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