In a quiet hospital room in Mangalore, the final curtain fell on one of Kerala’s most silent yet significant cultural stories. Panakkacheri Narayani, the last known practitioner of Udayam Kali, a vanishing women’s folk dance from North Kerala, passed away after a month-long illness. She leaves behind no grand stage, no television recordings, and no formal accolades—but she leaves something far more powerful: the echo of an ancestral art that once pulsed through the communal life of Kerala’s coastal villages. In a quiet hospital room in Mangalore, the final curtain fell on one of Kerala’s most silent yet significant cultural stories. Panakkacheri Narayani, the last known practitioner of Udayam Kali, a vanishing women’s folk dance from North Kerala, passed away after a month-long illness. She leaves behind no grand stage, no television recordings, and no formal accolades—but she leaves something far more powerful: the echo of an ancestral art that once pulsed through the communal life of Kerala’s coastal villages.
A Dance before Dawn
Udayam Kali, or "Dance of the Sunrise," was a unique tradition once widespread in areas like Trikaripur, Cheruvathur, and Nileswaram. Unlike mainstream dance forms that grew under temple patronage or royal courts, Udayam Kali belonged to the hearth and the homestead. It was a dance born not of performance but of purpose—deeply woven into the rhythms of rural domestic life.
Performed on the eve of a marriage, it was a way for the women of the community to keep themselves awake through the night. These were not idle hours—they were filled with preparation for the next day's feast. In an era before modern catering, it was the women who ground the pepper, scraped the coconut, sliced the vegetables, and cooked the elaborate sadya (wedding meal). As their hands moved with culinary precision, their feet moved in rhythm, and their voices lifted in folk songs, an act both joyous and communal. The dance would begin in the night and continue till dawn, hence the name Udayam Kali.
The dancers, often numbering eight or more, moved in a circular pattern, clapping hands and singing traditional verses passed down through generations. It was an unchoreographed symphony of labor, song, and sisterhood—one that merged the practical with the poetic.
The Woman Behind the Legacy
Panakkacheri Narayani was not a performer in the conventional sense. She was never trained in an academy, never wore costumes for a stage. She learned Udayam Kali as part of life, absorbing its rhythm from the older women of her family. As the decades rolled by, the world changed around her, but she held on to the dance as a quiet act of resistance—a bridge to a world that was fast disappearing.
She passed on the knowledge to her daughter and other local women, hoping the tradition would survive. But modernity had other plans. With marriages moving from courtyard to auditorium, from family feast to commercial catering, the very context in which Udayam Kali thrived began to vanish. The dance was no longer needed, and soon, no longer remembered. Narayani remained its last voice, its final footstep.
A Flicker of Revival
In 2005, the Folkland International Centre for Folklore and Culture, based in Trikaripur, recognized the urgency of documenting and preserving this disappearing art form. Realizing that Narayani might be the only surviving practitioner, the organization initiated efforts to revive Udayam Kali. A workshop was organized under her leadership at the Folkland Centre. For the first time, Narayani stepped into a space that formally recognized her knowledge—not as a domestic chore but as a cultural heritage.
It was a moment of profound honor for her. The workshop brought together surviving women who remembered fragments of the dance. With Narayani guiding them, they recreated the circular rhythm, the songs, and the spirit of the tradition. That event marked a rare moment of reclamation—for both Narayani and Udayam Kali.
But time is unrelenting. Narayani’s health soon began to fail, and she gradually stepped back from community life. Despite her weakening body, her spirit remained anchored in the tradition she so dearly loved.
A Tribute, A Farewell
On March 8, 2023—International Women’s Day—Folkland once again turned its attention to Narayani. Recognizing her role in preserving an endangered folk tradition, the organization honored her publicly. It was more than a symbolic gesture; it was an affirmation of the value of folk wisdom, and a recognition of the women who guard it.
Today, as we mourn her passing, we also reflect on what her life represents. In a world that increasingly prizes spectacle over substance, Narayani stood for a quieter legacy. She embodied a cultural memory that lived not in museums but in the daily lives of women. Her dance was not staged; it was lived.
Vanishing Traditions, Enduring Echoes
With Narayani’s passing, Udayam Kali fades further into the shadows of forgotten traditions. Yet, her story is a poignant reminder that folk arts are not mere performances; they are lifelines to a community’s history, philosophy, and soul.
Each time a tradition dies with its last practitioner, we lose not just art but a way of being. Udayam Kali was never about fame or applause; it was about togetherness, resilience, and the poetry of daily life. And in that, it was extraordinary.
As we bid farewell to Panakkacheri Narayani, we do so with both grief and gratitude. Grief, for the irreplaceable loss of a woman who carried a world within her. And gratitude, for her courage in holding that world aloft, even when it seemed no one was watching.