Before the World Watched Women Run, Kerala’s Women Already Danced
Across civilizations, women have carried within themselves a quiet yet enduring tradition of ritual movement. In ancient Greece, young maidens once gathered every four years at Olympia to run the Heraean Games in honour of the goddess Hera, events that symbolised feminine grace, discipline, and purity. Their steps across the sacred ground spoke of devotion and physical culture intertwined.
And yet, even when viewed beside such celebrated traditions, Thiruvathira of Kerala stands apart. Here, Malayali women do not merely participate; they lead, shape, and embody the ritual. Their bodies become instruments of devotion, their movements repositories of memory, their collective rhythm a testament to Kerala’s unique cultural landscape. Thiruvathira is not simply a festival, it is a living chapter of feminine strength, spiritual remembrance, and indigenous physical culture.
Long before the world began observing a Women’s Day, and long before conversations on feminine spaces entered modern life, Kerala had carved out a day that belonged almost entirely to its women.
And long before the modern Olympic Games, where women were initially denied the right to participate, Malayali women had already nurtured a physical culture of their own, rooted in ritual, rhythm, and collective movement. Thiruvathira stands as one of the earliest expressions of this embodied heritage.
Echoes from a Bygone Thiruvathira
To understand how deeply Thiruvathira was once woven into the social fabric of Kerala, we turn to a vivid account by Sri Gopala Panicker in "Malabar and Its Folk" (1900), published by G.A. Natesan & Co., Madras. This rare description, now preserved in the Internet Archive of the University of California, Los Angeles, offers a glimpse into the festival as it unfolded more than a century ago.
“In ancient times, Thiruvathira was one of the three great national occasions of Kerala, especially Malabar. It generally comes off in the Malayalam month of Dhanu (December or January), on the day called Thiruvathira. It is essentially a festival in which females are almost exclusively concerned and lasts for but a single day. It has behind it a traditional antiquity stretching back to times almost out of mind.
According to the Puranas, Kamadevan, the God of desire, was consumed by the fire of Siva’s third eye, leaving him with only a spiritual existence. His memory, especially among women, is kept alive through the annual celebration of Thiruvathira, which honors this poignant myth and its deeper emotional resonance.
About a week before the day, the festival practically opens. At about 4 in the morning, every young female member of the Tharavad with pretensions to decency gets out of her bed and takes her bath in a tank. Usually, a considerable number of these young women gather at the Tharavad or the nearby pond for the purpose.
Then all, or almost all of them, plunge into the water and begin to take part in the singing that is presently to follow. One of them leads off with a peculiar rhythmic song chiefly pertaining to Cupid. This singing is simultaneously accompanied by a curious sound produced with her hand on the water. The palm of the left hand is closed and kept immediately underneath the surface of the water. Then the palm of the other is forcibly brought down in a slanting direction and struck against the surface, so that the water is completely ruffled and splashed in all directions, producing a loud, deep noise.
This process is continuously prolonged together with the singing. One stanza is now over along with the sound, and then the leader stops a while for the others to follow her in her wake. This being likewise over, she caps her first stanza with another, at the same time beating on the water - and so on until the conclusion of the song. Then all of them make a long pause and begin another. The process goes on until the peep of dawn, when they rub themselves dry and come home to dress themselves in the neatest and grandest possible attire.
They also darken the fringes of their eyelids with a sticky preparation of soot mixed with a little oil or ghee, and sometimes with a superficial coating of antimony powder. They wear white, black, or red marks lower down the middle of their foreheads, close to the part where the two eyebrows meet. They chew betel and thus redden their mouths and lips.
Then they proceed to the enjoyment of another prominent item of pleasure - viz., swinging to and fro, what is usually known as Oonjal. A long bamboo piece is taken and split asunder from the root end, leaving the other end whole and untouched. Two holes are bored, one on the cut end of each of the two parts into which the bamboo is split. Now another, smaller piece of the same material, about a yard in length, is divided along the grain into two equal parts. One of these is taken, and its ends are cut into points which are thrust into the two holes of the long bamboo pieces mentioned before. This is securely nailed and strongly attached to the long bamboo, which is then hung by means of a very tight, strong rope to a horizontal branch of a neighbouring tree.
Then the maiden seats herself on the small piece attached between the split portions, which are firmly held by her two hands; and the whole thing is propelled by someone from behind. These ladies especially derive immense pleasure from this process of swinging backwards and forwards, sometimes very wide apart, so as to reach the other and higher branches of the tree. Nevertheless, accidents are few and far between.
This, as well as the songs and early bath, all close on the festival day, when still greater care and scrupulousness are bestowed upon the various elements of enjoyment.
On the festival morning, after their bath, they partake in a light chota - an early breakfast and at noon, the family lunch is voraciously attacked. Then, till evening, dancing and merry making are ceaselessly indulged in.
The husbands are inexcusably required to be present in their wives' houses before evening, as they are bound to do on the Onam and Vishu occasions; failure to do so is looked upon as a step or rather the first step on the part of the defaulting husband towards a final separation or divorce from the wife.
Despite the rigour of the bleak December - January season, during which the festival commonly falls, heightened inevitably by the constant blowing of the cold east wind upon their moistened frames, these lusty maidens derive considerable pleasure from their early baths and their frolics in water. The biting cold of the season, which makes their persons shiver and quiver like aspen leaves before the breeze, becomes to them, in the midst of all their ecstatic frolics, an additional source of pleasure. In short, all these merely tend to brace them up to an extent the likes of which they can scarcely find anywhere else.
