It’s the clock tower in Tripunithura that fascinates me. Bright and sparkling in its fresh coat of paint, the 19th century Manimalika is standing rather tall in the sleepy town near Kochi. As the clock’s hands inch towards the hour, I see a neatly dressed soldier, a puppet, looking out of the window, waiting to salute as the clock strikes. The Manimalika, built by Cochin Maharaja Rama Varma, is my second brush with royalty in the erstwhile capital Tripunithura, the first being the touristy Hill Palace which now houses a museum.
I am soon distracted by drumbeats vibrating from the adjacent Poornathrayesa temple. Following the sounds, I enter a huge hall where a chenda class is on. A group of small boys, bare-chested, are hitting some wooden blocks with full force, practicing a rhythm as their tutor watches on. My hostess, Parvati Menon, an erstwhile advertising professional and a kathakali artiste explains, “You will see the chenda played in almost every cultural festival here and most of us learn to play it when we are very young.”
Walking round Tripunithura, I realise why the guide books call it a palace town. There is Palace no. 13 on my left; then I cross Kalikota Palace and enter the portals of Bungalow Palace. Most palaces don’t even have a name, they are just known by a number. These old mansions still have a stamp of royalty and many house their descendants. Wooden panels on roofs and windows, archaic staircases, majestic door handles, antiques and some memorabilia – these give them the royal touch. Parvati adds that there are close to 41 palaces, most of them old and not renovated, while some have become marriage halls and flats.
Parvati’s friend and fellow kathakali performer Radhika greets us at the Bungalow Palace, which had housed the kings before it had passed on to her grand aunt and her mother. This is the oldest palace here, almost 250 years old with just two rooms where her elderly parents stay. The rooms are strewn with old furniture and curios, but the faded walls shine with colourful murals and portraits, all dating back to the 19th century. There are kings, noblemen, Europeans – all staring out of the walls of that old room which is stuffed with a cot, clothes and chairs. The sun streams in as we leave the couple reminiscing about the past
Parvati and Radhika take me to another old hall which is a part of a palace where another chenda class is on. The students are sweating it out, creating rhythm on stone. Soon their guru FACT Padmanabha, a renowned Kathakali exponent, walks in and a rehearsal for a show begins. The artistes are all women and they are performing Nizhal Kuthu, a show based on the Mahabharata.
“We are the only all-women Kathakali group here,” says Parvati. But her guru adds that he hardly sees any difference between male and female performers. “It is all about mudra,” he says, breaking into a dance, his eyes conveying a range of emotions.
Most of the performers here are passionate about Kathakali as they juggle their homes, jobs, families and arts. Radhika jokes that she has played almost all roles including the dark characters, but has never donned a woman’s role. They perform more than 20 shows a year, not just in temples but also in other cities and abroad. “In Tripunithura, culture seeps down to every family and you can see women and children performing the arts,” adds the guru.
As he finishes speaking, the beat of the chenda hits a high as Parvati’s eyes harden. She is now the cold and ruthless Duryodhana wishing for the death of Pandavas. There are no masks or costumes, but the character comes alive in her eyes. I quietly make an exit and walk back to the Manimalika to see the soldier smile down at me as I leave the town.
