The aesthetically rich old tharavadu known around the place as ‘Valiya Veedu’ stood weathering countless monsoons in the lush, green heart of Ernakulam district, where the Periyar River embraced the Arabian Sea.
This ancestral home belonged to Vasundhara Menon, the renowned Mohini Attam dancer and Padma Shri awardee. The house, with its red-tiled roof and weathered teak pillars, was home to many talents, her mother was a reputed Carnatic singer, father an awesome Mridangam player. The tharavadu was a silent witness to the ebb and flow of art, ambition, and the unchanging rhythms of Kerala life.
Vasundhara's fiercely competitive spirit, focus and dedication to her art had catapulted her to where she was today, often compared to the thespian and Mohini Attam’s legend, Kanak Rele.
But this came at a cost, her short lived marriage suffered and ended in a bitter divorce.
As the monsoon rains lashed against the windows, the sound of ankle bells tinkling in rhythm with the mridangam filled the air. Vasundhara's eyes blazed with intensity as she watched the dancers , struggle through the intricate mudras of Mohini Attam, students of hers who were mostly daughters of equally rich background, diplomats or ministers.
It was a privilege and a rare opportunity to be trained under Vasundhara for she carefully chose her students.
"Manjushree! Your wrists are as stiff as my father’s walking cane lying in the corner, Soften them girl!" Vasundhara's shrill voice cut through the music. The girl in question, sweat beading on her forehead, nodded frantically and attempted to correct her posture.
In the corner of the room, Devika Menon observed the class, her own ankle bells silent. At fifteen, she was the spitting image of her mother in her youth – the same high cheekbones, the same imperious tilt of the chin. But where Vasundhara's eyes held fire, Devika's held a gentler light.
Devika knew very early in life that her mother wants to relive all her glory again, through her. She was definitely better than the other students but Devika was aware of her frailties.
As the students fumbled through the Cholkettu, the opening piece of the Mohini Attam repertoire, Devika's gaze drifted to the window. Through the rain-streaked glass, she caught sight of a small figure darting across the garden – Kani, the daughter of their house help, Lakshmi.
Devika watched as Kani paused by the window, her wide eyes taking in the dance class. For a moment, their gazes met, and Devika offered a small smile. Kani's face lit up, but before she could respond, Lakshmi appeared, ushering her daughter away with urgent whispers.
"Devika! Stop daydreaming and show these girls how it's done," Vasundhara with a certain surety commanded, breaking the moment.
Devika rose, the bells at her ankles chiming softly. As she took her position at the center of the room, she caught sight of Kani's face peeking around the door frame, eyes shining with admiration and longing.
The mridangam began its rhythm anew, and Devika's body flowed into the familiar movements. Her arms curved like gentle waves, her eyes darted in practiced nritta, and her feet stamped out complex patterns on the cool stone floor.
Vasundhara always used to watch her daughter with a gleam in her eyes, mixture of pride but also critically assessed her. "It was okay, can be better," she said as Devika finished, "your abhinaya still lacks depth. You must feel the emotion, not just show it."
As the class continued, none of the girls practising in the central courtyard of the naalkettu noticed Kani mimicking the movements in the shadows of the veranda, her bare feet silent on the worn stone, her eyes closed in concentration as she lost herself in the dance.
While life in the Menon tharavadu revolved around the rhythm of the dance classes, a different tune marked the days in the small village of Puthenvelikkara, just a few kilometers away. Here, in a modest thatched hut at the edge of a lush paddy field, lived Lakshmi's family. They were among many displaced families who had settled there as a result of a big dam usurping their land many years back.
Each morning, before the sun had fully risen, Lakshmi’s husband, Rajan would leave for the nearby rubber plantation, joining the throng of landless laborers. His calloused hands and weathered face told the story of years of hard work and meager rewards.
Lakshmi would hurry to prepare for her day of work at the Menon household, her quick movements a dance of their own - one choreographed by necessity and seasoned with worry. Kani, their daughter, would stir on her thin mattress, blinking sleep from her eyes.
"Amma, can I come with you today?" Kani would often ask, her voice hopeful.
Lakshmi would smile tiredly. "Not today, molu. You have school. Maybe this weekend, if Menon amma allows it."
As Kani dressed for school in her worn but clean uniform, her ears tranced her to the faint strains of music from the big house. Her feet moved unconsciously, tracing patterns on the packed earth floor.
"Kani!" Lakshmi's voice would snap her out of her reverie. "Hurry now, or you'll be late."
As Kani rushed out, narrowly avoiding the puddles left by last night's rain, Lakshmi would watch her go with a mixture of love and worry. Times were hard, and getting harder. Rubber prices had drastically dropped, Rajan's work at the plantation was irregular, and the meager pay barely kept food on the table. Lakshmi's job at the Menon house was their lifeline, but that too couldn’t hold her house tight.
