Of Grace, And Gratitude
The Myth Behind The Onam Festival
I looked around the table, and said a silent ‘grace.’
Thank you, God, I thought, for the food. And thank you for the joy of feeding people the food I have cooked. And for the joy of having the people in your life, for whom this food was meant.
Onam is actually a ten-day Festival. But recently, people have begun celebrating it only on the last day, the Thiruvonam day. There is myth and legend behind Onam. It is the story of the fifth Avatar of Lord Vishnu.
The gods were all in a state of agitation because they had heard that there was a man, a King, on Earth who was so noble that he was being worshipped as a God! They rushed to Lord Vishnu in a body, demanding that the man be destroyed immediately. Vishnu decided to act. He descended into the land of men, disguised as the dwarf, Vamana.
The king, Mahabali, bows to this strange guest and politely asks Him if he can help Him. “I don’t want anything much,” Vamana replies, “I only ask for three steps of land. As much as I can measure with my feet, thrice.” The king agrees, overriding the frantic efforts of his teacher and sage, to get him to refuse. The sage senses who Vamana is, and what He wants. But this noble King of Kerala wouldn’t go back on his sacred duty to a guest. He agrees to what Vamana asks.
Vamana, the dwarf, begins to grow.
And grow.
And grow.
In one step, he measures the whole of the Earth.
In the second, he measures the whole of the sky.
“Where do I put my next foot,” he asks: and the King kneels in front of the Lord and offers his head. Before Lord Vishnu places his foot on Mahabali’s head, to push him below the Earth, into Paatal, the subterranean regions, he allows him a boon, a wish. Mahabali says, “My Lord, please grant that once a year I may come to the Earth to visit my people in Kerala.”
And so, Onam was born.
There are a lot of rituals associated with Onam: the ten-day flower arrangement on the verandah or patio of the home, one kind of flower for each day, the snake-boat races, the wearing of brand-new clothes, the visiting relatives and friends, the songs and the dances, the ‘tiger-dance’…
But the ritual I like the most is the food and the feeding.
My children have been in Australia for a large part of their lives. When they do visit us in India, they can be with us for no more than two days, out of the week or two that they are on vacation. And they are never in India at the same time, together.
So this Onam was special for all of us.
For the first time, the very first time, both my sons, their wives, and children were under one roof, with us. They loved the Onam food. They would also have loved to help me in the kitchen: but their busy and demanding schedules would not permit anything more than moral support.
So I cooked, beginning a week or two before Onam. The chutneys and the pickles were made first. The ginger and mango pickles, the pineapple, and beetroot pachadis were made first. Then I prepared the spices and pastes for the other curries, deputed the work of cutting up vegetables and grinding up whole spices, coconut, green chilies, mustard, purple onions, shallots, cumin, and fenugreek, to the man I live with. He knows that I can’t operate any machinery, due to my Limited Intelligence, or wield the big knife because my Hand Hurts. Sigh!
So everything was ready to be cooked on the big day, thankfully.
I made the vial and the sambar, the Erusseri and the Ishtu, the kailan, and the plan early in the day. Later, I made two kinds of payasam: the rice noodle one, made with sugar, milk, and saffron, and the split moong one, with coconut milk, dry ginger, and jaggery. Into both go cashew nuts and sultanas fried in ghee. Last, the papadam was fried, and the rice was boiled and drained.
I had also invited two of my friends, Ann and her husband, Thomas, for the Onam Sadya (feast).
We served the food on dark green plantain leaves. We ate and we talked. And then we ate some more and we talked some more. People got up from time to time, to take second and third helpings of food. And then we ate some more. And talked some more.
Outside, the shadows lengthened as a Melbourne winter dusk fell. A couple of blackbirds from the tree in the garden flew down and stared at us, holding a conversation and twittering about us. The two cats, Loki and Coco, blinked at us from time to time, from their perches, and then went back to sleep. The two babies and one infant were busy in a corner of the squabbling over toys or turning the pages of storybooks and coloring pages.
After some time all of us fell silent. Good food and a lot of it, good people that one can let their guard down with, and the presence of family. So many blessings, so many reasons for gratitude, so many sources of comfort. What could one do, but bow one’s head in thankfulness?
What could one do, but say grace?
ⓒ 2023 Suma Narayan. All Rights Reserved.
Shoutout to Shashikiran Mullur for this exquisite piece in which he melds history, literature, geography, and wildlife, with a series of beautiful photographs:
Ruminating About My Wrongs in Engaging With Wildlife
Sloth Bears in Hampi, the Victory City
medium.com
Shoutout to Kerala Taylor for this self-affirming piece about beauty in all its manifestations:
John Welford writes about a reclaimed garden space in Cornwall, with so much affection that one is tempted to hop on to a plane and go visit it right away:
