The Hindu mythological film is hardly a new genre in Indian cinema. In the early years after India won independence from the British, it was considered to be a necessary cultural phenomenon that would contribute to creating a national identity. Many prominent stars across industries have acted in Hindu mythological dramas, imprinting themselves as demigods in the audience’s memory. Veteran Telugu actor and politician NT Rama Rao played Lord Krishna in as many as 18 films, and was known to dress up as a mythological hero even for public meetings when he was the Chief Minister of Andhra Pradesh.
In Kerala, too, several mythological films have been made in the past, particularly revolving around Ayyappa. The 1975 film Swami Ayyappan, directed by P Subramaniam and shot simultaneously in Tamil and Malayalam, was a huge box-office success and won four Kerala State Film Awards. The film made Sabarimala even more popular in Tamil Nadu and other states. Interestingly, the song ‘Harivarasanam’, which was rendered by KJ Yesudas in the film, became such a hit that it began to be played as a lullaby to the deity every night before the doors of the sanctum sanctorum were closed. There are television serials based on Ayyappa that have, and continue to, run to several seasons too.
So, why the furore over Malikappuram now?
The film’s protagonist is eight-year-old Kallu (Deva Nandha), a child who is obsessed with Ayyappa and loves listening to stories about him from her grandmother. She dearly wants to go to Sabarimala, but her father Ajayan (Saiju Kurup) keeps putting it off. When tragedy strikes (it is a heartless atheist who causes it), and it looks like Kallu may never go to Sabarimala in the near future, she makes up her mind to take the journey by herself. Her close friend and neighbour Piyush (Sreepath) insists on accompanying her and they hop onto a bus. But danger lurks in the form of a Tamil child trafficking ring – and just as Kallu and Piyush are about to be dragged into its murky underbelly, Ayyappa (Unni Mukundan) appears in the form of a fellow Sabarimala pilgrim.
The rest of the film is about how Ayyappa protects the children and fulfils their wish to see the Lord at Sabarimala. It takes us through the route of the pilgrimage, filling the screen with visuals of the rituals surrounding it. There’s also a ‘rational’ explanation for what happens (spoiler ahead) – Ayyappa is actually a policeman who discovers the runaway kids and decides to guard them; it is possibly Kallu’s devotion that makes her view him as Lord Ayyappa.
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While there are a few references in passing to the issue of women’s entry to Sabarimala, the film doesn’t take a firm stance on the subject. However, Ayyappa does say that a devotee can reach the shrine only when he wills it, and the only women we see on their way to the temple are either young girls or the elderly. Kallu’s family repeatedly reiterates that since she’s already eight, it might soon be too late for her to go to the temple that has historically banned menstruating girls and women from entering. It doesn’t occur to Kallu to question this.
The title ‘Malikappuram’ is a reference to Maalikapurathamma, a goddess who has a temple to herself in Sabarimala. According to myths, the goddess wishes to marry Ayyappa and he has promised to oblige her when there are no first-time devotees (Kanni Ayyappas) visiting him in Sabarimala.
With Ayyappa becoming a young girl’s guardian in the story, the film attempts to remove the taint of misogyny with which Sabarimala is frequently associated in political discussions. It chooses to sidestep the temple entry issue rather than engage with it, reminding the audience of what Sabarimala means to the ‘true’ devotee. Further, the little girl is shown to be lighting her father’s pyre – an overturning of a patriarchal tradition. In doing so, the film also lays claim to being ‘progressive’, as if to say that one can be gender just and follow the temple rules that exclude women who are of menstruating age.
Malikappuram is certainly a disruption in the new wave that Malayalam cinema is witnessing. This wave, spearheaded by maverick directors who are questioning traditional understandings of gender, caste, class, and religion with innovative ways of storytelling, has put Malayalam cinema on the global map. For instance, Jeo Baby’s The Great Indian Kitchen (2021) was released on Neestream, a small OTT platform, but it quickly became a widely watched film beyond the Kerala audience. Revolving around a nameless woman trapped in an endless cycle of housework in a patriarchal family, TGIK’s climax involves a hard look at the rituals surrounding Sabarimala. The film links misogyny in society with what is sanctioned through religion, and it was hailed as a path-breaking movie by many film critics and viewers. It was subsequently purchased by streaming giant Amazon Prime Video.
Even as Bollywood has churned out film after film with a pro-Hindutva and Islamophobic slant, and the pan-Indian hits from the other southern industries have leaned towards hypermasculinity and old world values, the new wave directors in the Malayalam industry have continued to make films that are anti-establishment. There is greater religious diversity in the Malayalam film industry than other industries, thanks to the state’s demographics. Consequently, there is greater religious diversity on screen too, in terms of the stories told and how they are told.
It’s also important to understand the political context in which Malikappuram has been made. The Sabarimala issue is highly emotional and volatile in Kerala. Following the 2018 verdict and violent protests by the Hindu right wing, review pleas were filed and they’re currently pending before the Supreme Court. However, though there is no stay on the order permitting women of menstruating age to enter the temple, the Left government in Kerala is now reluctant to execute it because it is a politically sensitive issue. As recently as in November 2022, the government withdrew a handbook that said that all pilgrims were allowed to enter the temple after the BJP threatened to protest against it. Sabarimala is no more only about devotion, but politics too. This is also why many rightwing handles and media platforms have been promoting the film, though it doesn’t get into the temple entry issue as such. Recognising this is necessary.
But does all this mean that a film like Malikappuram should not be made or watched? Unlike the Hindi film The Kashmir Files which is based on real historical events but has been criticised for taking liberties with facts, Malikappuram positions itself as a fictional, devotional film. It does not mistake misrepresentation for freedom of expression. Even when read with the context in which it has been made, it is largely innocuous in its messaging, barring its offensive stereotyping of Tamils. Its box-office performance also shows that a large section of the general audience has liked the film — either because they are Ayyappa devotees or because a film of this genre hasn’t come out in a while and there is appeal in the novelty. One can agree or disagree with its ideas, but attacking those who find it appealing smacks of intolerance. It only ends up alienating people instead of engaging them in conversation. If a TGIK can exist, there should be room for a Malikappuram to exist too, as abhorrent as its traditionalism might be to some.
It remains to be seen if the success of Malikappuram will spark a trend of similar films, but one can safely bet that Mollywood is in no immediate danger of being overrun with propaganda films. There is enough talent, diversity and originality in the industry to prevent that from happening.
Sowmya Rajendran writes on gender, culture, and cinema. She has written over 25 books, including a nonfiction book on gender for adolescents. She was awarded the Sahitya Akademi’s Bal Sahitya Puraskar for her novel Mayil Will Not Be Quiet in 2015.
The views expressed are the author’s own.