In the following weeks, as Vasundhara drilled her students relentlessly, Kani found herself drawn more and more to the big house. On days when she didn't have school, she would accompany her mother, ostensibly to help with chores. But her real purpose was to sneak glances at the dance classes, her keen eyes absorbing every movement, every expression.
One sweltering afternoon, as Vasundhara's students wilted in the heat, Kani was scrubbing the veranda floor. The mridangam from the dance room wafted through the air, and almost unconsciously, Kani's hands began to move in rhythm, her eyes half-closed as she lost herself in the melody.
Devika, stepping out for a drink of water, froze at the sight, she couldn’t believe what her eyes saw. There was Kani, on her knees, performing Sankalana Mudra, one of the most difficult one as it requires one to show different Mudras on both hands at the same time - the one she and her fellow students had been struggling with for weeks - with effortless grace.
"Kani?" Devika's voice was barely a whisper, but it was enough to snap Kani out of her trance. The girl's eyes widened in fear, her hands trembling as she clutched the scrubbing brush.
"Chechi…please, don't tell Amma," Kani pleaded, her voice quavering. "She'll be very angry if she knows I've been watching. My mother badly needs this job, chechi. I will never do it again" Kani was petrified of the possible outcome.
Devika knelt beside her, taking Kani's calloused hands in her own. "Why would I tell? What you just did... it was so beautiful."
A tentative smile blossomed on Kani's face, and in that moment, a bond was forged between the two girls that would change both their lives.
As the annual inter-school dance competition of Ernakulam district approached, tension filled the air. This wasn't just any competition - it was a chance for schools across the region to showcase their talent, from the prestigious convent schools to the humble gram panchayat ones. School talent competitions across Kerala is widely popular and covered by all media outlets.
In the Menon household, Vasundhara drilled her students relentlessly, with Devika bearing the brunt of her mother's perfectionism. Devika would be representing St. Mary's Convent, the most elite school in the district.
Vasundhara was certain of her daughter's victory.
Meanwhile, in Kani's small hut in Puthenvelikkara, a different kind of preparation was underway. With no formal training and no resources, Kani practiced in secret, using every spare moment to perfect her moves. Her local gram panchayat school, had initially been hesitant to send a representative. But Rukmani, Kani's teacher, having caught glimpses of her talent, had insisted she participate.
The day of the competition dawned bright and clear. The auditorium in Ernakulam city buzzed with excitement as dancers from schools across the district gathered, a riot of colorful costumes and nervous energy.
Vasundhara sat in the front row; her eyes sharp as she assessed each performer. Her gaze softened with pride as Devika took the stage, resplendent in her costume. Devika's performance was flawless, her grace and technique drawing appreciative murmurs from the crowd. As she finished, Vasundhara nodded in satisfaction, certain of her daughter's success.
But then, something unexpected happened. A slender girl in a simple, worn costume, sourced by Rukmani, took the stage. Vasundhara's eyes widened in recognition - it was Kani, the daughter of her house help, the one who use to always run away seeing her sight in her house. She hadn't even known the girl was participating.
As the music began, Kani transformed. Her movements were just magical, the mudras her small hands made were perfect, her pathakas, kartharimukhas enlivened the imagery, flowed like the smooth flowing Periyar River, but powerful and graceful.
Her eyes spoke of love, of longing, of the very spirit of Kerala itself. With no expensive costume or ankle bells, she turned the stage into her canvas, her mesmerising dance an example of raw, unbridled talent.
Vasundhara sat frozen with stunned eyes, her face a mask of conflicting emotions. This was not just an imitation of steps seen she may have learnt from afar. This was a prodigy in its purest form, the kind she hadn't witnessed in years - perhaps not since her own youth.
As Kani's performance ended, the auditorium erupted in unequivocal applause which didn’t seem to stop. Tears streamed down Lakshmi's face as she watched from the back, her heart swelling with pride and fear in equal measure at her daughter’s unbelievable performance.
When the judges rose to announce their decision, the audience spoke for them in unison, the auditorium raptured as one in proclaiming ‘Kani’ as the winner. the judges joined them and announced that the girl from the Puthenvelikkara gram panchayat school, had won first place.
Devika, to everyone's surprise, including her own, had secured a close second. She won everyone’s hearts when she lifted Kani’s left hand and gave her a peck on her cheek. Devika was happier for her friend’s win than anyone else in the auditorium.
Vasundhara's world tilted on its axis. Her daughter, whom she had trained rigorously for years, had been outperformed by a girl who had never had a formal lesson. A girl who cleaned their floors and tended their garden. The implications were staggering. She had self-doubts for the first time in her life and she hated the feeling which was creeping and eating her.
Vasundhara withdrew into herself, spending long hours alone in the dance room. Devika, didn’t miss noticing her mother’s agony, caught between joy for her friend and loyalty to her mother, she tried to bridge the growing divide.
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In the days that followed, Kani's victory sent ripples through the community. Some celebrated the triumph of raw talent, while others whispered about the impropriety of a servant's daughter outshining her betters.
