Atham – When the King Begins His Return

THE GOLDEN STEP THAT BEGINS THE JOURNEY IN THE HEART OF KERALA 

The Sacred Beginning

As the fresh breath of Chingam deepens, Kerala awakens to Atham, the day that signals not just the start of the Onam season but the return of a deeply loved presence: Mahabali, the Asura King, whose memory has never faded from the Malayali heart.

On this day, every home lays down its first Pookkalam - the floral carpet that blossoms at the doorstep like an open invitation to the noble king’s invisible footfall. It is not a ritual of show, but one of remembrance and quiet reverence. The earth is made fragrant not just with flowers, but with feeling.

It is said that Mahabali begins his descent to Kerala on Atham - not from the sky, but through the corridors of love, memory, and longing. And so, with petals and prayers, the people begin preparing for his arrival, step by step, day by day.

And in this land once ruled by Mahabali, we still sing:

"Maveli Nadu Vazhum Kalam, Kallavumilla Kalavumilla"
When Mahabali ruled the land, there was no theft nor dread of thieves. Honesty of purpose and probity of character were the guiding lights of every heart. Joy and abundance flowed freely, untouched by deceit or fear.

Athachamayam – The King’s Procession Through Time

Atham is not only spiritual, it is spectacular.

In the town of Thripunithura, the day opens in vibrant grandeur with the celebrated Athachamayam, a cultural procession that weaves together history, art, and folklore into a moving mosaic. But few know that this spectacle has roots far deeper than modern celebrations - it once belonged to kings.

According to historian K. P. Padmanabha Menon, in History of Kerala, Vol. IV (1937):

“The Cochin Raja and the Zamorins of Calicut celebrated on Atham day a ceremony known as Athachamayam. On that day, both these Rajas set out in procession with pomp and glitter of Oriental panoply... This is said to be indicative of the start usually made by these Princes in early days to attend the festival at the temple at Thrikkakara.”

In those days, the Raja of Cochin would begin his ceremonial journey on Atham, moving in regal procession toward the Thrikkakara Temple, believed to be the spiritual seat of Mahabali. The event was filled with courtly splendour - elephants, parasols, drums, and dance - and symbolised the king’s alignment with the spirit of Onam: humility before divinity, royalty before the divine dwarf.

But with the reorganisation of princely states and the arrival of democracy, these royal traditions faded from power only to be reborn as public cultural festivals. Today, Athachamayam is sponsored by the Government of Kerala, but retains the charm of a forgotten age. It is a day when almost every traditional art form of Kerala takes to the streets. Kathakali, Mohiniyattam, Theyyam, Pulikali, Kummattikali, Panchavadyam and Chenda Melam transforming the town into a grand theatre of heritage.

It is no longer the king’s procession; it is the people’s inheritance.

A Festival Begins at Home

Even far from Thripunithura, Atham is celebrated quietly but meaningfully across Kerala. Each morning, courtyards are swept clean and then sprinkled with cow dung mixed with water, a traditional act of sanctification still followed in many rural households.

The first Pookkalam is laid in courtyards and verandahs with yellow flowers, especially Thumbappoo (Mexican Marigold), which is believed to be most auspicious on this day. As the days progress, more colours and complexity are added. But Atham’s flower design remains the simplest because every journey must begin with the first step.

Children, often the sincerest celebrants, wake early to pluck flowers, laugh under the morning dew, and race back with their collections. But their joy does not end with blossoms. Even the youngest of them find delight in Gotti (marble games that sharpen hand and eye coordination) and Pambaram (spinning tops that train wrist control and focus). In their laughter, the legacy of Onam lives on, not just as memory, but as motion.

In modern times, schools and villages come alive with the spirit of Onam. Children prepare for Pookkalam contests, cultural programs, and playful competitions, filling the air with laughter and tradition reborn.

The mood is set. The stage is ready. The legend is stirring.

A Glimpse into Traditional Play – Introduction Begins

As part of this ten day journey, we shall introduce one traditional game or play activity every day, not necessarily tied to the day itself, but reflective of Onam’s spirit of community, vigour, and joy.

Today, let us look at Athachamayam itself, not just as a procession, but as a communal performance where play and pageantry meet. The rhythms of Chenda, the agile movements of folk dancers, the roar of the crowd, all reflect the ancient joy of physical expression rooted in Kerala’s cultural soil.

