Andhra Pradesh.

“Mookambika was a pioneer in bringing women onto the Yakshagana stage,” says M.L. Samaga. The veteran artist reiterates that since women performers do not charge, they are not taken seriously, and women-led troupes have remained largely confined to leisure performances, never truly evolving into professional Yakshagana troupes that tour and perform regularly like their male counterparts.

“Yakshagana is still dominated by men, not only in performance but also in areas like make-up and costume preparation. Regular overnight performances in different parts of the region make it difficult for women to commit long-term,” adds Samaga.

The women performers were sometimes met with derision – some onlookers mocked when they performed male roles. But overall, their shows met with a heart-warming response. Mookambika recalls receiving an anonymous letter that read, “We were all curious whether women could execute the energy and stamina required. But after watching your performance, we were amazed. You have done justice to this attempt.” She notes that letters of appreciation far outnumbered those of criticism.

For the next 10 years, Mookambika and her troupe of women Yakshagana artists continued to perform; she took a break in the nineties.

Life came full circle when her daughter, Sahana Varamballi, then a high school student, wanted to perform Yakshagana at a school function. She was also turned down at the Yakshagana Kendra, a place her mother was once rejected. The staff suggested Sahana and Mookambika approach the Kendra’s founder, Dr. K. Shivarama Karanth, for permission.

Mookambika recalls, “My daughter and I went to Dr. Karanth’s house. I was restless and slightly angry about past restrictions, and when we met him, I burst out about my passion for Yakshagana and my daughter’s desire to learn it.”

Dr. Karanth took a moment to respond. He said, “the Yakshagana Kendra was established to teach Yakshagana to anyone interested. There should be no objections to anyone learning Yakshagana based on gender, anyone and everyone is welcome to learn the art form.”

Mookambika’s pioneering efforts had a lasting impact, experts say. More women are embracing Yakshagana. “The exaggerated, broad, and open movements, typically considered atypical for a ‘feminine’ body, are found to be liberating,” explains Shruti. “And there is also the desire among women to play and explore male roles over the traditional streevesha [female characters].”

Yakshagana has danced its way into the daily lives of homemakers, many of whom now take up the art weekly for joy and recreation. “They are the new storytellers of the old ways,” Shruti adds.

This story is supported by a fellowship from Mrinalini Mukherjee Foundation (MMF).