Harikatha: One Tradition, Many Stories - Dhruba Basu

It would be unfair to call harikatha an art form. Not because it lacks artistry, but the term fails to do justice to all that harikatha is, and has been for millennia. The multitude of performative forms through which it expresses itself, the incitement to devotion that is its mandate, the ancestral nature of its relationship to various other folk forms - harikatha must be understood against the backdrop of this monumental legacy. 

To put things in perspective, it is useful to begin by acknowledging that harikatha is regarded as one of the oldest extant storytelling traditions of the Indian subcontinent. And that is probably one of the better ways of describing it in a single sentence, as it conveys what is essential about harikatha. However, one runs the risk of neglecting the vast array of performative techniques and thematic genres that go into harikatha storytelling—most commonly music, but also dance, drama, poetry, and of course the peculiarly adaptable mixture of mythology and philosophy that is the hallmark of the Hindu faith. 

All of this is marshalled to tell the literal harikatha, or story of God. That god is often Krishna (or other forms of Vishnu), but there are no hard and fast rules about this—it could be any god/goddess, or even a demigod. Episodes from the Puranas and the Mahabharat are common, and the oration of the central narrative may be frequently interrupted by anecdotes of less significant events that occur along the way. The oration may entirely take the form of a song or be interspersed with songs that are accompanied by music. This generally entails multiple performers—one central narrator, known as the haridas, accompanied by musicians on the mridangam and violin. 

The haridas, who often keeps the beat with hand cymbals, is required by custom to be rigorously trained in Indian classical music and drama, and formidably knowledgeable about raga and rasa theory. The Indian classical tradition places a premium on the evocation of very specific emotions (rasa) in the audience through any performative piece, which is achieved by the performer through equally specific and subtle variations of expression, gesture, tone, volume, etc. It is the haridas’ sacred duty, in a sense, to deploy this ancient body of performance theory and instill strong devotional or spiritual feelings in their audience. 

In practice, however, harikatha has broken free of customary restrictions and has been widely used by troupes of travelling folk performers to inculcate moral and educational values through mythological tales. This is in contrast to its history of patronage as an elite tradition. Legend has it that sage Narad himself was the first ever haridas. According to historical records, on the other hand, it attained its modern form after the incursion of the Marathas into southern Indian in the 17th century, which led to a fusion of keertan and Tamil storytelling traditions. Consequently, the major areas of its growth and expansion have been the states of south India, where royal courts have historically ascribed it a privileged position. 

The intriguing thing about harikatha, apart from the fact that it has swaddled the realms of elite and common culture both, is its sheer breadth as a tradition. Thematically and formally almost unlimited in scope, it has, over the centuries, assimilated cultural practices from every region that has adopted it, and mutated accordingly. It is believed, for instance, that yakshagana, popular in Karnataka and Kerala, and burra katha, popular in Andhra Pradesh and Telangana, both trace their roots to harikatha. This breadth allows for the accommodation of multitudes and contrasts: rigorous and flexible, classical and folk, ancient and adaptable. 

No wonder, then, that it is so difficult to explain precisely what harikatha is. Of course, one way of getting around this difficulty is to experience it in the way that it is meant to be experienced: as a live performance.