sapgrain
Art. Culture. Memory.
Art. Culture. Memory.
Tholpavakoothu — the name translates as leather puppet show — is a form of shadow puppetry performed in the Kavu temples of Kerala, primarily in Palakkad district. It exists at the intersection of storytelling, devotion, craft, and collective memory. More than a performance, it is a sacred act where narrative becomes ritual and light becomes language.
The performance takes place within a specially constructed structure known as the Koothumadam, located inside temple premises. A long white screen is stretched across its front, illuminated by rows of traditional oil lamps. Behind it, the puppeteers bring the figures to life — while the audience and the deity witness the unfolding of the epic narrative.
The puppet is held between the lamp and the screen. It never touches the cloth. It is the shadow that the audience sees. The puppet is the instrument. The shadow is the art.
Tholpavakoothu — the name translates as leather puppet show — is a form of shadow puppetry performed in the Kavu temples of Kerala, primarily in Palakkad district. It exists at the intersection of storytelling, devotion, craft, and collective memory. More than a performance, it is a sacred act where narrative becomes ritual and light becomes language.
The performance takes place within a specially constructed structure known as the Koothumadam, located inside temple premises. A long white screen is stretched across its front, illuminated by rows of traditional oil lamps. Behind it, the puppeteers bring the figures to life — while the audience and the deity witness the unfolding of the epic narrative.
The puppet is held between the lamp and the screen. It never touches the cloth. It is the shadow that the audience sees. The puppet is the instrument. The shadow is the art.
The origin of Tholpavakoothu is not secular. It belongs to devotion.
The story begins with Bhadrakali — the warrior goddess — locked in her own fierce battle with the demon Darikan while Rama and Ravana fought on another front. She missed the great war. The war everyone praised. The war that would define an age.
Heartbroken, she went to her father, Lord Shiva. She had been fighting her own war — she had not been absent from duty. But she had missed the story. Shiva's answer was shadow puppetry: a performance of the Ramayana, staged through light and leather, so that Bhadrakali could witness the war she had missed.
This is why Tholpavakoothu is performed in Bhadrakali temples, and nowhere else. It is not entertainment. It is a devotional offering to a goddess who asked for a story.
A Bhadrakali temple in Palakkad — where Tholpavakoothu is performed as an offering
A Bhadrakali temple in Palakkad — where Tholpavakoothu is performed as an offering
The origin of Tholpavakoothu is not secular. It belongs to devotion.
The story begins with Bhadrakali — the warrior goddess — locked in her own fierce battle with the demon Darikan while Rama and Ravana fought on another front. She missed the great war. The war everyone praised. The war that would define an age.
Heartbroken, she went to her father, Lord Shiva. She had been fighting her own war — she had not been absent from duty. But she had missed the story. Shiva's answer was shadow puppetry: a performance of the Ramayana, staged through light and leather, so that Bhadrakali could witness the war she had missed.
This is why Tholpavakoothu is performed in Bhadrakali temples, and nowhere else. It is not entertainment. It is a devotional offering to a goddess who asked for a story.
Traditionally, Tholpavakoothu figures were made from deer skin — a material chosen for its translucency when held against light. Wildlife protection regulations have made deer skin unavailable, and the family has adapted: cow hide, goat skin, and increasingly acrylic sheets, canvas, paper, and cardboard now serve as the base material.
Each figure is sketched freehand onto the material from memory — no template, no reference. Then carved with specialised tools. A single figure can take two to three days.
The holes are not decorative. The Nelmanikothu pattern represents nature and agriculture. The Udukku pattern represents musical instruments. Each perforation decides how light passes through — and the shadow that emerges on the screen is shaped entirely by those choices.
The Pulavur family museum holds over 1,000 puppets, including deer-skin figures estimated to be 600 years old.
Each hole cut by hand — the shadow is shaped by the maker's knowledge
Each hole cut by hand — the shadow is shaped by the maker's knowledge
Traditionally, Tholpavakoothu figures were made from deer skin — a material chosen for its translucency when held against light. Wildlife protection regulations have made deer skin unavailable, and the family has adapted: cow hide, goat skin, and increasingly acrylic sheets, canvas, paper, and cardboard now serve as the base material.
Each figure is sketched freehand onto the material from memory — no template, no reference. Then carved with specialised tools. A single figure can take two to three days.
