Avittam – The Drumbeats of Return

If Thiruvonam is the golden crown, then Avittam is the soft curtain that falls gently afterward, a day of transition, reflection, and parting rituals. Though the Onam feast may have peaked, the festival’s spirit still lingers in courtyards, fields, and hearts.

 The day marked by the Avittam star is not merely an epilogue. It holds its own cultural weight, layered with ancestral customs, martial energy, and sacred farewells.

 The Ritual of Removal – Saying Goodbye to Mahabali

In many households across Kerala, Avittam is the day of symbolic departure. The Onathappan idol - clay pyramids representing King Mahabali and Vamana, which stood at the center of the Pookkalam since Pooradam - is gently taken out with prayers and respect.

A small puja is performed. At an auspicious moment, the idol is carried to a pond, river, or sea and immersed in its waters, marking Mahabali’s return to the celestial realms. The act is often accompanied by rhythmic shouts, echoing the chants made during installation.

The Pookkalam, too, is removed petal by petal, the design that bloomed over days disappears. But even this act has beauty, for it teaches the impermanence of celebration, and the grace of letting go. Yet the spirit of Onam is not fully extinguished. In some regions, especially in central Kerala, families continue to maintain the Pookkalam till Makam day. The festival tapers but never fades abruptly.

Onathallu – The Martial Heartbeat of Avittam

If Avittam is remembered for one grand spectacle, it is Onathallu, also known as Kayyamkali - a martial art performed in the open, often on the banks of the River Nila (Bharathapuzha) in the Valluvanad region.

This form of ritual combat is no mere entertainment. It began as a training exercise for royal and feudal soldiers. Over time, it transformed into a traditional performance, especially during the post Thiruvonam days, to showcase the strength and pride of a group or village.

Dressed in simple attire, participants face off in controlled hand to hand grappling, surrounded by a circle of villagers. The bout is closely monitored by the Chayikkaran (referee) usually an experienced elder or former fighter. His role is crucial: he ensures fairness, delivers blessings before the fight, and stands ready with immediate remedies in case of injury.

To master Onathallu takes three to four years of practice, blending speed, mental strength, and discipline. Though rooted in combat, its performance is ceremonial, a tribute to the martial heritage of Kerala and a reminder that festivals also celebrate strength, not just sweetness.

Games That Echo Kerala’s Earth

Kilithattu
In Kilithattu, a game popular in the villages of Kerala, the den protects a stone - the ‘egg’ - placed in the middle of a square, from four men. The men trying to steal the ‘egg’ stand in four squares drawn inside the big one. The den, who is allowed to run along the inner lines of the small squares, tries to touch the men with his hands and feet. If the den succeeds in touching one of them, that player is out of the game. The game ends either when the ‘egg’ has been stolen or when the den manages to make physical contact with all four men.

Kazhakayattam

In Kazhakayattam, a game for youngsters, the competitors attempt to climb a long, oil-slicked pole to reach a prize tied at the top. The prize usually consists of sweetmeats or money.

Other regions stage their final rounds of Kummattikali, Poothan Thira, and folk arts that fuse performance and prayer. These traditions stretch Onam into an extended theatre of identity.

Traditions That Linger Beyond the Feast

Though the grandeur of the Onasadya belongs to Thiruvonam, the spirit of sharing and family continues into Avittam. Leftovers are reimagined into new meals, and in some homes, a simpler meal is made, not out of frugality, but as a mark of transition.

There is also a cultural stillness in the air. The temple premises are calmer, houses quieter, elders more reflective. Grandparents may now take time to tell the full story of Mahabali, beyond the festive blur. On Avittam, the story is no longer a myth - it becomes a memory.

From Festivity to Philosophy

As Avittam night falls, the moon casts its gentle gaze over a quieter Kerala. The streets begin to empty, the Chenda slowly silences, and the fragrance of Onam lingers like a memory.

Avittam doesn’t signal an end, it offers a gentle hand to walk you out of Onam, reminding every Malayalee that even as joy fades, its lessons stay. Humility, Hospitality, Heritage, Strength - all these are carried forward, not left behind.

 Conclusion: A Gentle Goodbye, Not an End

Avittam is not a fading echo, it is the soft silence after the song, the wisdom after the celebration. It tells us that all things beautiful must pause but never perish. The flowers may be lifted, the feasting may quiet, but the stories, the values, and the spirit of Onam will linger - guiding each Malayalee heart till the king returns again.

References:

1. Vinod Nambiar, ICH News, Jan 2018
2. Onam – The Harvest Festival of Kerala, Dept. of Tourism, Govt. of Kerala
3. The Many Faces of Onam – Adoor K.K. Ramachandran Nair
4. M.G.S. Narayanan – Keralacharithrathinte Randu Mughangal
5. Oral interviews: Valluvanad, Thrissur, and Ottapalam regions (1996–2010)

Coming up next (13 September 2025): Aramula Vallasadya - where ritual meets rhythm, and the devotion flows like the river itself

 

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)

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)

Atham – When the King Begins His Return

THE GOLDEN STEP THAT BEGINS THE JOURNEY IN THE HEART OF KERALA 

The Sacred Beginning

As the fresh breath of Chingam deepens, Kerala awakens to Atham, the day that signals not just the start of the Onam season but the return of a deeply loved presence: Mahabali, the Asura King, whose memory has never faded from the Malayali heart.

