Life on the road

The first time I got a close look at a living god, it was in a makeshift green room with a thatched roof, in a village, in Kannur. I peered through the gaps in the leafy enclosure, and saw him lying on a mat, face calm, eyes closed, in complete surrender to the artist who painted his body.

When I entered the tent and stepped closer to him, I saw his dark skin covered with natural colours. His youthful face was layered with red paint, on which, with a few deft strokes of the quill made from a coconut stem, the artist drew fine, little motifs, motifs that reminded me of the forest and tribal art.

When he opened his eyes, darkened with soot, he seemed to be under a spell. I noticed how he got up, in slow motion; then without a word, he put on his coconut leaf skirt, tail, silver ornaments, and the giant, jewelled headdress, one by one. My eyes met his as he steadied himself before the dance. I thought he looked at me. I was wrong.

It was midnight when the drumbeats started, getting louder every minute. The slow moving man altered to a raging god with divine energies within him, rushed out to reveal himself to the audience, gathered around the wooden shrine.

He danced, moving fiercely, then jerking, leaping and growling in his incarnation of a forest god. The image of a god in a man, stomping the ground, made me think if this anger was because of years of discrimination.

As night progressed to dawn, the performance came to an end. The Brahmin priests along with the locals lined up to seek his blessings. The smiles came first followed by tears of joy as a god was here to relieve them of their sorrows, and bless them with health, wealth and happiness.

I was there too, one of the last few in the queue, waiting for answers. He blessed me in a language I did not understand. The woman next to me whispered, “He said, you’ll find your answers.” I believed him.

Soon the ceremony was over, he started to walk toward the green room. Our eyes met again, only this time he looked at me and I could not help but notice his grim expression. The spell had lifted, the god was there no more, only the human.

I watched him leave and thought to myself, perhaps he wondered whether I would recognise him on the streets of Kannur where he is an ordinary Dalit, not revered by Brahmin priests. As I got back on the road in Kerala, I wished I would see him again, in this city, where men are gods, this one time of the year, where the gods have mysterious ways of doing justice.