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)

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

From Ember to Arrival: Thriketta, Moolam & Pooradam

 Thriketta - The Sixth Day: The Ember Beneath the Bloom

As the sixth dawn of Onam rises, the festival softens in roots, rituals and remembrance. The noise of games settles slightly. In its place comes a gentler rhythm - a return to ancestral soil and sacred memory.

Return to the Tharavad: Where Bloodlines Breathe

Long before cities rose, the tharavad - the ancestral home - was Kerala’s heartbeat. On Thriketta, families begin to retrace their steps to these ancestral abodes. Children rush into wrinkled arms. Women revisit storied rooms filled with castor oil, jackfruit, and faded black-and-white photos.

The elders wait quietly with sandal paste, oil lamps, and silence heavy with blessing. A bowed head meets a raised palm. A moment of contact becomes the most sacred of rituals.

Kitchens as Temples of Taste

By mid-morning, kitchens burst into choreography. Coconut is scraped, cumin roasted, turmeric warmed in oil. Banana chips are fried with meditative precision.

Each stir, each taste, each act of preparation becomes a sensory ritual, training the mind to focus, and the body to serve without distraction. These are not tasks - they are offerings.

Games of Rhythm and Muscle Memory

The younger generation gathers for Nanthuni Kali, Thalam Kali, and spontaneous games of rhythm, clapping, and mirth. Boys engage in arm wrestling and balancing games. No scorecards here - only pride, laughter, and the thrill of motion.

These are the earliest rites of physical culture, seeded in joy.

Sham Battles and the Echoes of Ancient Boxing

British officers like Fawcett and James Forbes documented sham fights and boxing contests during Onam. In fields led by jenmies (landlords), tenants would engage in symbolic yet spirited combat.

The boxing Fawcett observed in Malabar was astonishing - its stance, agility, and execution reminiscent of Roman pugilism. Fighters stood bare chested, fists raised, feet grounded, echoing the ancient Roman cestus fighters.

Could these forms have traveled through trade?
Indeed, from 30 B.C. onward, Roman ships visited Muziris for pepper and pearls. Roman influence on Kerala’s coastal culture is not myth but recorded history. Even Alaric the Goth’s ransom of 3,000 lbs. of pepper in 410 A.D. likely came from these very shores.

The Kayyankali and indigenous boxing games of Malabar may carry not only cultural essence but transcontinental echoes, transmitted through bodies, not books.

Moolam – The Seventh Day: When Generations Dance Together

On the seventh day, the festival matures. Children no longer dance alone; elders step into the circle. From this day, the spirit of Onam becomes one of intergenerational celebration.

It is often said:

“Kanam vittum Onam unnanam.”
(Even if one must sell land, the Onam feast must be served.)

Sadya as Sacred Practice

Temples serve miniature sadhyas - simple meals that carry the full weight of tradition. In homes, kitchens echo with rehearsals.
Payasam is sampled. Tamarind is soaked. Bananas are steamed.
Each act of cooking becomes a spiritual preparation.

Elders and Strategy

Games of Chathurangam, dice, and cards begin to unfold in quiet courtyards.
Wisdom is no longer spoken - it is played.
A well-placed move is not just clever - it is inheritance in action.

Attakalam: A Sand Circle of Honour

In village compounds, Attakalam is played. One team inside, one out. Rules simple - outwit, outlast, and push the opponent from the circle.

It is not brute strength, but strategy, balance and discipline that determine the winner.

Kaikottikali and Soaring Swings

Women in cream kasavu sarees gather under jackfruit trees, forming soft circles. Kaikottikali begins with a song, followed by synchronised steps, folded hands, and smiles shared across generations.

Beside them, coir rope swings sway. Girls and women fly, push, and giggle. It is not escape - but a vertical prayer, a moment between earth and sky.

Pooradam – The Eighth Day: Where the Clay Speaks

On Pooradam, the festival slows to a sacred rhythm. After seven days of outward expression, the focus shifts inward - to the clay, the lamp and the living room floor.

Onathappan: Clay Pyramid, Eternal Presence

Families gather to mold the Thrikkakara Appan - the clay pyramid representing Mahabali and Vamana. These are not opposing forces, but coexisting truths: humility and dharma, sacrifice and grace.

Children, now called Poorada Unnikkal, decorate the figures with flowers and rice flour. Their small hands carry forward a thousand years of silent continuity.

Behind every Onathappan, tradition places bows and arrows, a practice often overlooked today. These weapons were not of war but of reverance, honouring Vamana’s courage and Mahabali’s nobility.

The Sacred Archery and Onavillu Tradition

In southern Kurumbranad, archery contests using bamboo bows and plantain targets were common. The cheppu (target) sat atop a mound, and victors - those who struck true, claimed every fallen arrow.

This wasn’t mere sport, it was mental focus, physical precision, and community pride. These echoes survive even today.

In Thiruvananthapuram, the Onavillu ritual continues in royal tradition. On Thiruvonam morning, the Travancore royal family receives, from temple priests, an ornate bow (Onavillu) painted with scenes of Vishnu and crafted as sacred heirlooms. It is a reminder that valour and virtue walk hand in hand.

Markets, Kitchens, and Collective Joy

Pooradam also marks the final preparation day. Markets bustle with last minute purchases - fresh banana leaves, jaggery, coconut, turmeric, and new garments.

Kitchens echo with the music of picking and frying. Grandmothers begin making sharkara upperi, naranga achar, puliyinchi, and uniyappam not from written recipes, but from instinct passed down like family jewellery.

Even the poorest homes prepare something because Onam is about dignity, not wealth.

Circles of Story and Shared Wisdom

At nightfall, elders gather the children. Under the light of one lamp, stories unfold.
Proverbs, riddles, Akshara Slogam, and small contests of wit bloom in verandahs.

Here, Mahabali becomes more than myth.

He becomes the wise old man who smiles with every tale told well.

Pooradam – The Still Point of the Festival

Pooradam is a sacred pause.
It is the point at which myth becomes memory and memory becomes clay.

It is the day when Mahabali is no longer awaited, he is present, in every act of love and readiness. In the great journey of Onam, Pooradam is the inward step, the whispered welcome, the final note before crescendo.

References:

1. Fawcett, F., Nayars of Malabar, 1901
2. James Forbes, Oriental Memoirs, 1813
3. Census of India 1961, Vol. I, Monograph Series – Onam: A Festival of Kerala
4. Kerala Government Archives – Festival Records & Circulars
5. Malabar and Its Folk by T. K. Gopal Panicker, 1900
6. Interviews with families in Palghat, Thiruvananthapuram, and Kurumbranad (2022–2024)
7. Travancore Royal Family Chronicles, Government Publications Division

Coming up tomorrow (04/09/2025)
Uthradam – When Joy Crosses the Threshold