Atham – A Golden Threshold

Atham is not a climax, it is the threshold. It is the first ripple that leads to a flood of festivity. It is a moment poised between history and myth, ritual and reality.

In the footsteps of kings and the silence of Mahabali’s promise, Atham teaches us to begin again - simply, sincerely and with joy.

Let the petals fall, let the procession begin. The king is on his way.

References:

1. K. P. Padmanabha Menon – History of Kerala, Vol. IV, 1937
2. Census of India 1961, Vol. I – Monograph Series: Onam – A Festival of Kerala
3. Interviews and local records on Athachamayam, Thripunithura
4. Kerala Government Archives – Onam Festival Circulars
5. Malabar and Its Folk by T. K. Gopal Panicker, 1900

Coming up next: On Friday, 29 August 2025—From Dhyan Chand to Kerala's Heroes: A national sports day story.

Ten Days of Meaning: The Sacred Journey of Onam Begins

The First Note in a Ten Day Symphony

Today is the eve of Atham, the first step in Onam’s sacred journey. The breeze turns softer. The sky ripens into a gentle blue. And everywhere, there is a hush. Not the hush of sleep, but the stillness of waiting.

For Onam is not a single celebration. It is a sacred unfolding - ten days that rise like a wave from Atham to Thiruvonam, carrying with it memory, movement, and meaning.

Each day brings more than time, it brings offerings. Flowers are added to the Pookkalam. Lamps are lit. Banana stalks rise beside thresholds. Under the soft glow of the Nilavilakku, stories are remembered, and children play. Temples awaken with the echo of Chenda drums.

Kerala becomes not just a land in celebration, but a land that remembers.

Of Petals and Plates

At the heart of this journey lie two eternal offerings: the Pookkalam and the Onasadya. One is laid on the floor with flowers. The other, on the plantain leaf with love. One pleases the eye and soul. The other nourishes the body and memory.

Both are not merely acts of devotion, they are declarations. To Mahabali, yes - but also to the values he embodied: justice, equality, humility, and shared joy.

And so, it begins....

This is the season when Kerala welcomes back its soul.

When a king returns not on elephants or clouds, but through lamps, laughter, and layered floral carpets.

Onam does not preach. It plays. It cooks. It dances. It remembers. It invites us not to believe blindly, but to belong wholly.

But before we step into the ten sacred days, we pause, just a moment longer, in this fragrant silence before the bloom. Tomorrow, the journey begins.

The King Is Coming

As Chingam climbs, the land begins to remember. The air grows warmer. The trees flower ahead of time. Rivers soften their song.

In every corner of Kerala and far beyond it, children gather thumba, vadarmalli, jamanthi, lotus, and other blossoms. They craft the first rings of the Pookkalam with tender fingers and ancient instinct.

Homes are scrubbed - not merely for guests, but for grace. Nilavilakkus gleam in doorways. Banana leaves are folded and arranged. Radios hum with familiar tunes.

And across time zones - from Kozhikode to Kuwait, from Kollam to Canada, a rhythm returns. A memory blooms. A joy stirs without logic or condition.

Because Onam is not just a festival. It is a temple of the heart, built from myth, preserved by memory, and lit by the spirit of home.

A Festival Without Walls

Onam is Kerala’s open celebration. It knows no barriers.

Christians light the Nilavilakku.

Muslims shape their Pookkalam.

Atheists join the Onasadya with equal reverence.

NRIs watch their families’ celebrations over video calls.

Migrant labourers, far from home, pause for a humble feast and a quiet tear.

Onam is not bound by belief. It is bound by belonging.

For ten sacred days, the land becomes a mirror, reflecting not who we are, but who we yearn to be.

The Sacred Sequence: Day by Day

And so, the sacred calendar unfolds:

Days 1–3 (Atham, Chithira, Chodhi): Homes are swept. Pookalams are laid. Onakkodi - new clothes for the season are bought and gifted.

Day 4 (Vishakam): Markets stir with sound and scent. Kitchens awaken. The Sadya takes early shape.

Days 5–6 (Anizham, Thriketta): The Vallam kali boat races begin. The oars beat in unison. Families gather. Hearts race.

Day 7 (Moolam): Dance, devotion, and temple sadhyas fill the air.