The holes are not decorative. The Nelmanikothu pattern represents nature and agriculture. The Udukku pattern represents musical instruments. Each perforation decides how light passes through — and the shadow that emerges on the screen is shaped entirely by those choices.
The Pulavur family museum holds over 1,000 puppets, including deer-skin figures estimated to be 600 years old.
Until around the 1960s, Tholpavakoothu was performed exclusively within temple walls — a ritual confined to sacred geography. But something remarkable was true of it long before that opening.
Even during the period of rigid caste divisions in Kerala, the Tholpavakoothu performance space at the temple was open to all. Scholars and labourers, landowners and those with nothing — all gathered at the same screen to witness the same story.
The shadow puppet stage was a quiet revolution long before the word had currency.
Today the tradition has moved further — beyond the Ramayana into the stories of Gandhi, Jesus, and social awareness narratives. Women are now learning the craft and the performance. The form, Rajeev believes, is large enough to hold any story worth telling.
The same screen that has gathered all of Kerala — regardless of who they were
The same screen that has gathered all of Kerala — regardless of who they were
Until around the 1960s, Tholpavakoothu was performed exclusively within temple walls — a ritual confined to sacred geography. But something remarkable was true of it long before that opening.
Even during the period of rigid caste divisions in Kerala, the Tholpavakoothu performance space at the temple was open to all. Scholars and labourers, landowners and those with nothing — all gathered at the same screen to witness the same story.
The shadow puppet stage was a quiet revolution long before the word had currency.
Today the tradition has moved further — beyond the Ramayana into the stories of Gandhi, Jesus, and social awareness narratives. Women are now learning the craft and the performance. The form, Rajeev believes, is large enough to hold any story worth telling.
It came from here.
The official logo of the Kerala Chalachitra Academy — the image of Lankalakshmi seen before Kerala's most significant films — was designed by director G. Aravindan after a visit to the Pulavur family home, where he saw their puppets and was moved by what he found.
The Lumière brothers were influenced by shadow puppetry in France. Dadasaheb Phalke — the father of Indian cinema — was influenced by puppet shows in Maharashtra before making the first Indian film.
Tholpavakoothu is not just a predecessor to Kerala cinema. It is, in the deepest sense, a grandmother of cinema itself.
The Pulavur family has practiced Tholpavakoothu for fourteen generations in Koonathara, Shoranur — a continuity that spans several centuries and has never been broken.
Krishnankutty Pulavar — Rajeev's grandfather — is credited with single-handedly rescuing the art form from near-extinction in the latter half of the 20th century.
His son, Padma Shri K.K. Ramachandra Pulavar, took what his father had preserved and carried it further — out of the temple and onto the world stage. He received the Padma Shri, India's fourth-highest civilian honour, for his contribution to this tradition.
Rajeev is the fourteenth generation. He inherited not just the technique but the weight of what the two generations before him did to ensure the practice reached him intact.
Rajeev Pulavur — fourteenth generation, Koonathara
Rajeev Pulavur — fourteenth generation, Koonathara
The Pulavur family has practiced Tholpavakoothu for fourteen generations in Koonathara, Shoranur — a continuity that spans several centuries and has never been broken.
Krishnankutty Pulavar — Rajeev's grandfather — is credited with single-handedly rescuing the art form from near-extinction in the latter half of the 20th century.
His son, Padma Shri K.K. Ramachandra Pulavar, took what his father had preserved and carried it further — out of the temple and onto the world stage. He received the Padma Shri, India's fourth-highest civilian honour, for his contribution to this tradition.
Rajeev is the fourteenth generation. He inherited not just the technique but the weight of what the two generations before him did to ensure the practice reached him intact.
Tholpavakoothu is not disappearing quickly. Rajeev Pulavur is active, teaching, building, expanding. The Pulavur family centre is functioning. Young people are learning — including women entering a practice that was historically closed to them.
What would be lost is not only a performance tradition. It would be the specific vocabulary of shadows. The 41-night performance cycles. The oral knowledge of how to read a piece of hide before cutting it. The 600-year-old deer-skin figures — they would become objects without living context, artefacts rather than ancestors.
Rajeev is not waiting to be saved. He is building. When Sapgrain came to Koonathara, it came to record — not to rescue. To make this exist somewhere other than the hands that hold it.
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