Day Ten: Thiruvonam – The Return of the King

At Dawn, He Returns

Thiruvonam is not just a day, it is a return, a reunion, a remembering. The golden hush of morning carries the footsteps of a legendary king. Before the sun breaks the sky, at 4 or 5 am, a sacred hush descends upon the courtyards. There, where the Pookkalam bloomed each day, a small space was cleared and reverently smeared with cow dung. Upon this sacred patch sits Thrikkakara Appan, the idol of Mahabali’s divine host - witness to this homecoming from Pooradam onward.

The household hums with quiet excitement. Men and women wake early, bathe, visit temples, and dress in their finest, adding grace to the day. The land seems to hold its breath, embracing this sacred morning, aware that Mahabali is near.

The King is Welcomed with Flowers

At the threshold, the grand Pookkalam, now at its most splendid, greets the returning king. A vibrant floral mandala, handcrafted from Thumba, Tulasi, Chethi, Chemparathy, Sankhupushpam, Mandaram, Mukuthi and more, it is not mere decoration - it is devotion in bloom. This artistry is no solitary effort, it is communal, layered with the laughter of children, the guidance of elders, and the touch of every hand. It is unity in petals.

A Ritual of Offering and Remembrance

The idol of Thrikkakara Appan receives traditional offerings - Ada, Poomoodal, and rice flour lamps. In some regions, a ritual involving bow and arrow enacts the myth: Vamana’s cosmic stride, Mahabali’s humble surrender.

Then comes the ritual exchange of Onakkodi - new garments wrapped in memory and meaning. The Karanavar, patriarch of the Tharavad, distributes clothes to juniors, servants, and dependents. These are not just gifts; they are the threads of continuity.

In older times, the clothes were always yellow, or included a yellow strip, possibly a lingering echo of ancient sun worship. Fawcett, the colonial ethnographer, noted this curious custom. Today, few recall the symbolism, but the tradition lives on.

Tenants from nearby villages would once arrive bearing their offerings - farm produce, coconuts, plantains, and artisanal gifts - to be received by the Karanavar, who in turn offered sweets and gifts in return. It was an exchange not of goods, but of goodwill.

The Sacred Sadya – A Feast to the Gods

And then comes the heart of Thiruvonam - the Onasadya, an offering that feeds both Gods and men. In the bustling kitchen, abundance becomes art. Aviyal, Olan, Kalan, Erissery, Thoran, Mulakushyam, Koottukari, Pachadi, Kichadi, Sambar, Parippu, and Payasams - Palpayasam, Parippupayasam, Palada, each with a legend of its own are prepared in rhythmic succession.

The plantain leaf becomes the sacred platter. The family sits in a row, the Karanavar at the centre, facing east if possible. A bright brass lamp shines before him. A small plantain leaf is placed before the lamp, and a bit of every dish is served there first for Ganapathy Bhagwan. At times, just a banana and molasses stand in for the full feast. This act sanctifies the meal, a quiet invocation of blessings.

After Ganapathy’s share is offered, the food is served leaf to leaf, clockwise, with reverence. The one who removes the lamp sprinkles water thrice and carries it away only to the north, never south, for south is the direction of final journeys. The Ganapathy’s share, a mark of gratitude, goes to the family barber.

Feasting with Joy and Laughter

And then the feasting begins. Some eat with restraint, others with heroic appetite. Laughter rings out as uncles boast, cousins cheer, and Pappadam and Pradhaman disappear by the dozen. The Nendran banana, ripe and golden, finishes the meal. The joy is not just in the food; it is in belonging.

The House Divides into Games

After the meal, the home becomes a celebration of play. In the shaded halls, elders gather around Chathurangam, cards, and dice - games of mind and memory. Gentle rivalry blends with wisdom.

Outside, the yard pulses with energy. The youth gather for Thalapanthu - the football of the land, smaller than its European cousin, made of leather or flax, stuffed with coconut fibre. Elsewhere, they engage in boxing, personal combat, archery, cheered by children, their laughter echoing through the dusk. As M. Raja Raja Varma Raja once wrote, these athletic Onam games preserved the body and stirred the spirit.

