Navarasa: The Nine Emotions of Bharatanatyam Explained

A dancer can have flawless footwork and still leave an audience unmoved. What separates technically correct Bharatanatyam from Bharatanatyam that stays with you is *abhinaya* — expression — and at its centre sit the navarasa, the nine fundamental emotions.

Where the Idea Comes From

The navarasa are not a dance convention invented for the stage; they come from the *Natyashastra*, the ancient Sanskrit treatise on drama, dance, and music attributed to the sage Bharata Muni. That text proposed something remarkable: that the whole range of human emotional experience can be organised into a small number of essential flavours, and that the purpose of performance is to distil and transmit them.

The word *rasa* literally means juice, essence, or taste. The metaphor is deliberate — an emotion, properly conveyed, is something the audience tastes.

The Natyashastra originally enumerated eight rasas. A ninth, *shanta* — tranquillity — was recognised in later commentary, most influentially by the philosopher Abhinavagupta, and the set of nine is what we know today as navarasa. The same framework underpins Sanskrit drama, Indian poetry, painting, and every classical dance form of the subcontinent.

Bhava and Rasa: An Important Distinction

Students often use these words interchangeably, but classical theory keeps them apart, and the distinction is genuinely useful.

*Bhava* is what the performer does — the emotion expressed, constructed deliberately through face, eyes, gesture, and body. *Rasa* is what the audience receives — the emotional state awakened in the spectator. Bhava is cause; rasa is effect.

This matters because it reframes what a dancer is doing. The goal is not to *feel* the emotion overwhelmingly on stage — a weeping dancer cannot dance — but to construct it with enough craft that the audience feels it. Abhinaya is a technique of transmission, not self-expression.

The Nine Rasas

Shringara — love, beauty, the erotic. Considered the foremost of the rasas and the most frequently portrayed in Bharatanatyam, shringara covers romantic longing, devotion to a beloved, and the aesthetic delight in beauty. In the classical repertoire it is most often devotional — the soul's longing for the divine, expressed through the language of human love. Physically: soft, mobile eyes, a gentle smile, fluid movement, the head slightly inclined. Most Varnams and Padams live in this territory.

Hasya — laughter, mirth, comedy. Playfulness, delight, teasing, and outright comedy. It appears in narratives of the child Krishna stealing butter, in the mischief of companions, and in the gentle humour of certain Padams. Physically: bright open eyes, a full smile, quick light movement, an animated face.

Karuna — compassion, sorrow, pathos. Grief, separation, pity, and empathetic sorrow. Karuna is the rasa of the abandoned heroine, the bereaved mother, the devotee who feels forsaken. It is often considered the most technically difficult to sustain, because overplayed it becomes maudlin and underplayed it disappears. Physically: downcast or brimming eyes, a heavy slow tempo, a slightly collapsed chest, trembling lips.

Raudra — anger, fury. Rage, indignation, wrath — most often divine wrath. Kali's fury, Shiva's destructive dance, Durga confronting the demon. Physically: widened fixed eyes, flared nostrils, tensed brow, sharp forceful movement, strong stamping footwork.

Veera — heroism, courage, valour. Confidence, resolve, and heroic dignity. The warrior's bearing, the king's authority, Rama drawing the bow. Physically: a lifted chest, steady direct gaze, expansive stance, decisive movement. Veera and raudra are easily confused; veera is composed where raudra is inflamed.

Bhayanaka — fear, terror. Dread, panic, the sense of being threatened. It appears in narrative passages — a demon's approach, a forest at night, a portent. Physically: darting eyes, a recoiling body, trembling, quick shallow movement, hands raised protectively.

Bibhatsa — disgust, revulsion. Aversion, distaste, moral repugnance. The least frequently portrayed of the nine in dance, but it carries real weight in narrative contexts where a character confronts something abhorrent. Physically: a wrinkled nose, narrowed eyes, a turned-away head, a withdrawing body.

Adbhuta — wonder, amazement. Astonishment, awe, marvelling. This is the rasa of the devotee beholding a divine vision, of Arjuna seeing Krishna's cosmic form, of a child encountering something extraordinary. Physically: widened bright eyes, raised eyebrows, a stilled body, an involuntary intake of breath. Audiences respond to adbhuta immediately.

Shanta — peace, tranquillity. Serenity, detachment, spiritual equanimity. The ninth and latest-recognised rasa, and in some ways the subtlest: it is expressed less through active portrayal than through stillness and an inward, settled quality. It typically closes a performance, and it is the rasa most associated with the devotional purpose of the art.

How Dancers Actually Portray Them

Abhinaya is built from four components, all working at once.

*Angika* is expression through the body — posture, gesture, the *hasta mudras*, and above all the eyes. Bharatanatyam trains eye movement as a discipline of its own (*drishti bheda*), and it is not an exaggeration to say the eyes carry most of the emotional load. This is why stage make-up emphasises them so heavily.

*Vachika* is expression through the sung word and the lyric being interpreted. *Aharya* is costume, jewellery, and make-up. *Sattvika* is the hardest to teach — the genuine inner state that gives the constructed expression its life.

A dancer working on a single line of a Padam might explore five or six different interpretations of it, testing which reading lands. The technical term is *sanchari bhava*: the elaboration of one emotional idea through many small variations. This is where Bharatanatyam stops being choreography and becomes something closer to acting.

Why This Matters for Students

In the early years, training is dominated by footwork — the adavus and their rhythmic precision. Abhinaya enters gradually, and many students initially find it far harder than the physical work. Holding an expression without exaggerating it, in front of an audience, is genuinely uncomfortable at first.

But it is also the part of the training with the widest reach beyond the stage. Children who learn to name, distinguish, and portray nine distinct emotional states develop an unusually articulate emotional vocabulary. Adults often describe abhinaya work as the most personally significant part of their practice — a rare licence to inhabit feelings that daily life gives no outlet for. We have written more about that dimension in how Bharatanatyam improves fitness, posture and mental health for adults.

Learning Abhinaya at Nrithyakshetra

At our HSR Layout studio, abhinaya is taught as a serious component of the curriculum rather than an afterthought — beginning with basic eye and face exercises in the first year, and deepening into full interpretive work as students reach the Shabdam, Varnam, and Padam repertoire. Because our students also learn Sanskrit shlokas, they come to the lyrics with an unusual degree of comprehension, which makes their expression more grounded.

Our class programmes cover both the technical and expressive sides for children, beginners, and adults, and are available online as well. To visit or ask a question, reach out here.