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!