The Songs and Swings of Women

And under the rustling palms, in the afternoon, women in kasavu sarees, mundu and veshti move in graceful harmony. Kaikottikali with steps soft yet sure, the group dance circles a memory older than words. Thiruvathirakali follows, and Onappattu fills the air. One woman sings a verse her grandmother once sang - others echo. Each step is a hymn; each note a return.

Near the Pookkalam, the swing sways. Not just for play, but for poise, posture, and release. Balance is practiced, emotion lifted, and memory set in motion. In ancestral homes, the swing was not for show, it was a ritual of grace and growth. Calves stretch, shoulders align, and the sky becomes briefly reachable.

A Homecoming Beyond Time

Thiruvonam is the soul of Kerala’s calendar. It is not merely a date; it is a sacred return. A reunion of family, of community, of a lost yet remembered king. It is the land’s way of saying: “You are not forgotten. You are still welcome. The house is ready.”

And even if Mahabali does not come in flesh, he walks among the flower carpets, the laughter, the meals, the swings, the games, and the tender silences between generations.

References:

1. K.P. Padmanabha Menon, History of Kerala, Vol. IV
2. M. Raja Raja Varma Raja, Essays on Kerala Culture
3. Fawcett, F., Notes on Archery and Games in Malabar, JRAS
4. V.V. Haridas, Temple and Kingship in Kerala
5. Travancore Devaswom Board Archives
6. Oral Narratives from Palakkad, Thrissur, and Kottayam
7. Onam: A Festival of Kerala, Kerala Sahitya Akademi

Coming Up Next on 6th September – The Drumbeats of Return (Avittam special)

Uthradom – The Sacred Eve of Return

 Uthradom, the ninth day of Onam, is when Kerala dresses its soul in anticipation. It is not merely the day before Thiruvonam, it is the moment when breath is held, homes are hushed, and the spirit of welcome reaches its crescendo.

It is believed that on this day, Mahabali sets foot on Kerala’s soil, no longer a figure of legend, but a presence. He arrives not as a monarch, but as a guest. Not to rule, but to bless. The prayers of his people, layered across centuries, rise like incense. The lamp lit corridors of memory are cleaned and adorned, ready to receive the king who once was and still is.

Every home becomes a shrine. Every child a priest. Every elder, a storyteller. And Kerala’s heartbeat echoes through hills, fields, and backwaters in perfect unison.

The Tharavad Awakens

Though modern cities may have reshaped the land, the soul of Uthradom remains untouched. Once, families travelled on foot, carrying bundles wrapped in white cotton. Some came from afar, others from the next hill but all returned home.

As they enter the tharavad, ancestral homes filled with stories - the silence of months gives way to footsteps, laughter, and life. Kitchens that had slept now clang with the sound of urulis. Voices rise children, cousins, uncles, aunts, and grandparents, all rediscovering their place in the family’s living memory.

Morning Rituals and Sacred Offerings

The day begins with ritual bathing. Warm coconut oil is massaged lovingly into children's hair and limbs, not just to cleanse, but to bless. In the courtyard, simple offerings of raw rice, banana and flowers are placed on banana leaves. No priest is needed only sincerity.

The Onathappan, installed on Pooradam, now becomes the center of sacred attention. In some homes, five clay pyramids are placed: one for Mahabali, four for the stages of life and the steps of Vamana.

Rituals of Meaning and Humility

Across Kerala, special Uthradom traditions add deeper resonance:

Poomoodal – a floral shower offered to the gods.

Offering of Ada – sweet rice cakes made with reverence.

Symbolic piercing of Ada with arrows in central Kerala - a ritual of surrender and humility.

Thrikkala Pooja – worship performed morning, noon, and dusk, continuing through Thiruvonam and Avittam.

These are quiet acts, rich with centuries of meaning.

Pookalam, Onakazhcha & the Language of Giving

Children, barefoot, bright-eyed gather mukkutti, thumbappoo, chethi, jasmine, and even the sacred lotus. By Uthradom, the Pookalam has grown wide and intricate, no longer modest but radiant. Each flower tells a story of love and welcome.

Onakazhcha offerings swell on this day. Farmers and craftsmen bring bananas, vegetables, coir mats, and clay lamps to the homes of landlords or elders - gestures of goodwill and community.

The day also sees the gifting of Onakkodi - new clothes that symbolize renewal, dignity and shared joy.