Day 8 (Pooradam): Clay figurines of Onathappan are placed at the centre of the Pookkalam. The divine arrives quietly.

Day 9 (Uthradam): The eve of Thiruvonam. Final touches. Final prayers. Final blossoms.

Day 10 (Thiruvonam): The soul of the season. Mahabali arrives, not as myth, but as memory fulfilled.

Each day is a verse in the song. Each moment, a ripple in the sacred tide.

A Festival of Equality and Expression

Onam belongs to Kerala. But it lives in every Malayali, across borders, across generations.

Caste is forgotten. Wealth becomes irrelevant. Even time is forgiven.
All are welcome at the Onam table. All are equal before its feast.

The spirit of the season is best captured in the ageless Malayalam adage:

“Kanam Vittum Onam Unnanam” - Celebrate Onam, even if it means mortgaging your land.

Onakkodi - the ritual of gifting new clothes, is not just a tradition. It is a transmission. The Karunavar (eldest in the family) offers Onapudava to the younger ones. It is a gesture of love, of continuity, of quiet command: Celebrate, no matter what. The cloth is not just fabric - it is the thread that ties one generation to the next.

A Culture in Motion

As I begin this special series tomorrow, walking with you from Atham to Thiruvonam, this blog will not only explore rituals and stories, but also the physical rhythm of the season.

Because in Kerala, as in much of ancient India, festivals were not isolated events. They lived through the body, shaped in motion, and sculpted in spaces where prayer and play met.

The temple courtyard, the riverbank, the kitchen, and the field, all were stages of cultural fitness. Through Onam, we shall return to that wisdom.

Let the season begin.
Let the petals fall.
Let the spirit rise.

References:

1. Census of India 1961, Vol. I – Monograph Series: Onam – A Festival of Kerala
2. History of Kerala, Vol. IV by T.K. Krishna Menon, 1937
3. Oral traditions and family retellings across Malabar, Cochin, and Travancore

Coming up tomorrow 26 August 2025: Atham – The Sacred Bloom of Onam Begins

Before the Bloom: The Sacred Stillness Before Atham

The Return of a Sacred Rhythm

As the month of Chingam settles into its rhythm, a quiet energy begins to rise across Kerala. Not in silence, but in a hum. Not in haste, but in a sacred stillness. These are the days before Onam, when the land prepares, and the people begin to remember.

The very name ‘Onam’ is believed to have blossomed from the Sanskrit Shravanam - one of the 27 lunar constellations (nakshatras) in Hindu astrology. In Kerala, this constellation is revered as Thiruvonam, the most auspicious Star of the season. The prefix Thiru, rich in both Tamil and Malayalam, adds a sacred glow - often used in reverence to Vishnu, the presiding deity of the festival.

When Celebration Was a Way of Life

As Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev reminds us, India once breathed through its festivals. Each day carried a spark of the sacred. Festivals were not breaks from life, they were life, lived in full colour. People rose with the dawn:

Their bodies alive

Their homes singing with activity

Their minds turned to the divine

Celebration meant movement: decorating, dancing, cooking, competing, and connecting. Work was not separated from worship; it was woven into it.

Today, as the rush of modernity trims our calendars and shrinks our sacredness into weekends and holidays, Onam arrives gently but firmly, like a call from within. It asks us to pause, to remember who we are, and where we come from.

Ancient Records and Living Memories

The antiquity of Onam is not legend alone, it is history, woven into verse and record. Madurai Kanji, composed by Mangudi Maruthanar, a Tamil poet of the 2nd century CE, is among the earliest literary references. By the 9th century, the saint Periyazhwar would sing of the Mahabali legend in his devotional hymns, echoing the love of Vishnu for his devotee.

European travellers, too, bore witness. In the 16th century, the Portuguese missionary Bartolomeo recorded the joyous spectacle of Onam in Malabar in his travelogue A Voyage to the East Indies. He wrote of traditional games where young men formed into rival groups and mock-battled with blunted arrows, echoing the Cerealia and Juvenalia festivals of the ancient Greeks and Romans.

Bartolomeo noted that the Onam celebrations began with the lunar star Atham, ten days before Thiruvonam.

Atham itself was a holiday marked with mirth and music, especially among the young. Children would gather early, moving from house to house, picking flowers, singing ballads, and laying down the first pookkalams - flower carpets on freshly swept courtyards.

