The Koothu Master
Annaviyar Arasaratnam
Seventy-five-year-old Batticaloan annaviyar Arasaratnam is a koothu master. Originally from Karavetti, he knows more than twenty koothus. He reflects on the history and forms of this ancient Tamil theatre, and his struggle to keep the tradition alive today.
We arrived in the village of Karavetti along dusty roads that turned into even dustier lanes. Asking residents where Arasaratnam lived, we were directed to a small mud hut by the roadside.
A woman was squatting by a fire preparing the day’s lunch. She was the koothu master’s wife. She told us that Arasaratnam had gone into town unexpectedly and that we should wait for him. She walked into the hut, bent over slightly, and returned with a bag of areca nuts. Sitting outside, she cracked them open and crushed them before offering me a betel leaf filled with areca nut and tobacco.
Several hours later Annaviyar Arasaratnam arrived, trailed by a line of children. Travel by bus in these rural areas is unpredictable and one is never certain when one will arrive.
Our timing was also slightly off. We had come a few months before the temple festival season, when local Annaviyars are invited to stage koothu performances for temple audiences. Preparations would begin soon, with villagers being cast in the performances.
The seventy-five-year-old Batticaloan told me he knew more than twenty different koothus. He spoke about the history and different styles of this ancient art form and his struggle to keep it alive.
“I don’t want to see this traditional art form die. That is why I’m here at the school, teaching children,” he said, as a small crowd gathered around us outside the hut.
After we had spoken and listened to Arasaratnam sing several beautiful koothu songs, he invited me to return when the festival would be in full swing. Then, he said, I would see a real koothu.
Batticaloa
March 23, 2013
Transcript and translations
Language
Subjects discussed
"Both my grandfather and father were annaviyars"
My mother’s father. My father’s father, my father, his brother, my other uncle… All of them taught me this art. Then following their lead, I started to teach koothu myself. I know about 20 or 25 koothus.
After a few rehearsals, we’d perform a koothu. Once it is performed, it will play for 5 or 6 performance. Then again during the temple festivals. They could come and ask us. It continues like that.
For any koothu, the kattiyakaran would be the first to come on and announce, “we are going to start the show”. “Everybody be quiet. Please sit down and enjoy the show. The king of kings. The elegant king. The proud King. The brave king with the food heart. The king of fairness. He’s going to come to this stage along with his brothers. All of you stay quiet and enjoy the show.” The kattiyakaran would then leave, the performers would come on and the koothu would begin.
In those days, when my grandfather was performing a koothu, there were no cinemas.
There was only koothu. And koothu was very popular at that time. Today, because of the cinemas, people don’t like koothu as much. Because of that, the koothu tradition is disappearing.
If we are preparing for a koothu in our village, I would take only artists from here. On the first day we would go to the temple, the Ganesh temple of the village. I’d ask people to read the script one by one. I would then judge their voices based on those readings. I’d decide whether that person should take one a female role or the person could be a king. Or a minister. If the person is quite energetic, then he might be right for the role of a servant. Now I cannot train people by myself. I getting too old for this.
These days I teach at the school. It’s just two or three hours away, so it’s all right. I have to teach the others. They need to learn. In such a way that they can take it into the future. I haven’t just trained them to perform, but also to teach others.
I don’t want this tradition to disappear. That’s why I’m teaching the school children.
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