The Bedara Vesha I Saw

I was in Sirsi after ages, and it wasn’t for a vacation this time. I was here on a mission: to make a documentary. My cousin told me about Bedara Vesha, a folk dance of Sirsi, and the legend behind it—of a village guardian who turned into a womaniser and eventually met his end. Many disagreed; they believed he was a rebel or a dacoit who brought the goddess to the village. With all these myths and half-told accounts, my cousin said it would make a great subject for a documentary.

As I began chasing down the real story, I discovered so much more. I saw how jaggery is made and tasted my aunt’s summer mango recipe. I saw how traditions, rituals, and legacies are passed down. I wasn’t just witnessing the folk dance for the first time, but everything surrounding and sustaining it.

Once I saw everything, I knew I didn’t want to repeat the usual narrative of a dying folk art in need of endless support. These traditions don’t need pity or romanticisation. A sympathetic point of view can often make an art form appear weak rather than grand. I didn’t want to do that to Bedara Vesha. Because Bedara Vesha isn’t weak—it’s about revenge. It’s fierce, powerful, and loud. Presenting it through that lens would do it no justice, and I didn’t want to diminish any folk art form in that way.

I also didn’t want to dig deep in search of an absolute truth or try to rewrite history; that’s for the community and each viewer to interpret and believe in their own way. Nor did I want to simply document the performance, the practice, or the setup—there are already plenty of videos online for that.

I wanted none of that.
I simply wanted to bear witness, to show what I saw.