DANCING THE ALLEGORY

How often do dancers seek the allegory in a composition?

The prolific orator Swami Vivekananda often evoked the imagery of the raas lila—the divine dance of Krishna and the gopis—to illustrate the devotee’s deeply personal experience of Krishna within the heart.

Indian literature abounds in such esoteric symbolism and allegory—a subtle and evocative tool to stir rasa (aesthetic emotion) and temper complex philosophical ideas with intimacy and accessibility. As is often said, the true meaning of poetry lies between the lines.

Allegory draws upon metaphor, simile, and a host of poetic devices to enrich and veil meaning. In Indian literary theory, this principle is known as dhvani in Sanskrit, and iraichchi in Tamil. But this reflection is not an academic dive into literary devices. Rather, it is a call to recognize how a linear, overly literal interpretation of poetry in dance can obscure—rather than illuminate—the depth of the original text. Too often, we transpose the surface flair of poetry into choreography, and in doing so, lose the nuanced visuality and layered resonance of the composition.

Consider the opening line of Thirunavukkarasar’s much-performed Thevaram:

Kuniththa puruvamum kOvai sevvAyil kumizh sirippum

The one with arched brows and red lips that smile gently

Yes, from a purely visual standpoint, one might depict the arched brow with a graceful soochi hasta, and the smile with a soft curve of the lips. But to stop there is to miss the deeper gesture embedded in the verse. The arched brow, here, is not merely ornamental—it is Shiva’s compassionate attentiveness to his devotee’s call. His smile is not only dazzling but familiar, tender, inviting.

Does this not open up an entirely different dimension from what might first appear to be a flattering description of a beautiful deity?

Just as an actor must navigate visual cues to convey the full depth of a monologue, the dancer, too, must approach poetry with an ear attuned to its dhvani—its suggestion, its silence, its symbolic subtext. At times, this symbolism reveals itself intuitively; at others, it requires careful inquiry, even consultation with scholars or trusted sources.

Take another example from the poetry of Subramania Bharati:

Agni kunjondRu kaNdEn adhaiAngoru kaattilOr pondhidai vaithEnVendhu thanindadhu kaadu – thazhalVeerathil kunjendRum mooppendRum uNdO?

I placed a spark in the hollow of a tree—It engulfed the forest in flames.In the fire of conviction,Can one tell the fledgling from the wise?

We know Bharati as a nationalist and a fiery advocate for Indian independence. The “spark” he describes is not just literal—it is the metaphor for an idea, a longing for freedom, a glimmer of resistance. The image of a single spark consuming a forest becomes an allegory for the power of collective awakening. It also, cleverly, shields him from sedition; such is the craft of the poet, and the power of allegory.

Poetry allows for multiple interpretations, and the dancer has the artistic freedom to choose, provided it is grounded in insight. When choreography is mindful of these inner textures—when it honors the unspoken as much as the said—it transforms performance into poetry.

The dancer then ceases to merely dance about the composition. She begins to dance within it.