But fate had other plans. A week after the competition, as Kani was still basking in the glow of her win and preparing for the upcoming state-level competition, disaster struck. Rajan, desperate after losing his job at the plantation, was accused of stealing from a local landlord. Despite his protestations of innocence, he was arrested and thrown into the Ernakulam District Jail.
The news spread like wildfire through Puthenvelikkara. Lakshmi, frantic with worry, knew they needed help - and money - to bail out Rajan. With nowhere else to turn, she approached Vasundhara.
Vasundhara listened to Lakshmi's tearful plea, her mind racing. Here was an opportunity - to help, yes, but also to remove the threat to her daughter's success, to restore the natural order of things. But she needed time to plan, to make sure her intervention would yield the results she desired.
"Come back tomorrow," Vasundhara said, her voice carefully neutral. "I need to consider this."
That night, as Lakshmi and Kani huddled together in their hut, their future uncertain, Vasundhara paced in her room. She crafted her scheme carefully, weighing each word she would say.
The next morning, when Lakshmi returned, hope and desperation warring in her eyes, Vasundhara was ready.
"I will help you," she said slowly, "but I must speak to Kani alone first."
In the privacy of the dance room, Vasundhara made Kani an offer. The bail money in exchange for Kani's withdrawal from the upcoming state-level competition. Torn between her passion and her family's needs, Kani readily agreed, her dreams crumbling like the chalk powder on a dancer's feet.
But Devika, overhearing, felt her world shift, she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The mother she had idolized, the art she had devoted her life to - suddenly, it all seemed tainted.
She had heard of her mean streak, her fierce go-getting attitude when it came to achieve certain things, she herself was a prize her mother fought to the nail at the time of her divorce. She also feared her mother but she knew what her mother was asking her to do is unfair.
That night, as monsoon rains lashed the tharavadu once more, Devika made a decision. Sneaking out, she made her way to Kani's humble home in Puthenvelikkara, clutched in her hand, her savings she used to receive as kaineetam on her birthdays and festivals.
"Take it," she said, pressing the money into Kani's hands. "Compete. Dance. Show the world what Mohini Attam truly means."
Kani's eyes filled with tears. "But your mother..."
Devika, someone who was deprived of fatherly love, squared her shoulders. "Let me handle Amma. Some battles are worth fighting." Devika though unsure was determined to take on her mother should the time come.
The state-level competition, held in Thiruvananthapuram, was a blur of color and sound. Kani danced like one possessed, her performance a love letter to Kerala, to Mohini Attam, to the indomitable spirit of those who create art against all odds.
As the judges conferred, Devika sought out her mother in the audience. Vasundhara sat rigid, her eyes never leaving the stage where Kani had danced, she had never seen such a brilliant depiction of Mohini, the female enchantress in recent times
"Why, Amma?" Devika's voice was soft but firm. "Why would you try to stop her?"
Vasundhara was silent for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was thick with emotion. "I saw myself in her. The hunger, the raw talent. I thought... I thought I was protecting you."
Devika took her mother's hand. "Art isn't a competition, Amma. It's a celebration. You taught me that, once."
As Kani's name was announced as the winner, Vasundhara stood. The auditorium fell silent as the renowned dancer made her way to the stage.
Standing before Kani, Vasundhara did something she hadn't done in years. She bent down and touched the feet of the young dancer, acknowledging her as a true artist.
"Teach me," Vasundhara said softly. "Teach me to dance like that again."
Kani's smile was as bright as the Kerala sun after a torrential rain. And as Devika joined them on stage, the three dancers stood together, representatives of past, present, and future, united by the timeless art of Mohini Attam.
In the years that followed, Kani rose to become one of the greatest students of the Vasundhara Menon School of Dance and it became not just known for its technical excellence, but for its heart. Dancers from all walks of life found a home there, their feet tracing ancient patterns on the weathered stone floor, their spirits soaring with each tinkling of the ankle bells.
And on quiet evenings, when the light turned golden and the air was heavy with the scent of jasmine, one might see three figures dancing in the Valiya Veedu’s courtyard - the teacher, her daughter, and the servant girl from Puthenvelikkara who had now become a maestro. Their movements told a story of tradition and change, of pride and humility, of the eternal dance of life itself.
As for Rajan, he was eventually cleared of all charges, the truth of his innocence coming to light. The Menon family, led by Vasundhara's newfound humility and Devika's unwavering sense of justice, used their influence to secure him a respectable job at the Cochin Port Trust.
The story of Kani, the celebrated dancer of Puthenvelikkara, became a legend in Ernakulam district and beyond. It served as a reminder that true art knows no boundaries of class or privilege, and that sometimes, the most profound lessons come from the most unexpected sources.
And so, in the heart of Kerala, where the backwaters mirror the sky and the rhythm of life beats in sync with the classical arts, a new chapter in the story of Mohini Attam was written - one of hope, transformation, and the enduring power of dance to bridge the divides that separate us.