A Malayali contributor to the Calcutta Review (January 1899) wrote with wonder:

“This flower carpet is invariably made in the center of the clean strip of yard in front of the neat house. Often it is a beautiful work of art accomplished with a delicate touch and a highly artistic sense of tone and blending. This object is peculiar to the naturally well favoured province of Keralam; and it serves to remind us that the people who possess the refined taste to produce such a pretty work of art must have long enjoyed a very high order of civilization.”

And of the ballads sung by children, he added:

“There are a great many Onam ballads. It is a delight to hear them chanted in the early morning hours by bands of lighthearted children with clear bell-like voices.”

Onavillu: Devotion in Form and Colour

In Thiruvananthapuram, the sacred bow known as Onavillu is offered at the Sree Padmanabhaswamy Temple. Crafted by a single artisan family for generations, these hand painted ceremonial bows bear the avatars of Vishnu, bridging devotion with artistry. They are not mere offerings; they are living testaments to tradition.

Women as Custodians of Culture

Meanwhile, inside every home, a quiet transformation begins. The rhythm of domestic life shifts. Women take the lead in many rituals sweeping courtyards, preparing floral patterns, and readying the hearth for the Onasadya, the grand feast to come.

The pookkalam, though playful, becomes a canvas of memory - patterns passed down by mothers and grandmothers, colours chosen with care, and petals arranged with affection.

The kitchen, too, takes on a spiritual rhythm, as preparations begin not just for nourishment but for reunion, for offering, for joy. Elder women hum old tunes, recall the Onams of their youth, and guide the younger ones in both craft and story. In these quiet acts of care, culture is carried forward.

A Festival Across Borders and Generations

Even beyond the red tiled houses and coconut groves of rural Kerala, Onam lives on.

In city apartments, in migrant homes abroad, in flats stacked high above concrete, Onam adapts.

Children now gather petals from flower markets or even create digital pookkalams on school projects.

Pookkalam competitions are held in colleges and tech parks. Families in New York, Dubai, or Singapore plan their Onasadya with the same care as those in Palakkad or Alappuzha. The medium changes but the meaning remains.

Even when distances grow and customs evolve, the essence of Onam, the anticipation, the artistry, the togetherness remains untarnished. Because Onam is not tied to geography.

It lives wherever a Malayali remembers.

Wherever a flower is laid in love.

Wherever a tale of Mahabali is told once more.

The Bloom Awaits

Thus, Onam is not just a harvest festival. It is a celestial alignment. A spiritual remembrance. A cultural blossoming.
And in these days before Atham, as the petals are gathered and the songs begin, Kerala prepares not just for a festival but for a return.

 Sources & References

1. A Voyage to the East Indies by Bartolomeo
2. Madurai Kanji (2nd century CE)
3. Calcutta Review, January 1899
4. Oral traditions and family retellings across Kerala

Coming up tomorrow, the 25 August 2025: A new chapter from the heart of Kerala’s festival traditions. Follow along!

Chingam 1: Kerala’s Quiet New Year

This blog marks the beginning of my journey through Kerala’s vibrant physical culture, festivals, and sporting spirit.

Kerala - a narrow strip of land clasped between the mountains and the sea - is more than just a place on the map. It is a living verse in the great poem of India, a land brushed with monsoon green, painted in river-blue, and embroidered with golden backwaters. With mist-kissed hills to the east and waves that sing to the west, this small state has always been more than its size. Known the world over as ‘God’s Own Country’, Kerala is nature’s theater, where light, land, and life play their eternal roles.

Though its political shape was born in 1956, Kerala’s soul is ageless. Its native identity, culture, and spirit have flourished for millennia, shaped by unique geography, early global connections, and inner resilience. In spirit, it is a miniature India - multilingual, multi-religious, and eternally alive. In practice, it is a model for literacy, health, secularism, and harmony. And in motion, Kerala is a rhythm - of rituals, festivals, and physical expressions.

Among the many days that Kerala celebrates, there is one that does not announce itself with noise or pomp yet arrives with profound grace.

When monsoon cloud's part and the golden sun glows gently across the land, Kerala steps into a new beginning. Chingam 1 - the first day of the Malayalam calendar - is not so loud or showy. It is quiet, sacred, and rooted in the soul of this green land.

