Celebration of Utopia
Thiruvonam, the festival of abundance, is seeped in mythology and rich in historical contexts; it also has a philosophical texture that must not be lost in celebration
You really must give it to the Malayalis, the people of the south Indian monsoon-rich green state of Kerala, who speak the language, Malayalam. (Yes, it is Malayalam, not Keralan).
How else can a community go against the prevailing norms related to celebrations and spin its own unique story that lends credence to the legend behind Thiruvonam?
Before we get into the tale, let us define the context for the benefit of nonMalayalis. Thiruvonam, regarded as a harvest festival, is being celebrated on September 4 this year.
That is the day you could see people from Kerala walk around in Karama (or for that matter, anywhere in your neighbourhood) in their spotless white
mundu with golden embroidery, and women decked up in kasavu sari (the hand-woven cream-coloured sari with golden embroidered edges).
That is the day they will have a sumptuous feast spread out on banana leaves, the delicacies giving Pantone-obsessed designers a run for their money.
From yellow to red, brown to green, and white to black, the delicacies come in all colours, in addition to a pinch of salt (literally) as garnish.
They will wrap up the feast with several payasams (a rare version of sweet pudding meets running dessert), and if you happen to pass by a club or association premises, you will see them engaged in tug of war competitions.
Look around, you can see floral patterns made on the floors — a traditional activity that is a must for Onam, starting nine days earlier and culminating with the largest floral decoration on Thiruvonam day, the 10th and main day of the Onam festival.
Prior to the feast, there would be a procession replete with traditional musical instruments, and you will not miss the rather paunchheavy man with a crown and a palm-leaf umbrella being obsequiously welcomed by one and all. You can watch him nod his head, and look around with absolute tenderness.
That is King Mahabali - Malayalis’ own Santa. And this parade of festivity, which falls on
Thiruvonam day as per the Malayalam calendar, is to welcome him. That in nutshell is the festival of Onam.
In which Mahabali ruled Kerala
(Disclaimer: We do not vouch for the story-elements, variations or differences in the anecdotes relating to Mahabali. We merely chronicle the stories behind the legend)
So, let us go back in time. We are stepping into a world where myth meets belief, legend meets creative storytelling, and philosophy meets wisdom.
We are going into the heart of characters, who are in the grey area of perhaps a little substance liberally garnished in fable and folklore.
Welcome then, to the land of King Mahabali – a demon king.
If you are wondering why a demon is king, we must go even further back into the divide that prevailed according to the Maha Puranas (great histories) of India.
There were the Devas, the good lords who lived somewhere up in heaven, who were forever running in fear of the Asuras, the bad demons who dwelled on land and possibly underneath too. Caught between them were the ordinary mortals. But in a land of abundance, which Malayalis believe is Kerala, the ruling demon was anything but bad. He was, as our new generation kids say, ‘the best’. He was also of great lineage tracing all the way back to some of the pious and benevolent rules of ancient (mythical) India.
Under his rule, the land prospered. As Sir William Logan writes in Malabar
Manual, there was “perfect justice, perfect trust, and perfect truth.”
Everyone was equal. There was no deceit, no exploitation, no petty thieving, no falsehood, not even an iota of dishonesty. It is classic Utopia where everything was perfect and everything was in abundance. The people rejoiced under the benevolence of their king.
Since Mahabali was a demon, of course it was up to the Devas to feel insecure seeing all this heaven-like happiness on mere Earth. Mahabali had also become so powerful that he seized the heavens from its lord, Indra.
The Devas, as usual, went crying to the Supreme Power. But in the bigger scheme of things, the Supreme Power, who take avatars (incarnations) had clear plans of being on Earth.
He was born as a diminutive man named Vamana, and arrived to meet Mahabali while he was busy performing a great sacrifice. It was customary that guests be treated with utmost courtesy and asked whatever they wanted.
In which Kerala celebrates Onam
Years have passed since these tales came into circulation. But Thiruvonam continues to be a proud traditional celebration of the Malayalis. What makes the festival endearing and popular is that it cuts through any religious connotations.
Widely celebrated, it is almost like Kerala’s ‘national’ festival, where no matter who, what, where or why, people come together in joyous togetherness.
While many would bemoan that Onam is being commercialised and that the essence of the festival has given way to loud, garish and ostentatious displays, the underlying theme of the festival – of a benevolent ruler and a land of plenty with no trace of falsehood continues to underline, perhaps (Malayali) human’s quintessential search for Utopia.
And Kerala being Kerala, with its plurality of views mixed with political mongering, do not be surprised today, as you see a section of the people, in a dilution of the non-religious and secular attributes of Onam, marks it not in memory of Mahabali, but as Vamana
Jayanti – the birth of Vamana!