For classical dancer Anita Ratnam, Andal, the revered 7th-century Tamil poet-saint (the only woman among the 12 Alvars—devotees of Lord Vishnu), has been a lifelong companion and her eternal muse. And now, the acclaimed choreographer is all set to bring her renowned production Naachiyar Next to the stage once again this weekend. The recital retells the story of Andal through a blend of classical dance, narrative, and music. Curated for a new generation, the production brings the power of Bhakti poetry to young audiences, creating a natural resonance with Margazhi, the sacred Tamil month in which Andal’s Thiruppavai is traditionally sung.
“I first performed Andal as a nine-year-old during my arangetram, and she has been with me ever since,” Anita Ratnam begins. “Andal lived in the 7th century; some say the early 8th century, during a period of considerable social upheaval in southern India. Tamil Nadu, at that time, was influenced by Jainism, Buddhism, and the emerging Bhakti movement. Her voice was passionate, devotional, rich in imagery, and, at times, erotic, which was both surprising and refreshing. Unlike male poets, many of whom wrote from the perspective of women, Andal spoke in her own voice. She stands out in the cultural memory of Tamil Nadu, parts of Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, and Telangana. She lived a brief life, believed to have been no more than 18 or 19, yet her passionate, devotional poetry has stood the test of time. Some even say that reading Andal is, in itself, sufficient, without recourse to the Vedas.”
Anita embarked on her journey with Naachiyar Next in 2018. “It took eight to nine months to find a fresh way to tell her story. Initially, I had played Andal myself, but I realised I could not portray a teenager authentically. Instead, I created a role for myself as her inner voice, a figure who could be her foster mother, narrator, and conscience.”
For Anita, bringing Andal’s work to life on stage went beyond translation; it demanded a process of transcreation. “We pieced together fragments of her life and society, imagining her world, her longing, and her heartbreak. Her poems are abundant with references to clouds, peacocks, creepers, rain, and the ocean. This connection to nature reflects the late Sangam era, where moods and rhythms of life were interwoven with the natural world. Her verses read like a long, unanswered love letter to Krishna that teemed with a passion, longing, and heartbreak that persists through time. She devoted every moment of her life to the divine, burning away, like camphor, in her devotion. Towards the end, she admits her frailty, her blurred vision, and her fading breath. She even confesses that people are gossiping about her, revealing that she was in a state of delirium.”
And that’s precisely why Anita describes the production as a hard road to hoe. “We had to capture this mood and energy in choreography. I never wanted to present just a cheerful young girl composing Thiruppavai songs. I wanted to depict all her emotions later, be it the heartbreak, yearning, or the slow crumbling of a young life wholly devoted to Krishna. When the audience weeps at the end, I know her story has truly touched hearts.”
Interestingly, Naachiyar Next is largely an all-female production, reflecting Andal’s voice in a patriarchal society. “Yes, we have two men—one who plays her foster father and the other as the voice of the temple priest—because I wanted to convey just how strong the patriarchy was in her time. Can you imagine someone like her? She must have been a problem child, a problem girl within her family, and a problem girl in her community, insisting she would not marry. She said that if any human touched her body, she would die, as this body was to be touched only by Krishna. And yet, Krishna is someone she cannot see, cannot hear, cannot feel, and cannot touch. That must have caused enormous difficulties. People simply would not have known what to do with her, as she was a rebel in her time. So, it was not a deliberate choice that Andal and her friends had to be played by women. It just happened.”
Today, Andal is everywhere, be it on T-shirts, tote bags, or animation. “Every Margazhi, I receive a new T-shirt inspired by her, and it is humbling to be associated with the continuation of her story. My production has evolved over eight years, weathering the pandemic, with new dancers, musicians, and subtle discoveries in choreography. I deliberately scheduled the show just before Margazhi ended to set it apart. English narration ensures that non-Tamil speakers can follow, while Tamil maintains the poetry’s authenticity. For me, it is humbling to be associated with this legacy. To bring her poetry and devotion to life for a new generation, this is my way of ensuring that Andal’s voice is heard, celebrated, and cherished.”
`300 onwards. January 10, 6 pm.
At Museum Theatre, Egmore.
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