Under a Chhau mask, a dancer can barely see. The eye-holes are narrow, positioned for the character’s face rather than the performer’s, and during a battle sequence—leaping, spinning, dropping into splits mid-air—he is essentially moving on memory and the sound of a dhol (drum), trusting years of drilled choreography over his own eyes. It is one of the odder facts about a dance form that is, at bottom, built on odd, durable choices: performed almost entirely by farmers and labourers rather than professional artists, taught with no script or notation, and staged not in theatres but on open ground at night, under the open sky, during the spring festival of Chaitra Parva.