Thus, at this stated season of the year, the morning hours are invariably filled with the melodious warblings of certain indigenous birds, diversified by the sweet, cheering songs of our country maidens, and constantly disturbed by the rough crowing of the domestic cock, all of which drag their pleasing length along until the morning dawns upon them and bathes them in the crimson effulgence of the orb of day, driving off the country’s face the mist of night which enveloped them in its hazy cover; thus forming the signal for the party to retire to their accustomed abodes for the day’s festivities.
The two items described above - viz., the swinging process and the bathing in the water - have each its own distinctive significance. The former typifies the attempt which these maidens make to hang themselves on these instruments and destroy their lives in consequence of the lamented demise of their deity of desire, Kamadevan. It is but natural that the depth of sorrow will lead men to extreme courses of action. The beating on the water symbolizes their beating of their chests in expression of their deep felt sorrow at Cupid’s death.
Such, in brief, is the description of a festival which plays a conspicuous part in the social history of Malabar. Naturally enough, while within the Christian fold the festive pleasantry and mirth of the Christmas season are going their jolly round, within the limited circle of Hindu society, a mournful occasion which time has completely altered into one of mirth, constitutes one of the best enjoyments of our national life.”
One evocative detail not captured in Sri Gopala Panicker’s otherwise vivid account is the graceful ritual of Thiruvathirakali, also known as Kaikottikali'. On the night of Thiruvathira, women gather in joyful communion to perform this elegant circular dance. Adorned in their finest attire and ornaments, young maidens form a ring, moving rhythmically to the lilting strains of Thiruvathirappattu, traditional songs passed down through generations. Their synchronized steps and the gentle clapping of hands create a mesmerizing harmony, embodying both devotion and delight. In some regions, this celebration extends beyond a single night, with daily performances held for up to eleven days leading to the festival’s culmination.
While ancient Greece forbade men from witnessing the sacred races of women, in Kerala, men were not only permitted but expected to witness these nocturnal performances. The presence of husbands and kin was part of the ritual fabric, an affirmation, not a transgression. This enduring art form, rooted in collective memory and feminine grace, remains an integral thread in the festive tapestry of Thiruvathira.
The Overlooked Dimension: Thiruvathira as Indigenous Physical Culture
Though celebrated for its beauty, symbolism, and devotion, Thiruvathira holds something deeper, a profound connection to Kerala’s indigenous physical heritage.Long before yoga studios, gymnasiums, or school PT classes entered Kerala’s social landscape, Thiruvathirakali served as a natural physical discipline for women.
Benefits woven into tradition:
- Improved flexibility through circular steps and gentle torso bends
- Balance and posture, cultivated by slow, deliberate rhythms
- Enhanced respiratory rhythm, shaped by synchronized group movement
- Controlled breathing, echoing pranayama like patterns
- Strengthened joints, especially knees, ankles, and waist
- Light aerobic activity, sustained through long rhythmic sequences
The repetitive stepping, clapping, and revolving synchronize breath with motion, akin to yogic practice. Women who regularly performed Thiruvathirakali often retained remarkable flexibility and stamina well into old age.
Thus, Thiruvathira stands as one of Kerala’s earliest systems of women’s physical culture, a harmonious blend of grace, fitness, spirituality, and communal bonding.
Conclusion
Thiruvathira is more than a date on the Malayalam calendar. It is a celebration where myth and movement entwine, where sorrow transforms into joy, and where women step into the heart of culture with dignity and grace. From the icy waters of the morning pond to the soaring arcs of the Uzhinjal swing, from the rhythmic beat upon water to the slow, revolving steps of Thiruvathirakali, every gesture carries memory, meaning, and beauty.Like the Heraean maidens of ancient Greece, Kerala’s women too - long before - shaped a ritual where the body became a pathway to devotion. But unlike many cultures, Kerala offered them a festival that was wholly theirs: emotionally, physically, and spiritually.
In recent decades, as lifestyles shifted, nuclear families replaced joint households, and urban rhythms overtook rural ones, Thiruvathira began to lose its once unshakeable centrality. The early morning baths in temple ponds dwindled. Uzhinjal swings grew rare in courtyards. The long, resonant songs faded from the dawn skies. Even the symbolic meanings behind the rituals slipped into quiet obscurity.
Yet Thiruvathira endures, as a symbol of cultural continuity, feminine strength, and the soft, enduring heartbeat of Kerala’s heritage. To revive it is to honour not only the past, but also the generations to come, ensuring that the dawn songs, the water rhythms, and the circle dances continue to glow in Kerala’s collective memory for centuries more.
References.
- K. Gopal Panikkar - “Malabar and its Folk”
- K. P. Padmanabha Menon - “History of Kerala” Vol. 4
- Margaret Lyall - “Women's Rituals in Kerala: A study of Thiruvathira" Indian Folklore Studies, Vol. 35
- Smriti Srinivas - “The Body in Indian Rituals: Movement, Symbolism and Devotion” (Comparative insights)
- Pausanias' Description of Greece, translated by W.H.S. Jones and H.A. Ormerod - Loeb Classical Library (Harvard University Press)
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