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:
- Fra Bartolomeo – Observations on the Malabar Christians, early 18th century
- Census of India 1961, Vol. I – Monograph Series: Onam – A Festival of Kerala
- T. K. Gopal Panicker – Malabar and Its Folk, 1900
- Kerala Government Archives – Land Tenure and Agrarian Customs
- 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)