This is no ordinary date. Chingam marks the sun’s entry into Simha Rashi (Leo), ending the heavy rains of Karkidakam and welcoming brighter skies. The land begins to breathe again. The heart stirs with renewed energy. Movement resumes in homes, fields, temples, and communities. In Kerala’s traditional rhythm, Chingam marks the true New Year - not with fireworks, but with an inward light.

This date also marks the prelude to Onam, Kerala's most celebrated harvest festival. Onam arrives within a fortnight, but its spirit begins to blossom from Chingam 1 itself. The air subtly shifts—from stillness to song. Cultural events bloom across the land: graceful dance performances, soul-lifting music concerts, temple rituals, and traditional games that celebrate both community and the body’s prowess. It is a time when art, spirit, and movement reunite.

The day is observed officially as Karshaka Dinam - Farmers’ Day - a tribute to those who work silently with soil and season, shaping the food on our plates and the festivals on our calendars.

In earlier times, the dawn of Chingam 1 was greeted with Kanikanal - a quiet, auspicious viewing of the morning light, lamps, and sacred spaces. People believed that what one sees first on this day sets the tone for the entire year. There was no blaring horn, no staged parade—just a nilavilakku, a sunrise, a prayer, and a whisper to the soul.

The calendar to which this sacred day belongs - Kolla Varsham - is over 1200 years old. A stone plaque in the Rameshwaram temple, dated to 825 CE, reads simply: Kollam Thontri - “Kollam was born.” In those three words lies a silent revolution: the dawn of a native reckoning of time. Kerala’s own chronology began - distinct from northern calendars, independent in origin.

Historians differ in interpretation. Eminent scholar A. Sreedhara Menon links its birth to the arrival of the Namboothiris and the completion of a Saptharshi cycle. K.V. Krishna Iyer suggests it marked a military turning point between the Cholas and Venad. The Mambally Copperplate of 149 Thulam reinforces this legacy with legal clarity.

But beyond scholarly debates, Kolla Varsham became the heartbeat of Kerala’s civil life - used in temple logs, land records, literary references, and household memories. It was never just about dates. It was about belonging.

Traditionally, Chingam 1 was marked with clean clothes, temple visits, shared meals, and soft gatherings. Homes were swept. Minds were quietened. Families came together without spectacle. Grace - not grandeur - defined the day.

Even today, while digital clocks and global calendars tick to another rhythm, Kolla Varsham moves beside us silently, like a trusted elder in the room. It reminds us gently that we are heirs to a calendar that does not just measure time, but honours it.

And this year, as Chingam 1 falls today, Kerala will once again rise gently into its own New Year—without fanfare, but with faith.

It is more than a day. It is a transition - a soft crossing from past to promise.

A land like Kerala, born of water, crowned by forest, and inspired by ancient wisdom, cannot begin its year with noise. It begins with memory and movement. It remembers. It realigns. It prepares.

As Onam draws nearer, the month of Chingam blossoms with activities that embody the physical and cultural soul of Kerala. From Vallamkali (boat races) to Pulikali (tiger dance), from Kutukutu (a version of Kabaddi) to elegant Kaikottikali dances, this season is not just a visual feast—it is a physical expression of joy, discipline, and heritage. These are not random entertainments. They are echoes of Kerala’s ancient physical culture, where movement was prayer, and strength was celebration.

In many homes and schools, this is the season for folk games, children’s sports, and rhythmic competitions - reviving a living memory of Kerala’s deep connection to the body as a vessel of spirit.

Because Kerala is a land of movement and spirit. Here, sport is not an event - it is a rhythm. Inherited. Practiced. Passed down. Reborn. From the graceful arch of a dancer’s hand to the explosive row of oars on a river, motion becomes meaning.

As I begin this blog and this journey - a tribute to the land that shaped me - I carry this spirit forward. This post is not merely a reflection on Chingam 1. It is a doorway into a wider exploration - of Kerala’s soul in motion, of her festivals, rituals, games, and glories. It is the beginning of a chronicle that celebrates not just events, but essence.

On this sacred day, I extend hearty New Year wishes to all readers - may Chingam and the months that follow bring light, renewal, and quiet strength to your life, wherever you are.

Chingam 1 is Kerala’s gentle whisper to the world: We remember. We begin again. We move forward, rooted in light.

Next on 20 August 2025: Chingam in motion - Kerala comes alive through tradition and movement