On this day, every home lays down its first Pookkalam - the floral carpet that blossoms at the doorstep like an open invitation to the noble king’s invisible footfall. It is not a ritual of show, but one of remembrance and quiet reverence. The earth is made fragrant not just with flowers, but with feeling.

It is said that Mahabali begins his descent to Kerala on Atham - not from the sky, but through the corridors of love, memory, and longing. And so, with petals and prayers, the people begin preparing for his arrival, step by step, day by day.

And in this land once ruled by Mahabali, we still sing:

"Maveli Nadu Vazhum Kalam, Kallavumilla Kalavumilla"
When Mahabali ruled the land, there was no theft nor dread of thieves. Honesty of purpose and probity of character were the guiding lights of every heart. Joy and abundance flowed freely, untouched by deceit or fear.

Athachamayam – The King’s Procession Through Time

Atham is not only spiritual, it is spectacular.

In the town of Thripunithura, the day opens in vibrant grandeur with the celebrated Athachamayam, a cultural procession that weaves together history, art, and folklore into a moving mosaic. But few know that this spectacle has roots far deeper than modern celebrations - it once belonged to kings.

According to historian K. P. Padmanabha Menon, in History of Kerala, Vol. IV (1937):

“The Cochin Raja and the Zamorins of Calicut celebrated on Atham day a ceremony known as Athachamayam. On that day, both these Rajas set out in procession with pomp and glitter of Oriental panoply... This is said to be indicative of the start usually made by these Princes in early days to attend the festival at the temple at Thrikkakara.”

In those days, the Raja of Cochin would begin his ceremonial journey on Atham, moving in regal procession toward the Thrikkakara Temple, believed to be the spiritual seat of Mahabali. The event was filled with courtly splendour - elephants, parasols, drums, and dance - and symbolised the king’s alignment with the spirit of Onam: humility before divinity, royalty before the divine dwarf.

But with the reorganisation of princely states and the arrival of democracy, these royal traditions faded from power only to be reborn as public cultural festivals. Today, Athachamayam is sponsored by the Government of Kerala, but retains the charm of a forgotten age. It is a day when almost every traditional art form of Kerala takes to the streets. Kathakali, Mohiniyattam, Theyyam, Pulikali, Kummattikali, Panchavadyam and Chenda Melam transforming the town into a grand theatre of heritage.

It is no longer the king’s procession; it is the people’s inheritance.

A Festival Begins at Home

Even far from Thripunithura, Atham is celebrated quietly but meaningfully across Kerala. Each morning, courtyards are swept clean and then sprinkled with cow dung mixed with water, a traditional act of sanctification still followed in many rural households.

The first Pookkalam is laid in courtyards and verandahs with yellow flowers, especially Thumbappoo (Mexican Marigold), which is believed to be most auspicious on this day. As the days progress, more colours and complexity are added. But Atham’s flower design remains the simplest because every journey must begin with the first step.

Children, often the sincerest celebrants, wake early to pluck flowers, laugh under the morning dew, and race back with their collections. But their joy does not end with blossoms. Even the youngest of them find delight in Gotti (marble games that sharpen hand and eye coordination) and Pambaram (spinning tops that train wrist control and focus). In their laughter, the legacy of Onam lives on, not just as memory, but as motion.

In modern times, schools and villages come alive with the spirit of Onam. Children prepare for Pookkalam contests, cultural programs, and playful competitions, filling the air with laughter and tradition reborn.

The mood is set. The stage is ready. The legend is stirring.

A Glimpse into Traditional Play – Introduction Begins

As part of this ten day journey, we shall introduce one traditional game or play activity every day, not necessarily tied to the day itself, but reflective of Onam’s spirit of community, vigour, and joy.

Today, let us look at Athachamayam itself, not just as a procession, but as a communal performance where play and pageantry meet. The rhythms of Chenda, the agile movements of folk dancers, the roar of the crowd, all reflect the ancient joy of physical expression rooted in Kerala’s cultural soil.

Atham – A Golden Threshold

Atham is not a climax, it is the threshold. It is the first ripple that leads to a flood of festivity. It is a moment poised between history and myth, ritual and reality.

In the footsteps of kings and the silence of Mahabali’s promise, Atham teaches us to begin again - simply, sincerely and with joy.

Let the petals fall, let the procession begin. The king is on his way.

References:

1. K. P. Padmanabha Menon – History of Kerala, Vol. IV, 1937
2. Census of India 1961, Vol. I – Monograph Series: Onam – A Festival of Kerala
3. Interviews and local records on Athachamayam, Thripunithura
4. Kerala Government Archives – Onam Festival Circulars
5. Malabar and Its Folk by T. K. Gopal Panicker, 1900

Coming up next: On Friday, 29 August 2025—From Dhyan Chand to Kerala's Heroes: A national sports day story.