From Ayodhya to London: Arunima Kumar takes Kuchipudi far and wide

Performing in Ayodhya was both a dream and a blessing. I had the honour of performing at the Ram Mandir during Ram Navami, which was a true privilege. We performed at a temple, and I’m grateful to my guru, Shrimati Vanashree Rao ji, who helped organise it. Performing in a sacred space like Ayodhya, with its deep history and philosophy, felt like a perfect bridge between past and present – sacred and real. We all grew up reading about the Ramayan and the holy city of Ayodhya, but to actually be there, in that moment, part of that heritage and tradition, and to bring Indian dance – also rooted in history – alive in that space, was incredibly moving.

It was very beautiful. I can’t fully describe the emotion of performing there.

The temple organisers requested a piece on Ram Lalla, so we created Thumak Chalat Ramchandra, a bhajan very close to my heart – my grandmother used to sing it to us. Performing it in Ayodhya felt deeply personal. My 11-year-old daughter Aishwarya, also a Kuchipudi student, played Ram Lalla. Seeing her on stage brought a new layer of meaning – as a mother, it touched me profoundly. Sharing that moment with my guru, Shrimati Vanashree Rao ji, my daughter, and myself – generations of Kuchipudi – was truly unforgettable.

I also performed Deva Devam Bhajit, choreographed by Vanashree Rao ji, which brings alive Shri Ram’s compassion, strength, and unwavering values. It tells the story of his offering 108 lotuses to the Mother Goddess – when one was missing, he offered his own eye, until the Goddess, moved by his devotion, stopped him.

These stories carry timeless values, and that is the power of our art – it moves, heals, and connects. Offering this nritya seva in Ayodhya was a moment of deep gratitude.

The approach doesn’t change much – it starts with understanding the setting and the purpose of the performance. This was a spiritual offering, so I researched the city, its history, and tradition. I hadn’t been to Ayodhya before, so I began by looking at the temple and the deity of Shri Ram Lalla online. What struck me was his innocent yet deeply expressive face – as it’s the deity of a child Ram, that innocence carries great depth.

Immersing myself in that history helped shape the performance. I also discovered things I hadn’t known – for instance, the presence of Sharayu Ghat. While the Ram Lalla temple is central, there are temples throughout the city, and you hear chants of Shri Ram all day and night. Ayodhya truly lives that emotion every second.

Sharayu Ghat is where Shri Ram is depicted without weapons, because it’s where he took samadhi. He led all of Ayodhya into the river, shedding human form and entering the divine realm. That site holds immense historical and spiritual meaning. For me, visiting both the temple of child Ram and Sharayu Ghat felt like completing the circle of life.

I was joined by fellow artists Bobby Chakravarti from Kolkata and Vasim Raja from Delhi. After our performance, the priest asked us to perform the aarti. Though unprepared, we improvised as the temple sang. That’s the beauty of our arts – they aren’t boxed or scripted. They allow spontaneous participation and collective emotion.

We went beyond our planned pieces – all of us sang and danced together. It was a beautiful moment.

In contrast, the London Marathon was a completely different experience. I believe it set a Guinness World Record for participation. Our performance was in the fan zone, meant to engage people cheering the runners or those who had just finished. It was a celebration of movement – dance as both physical activity and emotional connection.

The audience was wonderfully receptive. We – myself, Swati Bansal and Biddya Rai – led a dance-along, and I was amazed that people who had run over 40km still had energy to join us. Again, the focus was on setting and audience – choosing the right music, movements, and energy for that space.

Afterward, we saw people trying out the mudras they had seen on stage. That was very moving. These were people from around the world, and if they took even a small part of our art form back with them, that’s the greatest gift for a dancer.

Though the contexts were different, the core remains the same: a love for dance and a desire to connect deeply with people. In Ayodhya, people knew the language and sang along. At the marathon, most didn’t – but they still connected, because of the power of dance.

For larger shows, of course, there’s much more to consider – selecting dancers who match your artistic and choreographic vision. But in essence, that’s how I approach each performance.

Dance is a lived experience. From the moment we’re born, we respond to rhythm – it’s instinctive. I perform Kuchipudi, a centuries-old tradition of storytelling through movement. As dancers and teachers, we are bridges between the past and the future. If we pass it on with care, the next generation can shape it anew.

Our art is like a river – we take from it, give to it, and let it flow. How much amrit we draw is up to us.

Living in Britain, it’s our responsibility to preserve our heritage. Try a music or dance class, learn an instrument – it will only enrich you. These traditions heal and uplift. Every mudra, every shloka has power. Indian dance uses the whole body to express, connect, and restore.

The Natya Veda, created as the fifth Veda, was meant to heal society. Our ancestors gave us this gift – ready to be embraced.

I dream of a world where every home sings, dances, and creates. Material wealth is endless, but spiritual wealth – the kind we gain through art – nourishes us deeply.

I found joy and peace in my art. I hope others do too. So pause, breathe, and dance – even just a little. That’s where healing begins.