Of Markets, Kitchens, and Culinary Inheritance

Village markets (chandhas) once bustled beneath banyan trees. Barter ruled - yam for rice, coconut for jaggery, salt for trust. These exchanges held meaning beyond currency, they reflected relationships.

In the kitchen, the Onasadya begins to take shape. Generations of taste live in these recipes. No measuring spoons only memory. From payasam to banana chips, every dish is tested with care. In many homes, Uthrada Pachil, a lighter version of the feast, is served at dusk, a delicious rehearsal for the grand meal of Thiruvonam.

Songs, Swings, and the Rhythm of Home

The afternoon softens into joy. Women in kasavu sarees swing on rope bound oonjals, singing Onappattu - songs passed from grandmother to mother to daughter. These songs are not performances; they are inheritance in melody.

In shaded verandahs, elders play pallankuzhi, chathurangam, and dice. Here, wisdom is passed not in sermons, but in play.

Men rehearse for boat races, football matches, and even Onathallu, the traditional combat sport. Every movement is a memory remembered through the body.

The Breath Before the Song

As night falls, oil lamps flicker in rows. A final flower is laid at the doorstep. Children whisper. Mothers hum. Grandparents gaze into the sky. There is stillness. But also presence.

Mahabali has arrived.

Not with trumpets or chariots but in the quiet completeness of a home. In the taste of pickles, the scent of sandalwood, the warmth of new clothes, the togetherness of kindred souls.

Uthradom Is Not a Prelude – It Is a Presence

It is the deep breath before Kerala sings. The pause before celebration. The flame before the lamp blazes. The heartbeat before the drum rolls.

On this sacred eve, the home becomes a hymn, and the people a welcoming chorus.

References

1. K.P. Padmanabha Menon, History of Kerala, Vol. IV
2. Fawcett, F., Notes on Archery and Games in Malabar
3. P.N. Bose, Cultural Anthropology of the Malabar Region
4. Oral histories and interviews from central Kerala households
5. Travancore Devaswom Board archives
6. Onam: A Festival of Kerala, Kerala Sahitya Akademia

Coming up next 05 September 2025: Thiruvonam – The Day the King Is Among Us

Anizham – When the Festival Finds Its Flow

The Turning Point of Onam

Today is Anizham - the fifth day of Onam.

The festival, once budding in whispers and petals, now flows freely through courtyards, kitchens, and riversides. The air thickens with purpose. The land listens. The people respond.

Children, barefoot and bright eyed, scatter across fields and gardens, collecting mukkutti, thumbappoo, chethi, and thetti. Their hands speak the silent language of flowers. Their laughter drifts between hibiscus hedges and jasmine vines.

The Pookkalams, once small yellow circles, now spread like living mandalas, layer upon layer, colour upon colour. In each home, the design has deepened, just like the feeling.

Chithira – The Ground is Made Ready

The day after Atham is Chithira, a quiet but essential step.

In homes across Kerala, courtyards are swept, cleaned, and sanctified. A thin film of cow dung mixed with water is spread across the earth, a traditional act of purification still practiced in many rural households.

With this, the second ring of the Pookkalam is laid. More flowers, more colour, more joy. What began as a simple yellow bloom now unfolds like a story.

The heart of Onam is beginning to stir.

Choti – The Festival Gains Texture

On the third day, Choti (Chodi), the preparations grow bolder. While some consider this a domestic day, where families gather utensils and household items for the days ahead - it is also when traditional games and early rituals begin appearing in community spaces.

Children continue plucking flowers. Elders supervise the thickening Pookkalam. Anticipation builds - but still, the festival holds its breath. The sounds of celebration are near, but not yet here.

Vishakam – When the Celebration Roars

By Vishakam, the fourth day of Onam, the hush is broken. The land begins to sing and shout.

In Thrissur, roads come alive with the wild rhythms of Pulikali.
Men paint their bodies like tigers, yellow, black, and orange stripes and dance through the streets to pounding Chenda Melam. This folk-theatrical art form blends muscular movement with primal energy. Children gasp. Drummers thunder. Crowds roar.

Pulikali is not just performance - it is catharsis. It channels the spirit of masculine play, of public spectacle, and of ancient pride.

Elsewhere, temples host Kummattikali performances, and masked dancers parade through lanes, scattering joy and blessings. This is Onam leaping from verandahs to village squares.

