Therukoothu artiste PK Sambandan finds new stories to tell through his art

With five decades of experience in therukoothu, PK Sambandan keeps his art alive by exploring new stories to tell, from the works of Anton Chekhov to Subramania Bharati

“I’m not performing today,” says PK Sambandan, in a baritone that drowns the cacophony of children filling up the performance space. Five decades of performing therukoothu have left an impact on his voice: it is the kind that will silence an entire auditorium. But the man himself, with long white hair, dressed in a white dhoti and shirt, is calm and genial. The 71-year-old runs the Purisai Duraisamy Kannappa Thambiran Therukoothu troupe in Purisai and has performed at hundreds of stages, ranging from dusty village squares and school grounds, to air-conditioned theatres in France, Sweden, and the US.

He was recently in Coimbatore as part of an event organised by SPICMACAY, that mainly involved performing for school students. Ahead of their performance of a piece titled Hiranya Samharam, he chides one of his younger performers about an extra line of paint between the eyebrows. His team is on its feet, getting their faces painted, putting on their glittery costumes, and tying anklets to their feet. Therukoothu involves elaborate costumes and face paint; and Sambandan is particular about the finer details.  

Sambandan is from the fifth generation of therukoothu artistes. He trained under his father D Kannappa Thambiran, a legend in his craft in the village of Purisai near Cheyyar in Tiruvannamalai district. “My first stage performance was in 1971, when I was 18 years old,” he recalls. He played an asuran, a mythical demon. From then on, Sambandan travelled to temple festivals across Tamil Nadu, especially in Tiruvannamalai, Chengalpet, Viluppuram and Kanchipuram districts, to perform koothu based on stories from TheMahabharata and TheRamayana.

The plays last several days, with the artistes performing through the night, and long after the crack of dawn. With no mics involved and musicians playing live in the background, the artistes would bellow their lines to the audience. “We are busy six months a year, and spend the rest of it on practice and other koothu-related work,” recalls Sambandan.

“We often catch up on sleep on bus journeys between performances,” he smiles. He says that in all these years, he has never felt exhausted. But three years of being at home due to the pandemic lockdowns took a toll on him. “I have slowed down my pace, as a result,” he says.

Sambandan has always been open to incorporating new elements in his koothu. He lists his pieces such as those based on A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings by Gabriel García Márquez and Anton Chekhov’s Swan Song. He has even created a piece based on one of Subramania Bharati’s poems. “In all of these versions, nothing changes. The essence of therukoothu, such as our songs, costumes, and music remain the same. It is only the story that changes,” he says.

Sambandan has conducted numerous workshops and often invites people interested in the arts to learn koothu at Purisai. His performances have won him rave reviews and awards, but in his initial days, what Sambandan held close to his heart was his father’s feedback. “Once we came home after a performance, the first thing my mother would ask my father was how I had done,” he recalls. “He would simply nod and say something dismissive.” But once the entire household fell asleep and his father was not around, Sambandan would ask his mother if he told her anything more. “She would then tell me how much he appreciated me, specifically asking her not to tell me,” he laughs.