The Kitchen Awakens, Onakkazhcha Begins

Vishakam also marks the culinary awakening of Onam.

Markets swell with activity. Banana leaves, pumpkins, yams, red chilies, and tamarind fill baskets and counters. Women begin preparing pickles, roasting spices, drying papadams. The Onasadya, though days away, now begins to breathe.

It is also during Vishakam and Anizham that an old agrarian custom returns: Onakkazhcha.

In this time honoured tradition, tenants bring offerings to landlords - rice, fruits, vegetables, and the best yield of the season. These were not mere gestures of loyalty but obligations built into leases and land arrangements. In return, the Janmis would provide a sumptuous feast before the festival ended.

Every village artisan, too, paid homage to the Karanavar of noble tharavads.

• The carpenter brought a handmade wooden toy.

• The blacksmith offered a small knife.

• The potter rolled in with new vessels.

These were accepted with dignity, and returned with gifts of cloth, rice, or curry goods. It was an economy of respect, not commerce but kinship.

Anizham – When the River Begins to Move

Now comes Anizham, the fifth day. The river joins the celebration.

In the backwaters of Kuttanad, Champakulam, and Aranmula, men gather around their gleaming chundan vallams, the legendary snake boats of Kerala. The air is filled with vanchipattu - boat songs rising like prayer. Oarsmen chant, stretch, and test the waters. These are not yet races. But they are more than rehearsals.

Anizham is when the water remembers its rhythm.

At Aranmula, where the Parthasarathy Temple watches from the banks, the river becomes a theatre of reverence. The boats are decorated like deities. The men who row are not just athletes, they are custodians of a sacred tradition.

Games of Strength and Spirit

On the temple grounds and village greens, another rhythm emerges.

Thick ropes are uncoiled for Vadam Vali, Kerala’s form of tug-of-war. Teams grip with calloused hands. Bodies lean. Ankles dig. Cheers rise.

In parallel fields, an ancient ball game comes to life - Thalappanthu, the ancestral play of strike and rhythm. With no nets or goals, players slap the ball with open palms, each strike a burst of laughter and skill.

And these are only two among many.

Across Kerala, traditional games like

• Kutu Kutu (Kabaddi),

• Kayyankali (a combat-style wrestling),

• Kilithattu Kali,

• and Ambeyyal (archery)

return to schoolyards, village greens, and temple arenas.

These are not imported sports. They are games rooted in soil, memory and muscle.

As early as the 1700s, the European missionary Fra Bartolomeo recorded these martial traditions:

“The men, particularly those who are young, form themselves into two parties and shoot at each other with arrows... These games have a great likeness to the ceralia and juvenalia of the Ancient Greeks and Romans.”

But these games, of course, predate even Bartolomeo’s accounts. They are legacies - threads in Kerala’s long tapestry of play, discipline, and joy.

Voices Rise, Lamps Glow

As evening falls, the festival retreats gently into its homes.

The nilavilakku is lit. Shadows dance on the walls.
Women in kasavu sarees begin their Onappattu, songs of harvest, homecoming, and Mahabali. Their voices rise, carried by wind and memory.

Children gather to hear again the story of the noble King, the just ruler who lost his kingdom but won a place in every Malayali heart.

Elders tell it not like a tale but like a truth.

And the land listens.

Conclusion – When Joy Finds Its Flow

From the doorstep to the river, from the petal to the paddle, Onam now flows freely.

• Chithira readied the earth.

• Choti gathered texture.

• Vishakam roared with drums, drums, and Pulikali stripes.

• Anizham stirred the rivers and called the boats to rhythm.

This is the moment where ritual becomes celebration, where preparation becomes play, where memory becomes movement.

Onam is not just remembered. It is rehearsed, relived, reawakened.

References:

1. Fra Bartolomeo – Observations on the Malabar Christians, early 18th century
2. Census of India 1961, Vol. I – Monograph Series: Onam – A Festival of Kerala
3. T. K. Gopal Panicker – Malabar and Its Folk, 1900
4. Kerala Government Archives – Land Tenure and Agrarian Customs
5. Local oral histories from Thrissur, Kuttanad, and Aranmula

Coming Up Next on 3rd September – As the Feast Nears, Joy Finds Its Voice
(Thriketta, Moolam & Pooradam special)