Where Over Two Million Women Gather
By Padma Shandas
They don’t travel the dozens or hundreds of miles for any material gain; they may never imagine their pictures would travel around the world and appear on television, Internet sites, and newspapers; they don’t care if their gathering would be recorded in the Guinness Book of World Records.
But they come – year after year. They perform their annual ritual. What each of the women asks for herself is not known; but they dedicate the day for the memory of an extra-ordinary woman. Perhaps they pray for strength; may be they hope for self-affirmation; after all, the day transforms their daily duty into a sacred ritual; this day, they cook for a Goddess.
It is undoubtedly the most amazing spectacle one can witness; the sheer presence of about 2.5 million women who gather in the city streets of Thiruvanantha Puram, formerly known as Trivandrum, the capital of Kerala, is nothing short of breathtaking. To the casual eye, it may appear as though they are getting ready for a mass picnic. Or, is it some sort of demonstration of female power? But soon, the reality strikes: it is the largest gathering of women who come in pursuit of spiritual fulfillment at a Goddess temple.
Women congregate in the city from the neighborhoods as well as far away places, even foreign countries; they carry mud pots and other cooking paraphernalia with them. As far as the eyes can reach, one sees only women, except for a sprinkling of men, who are either the police or photographers.
The event, known as Attukal Pongala, happens once a year in February or March. The preparations begin days ahead. People talk excitedly about the upcoming gathering. City police gets ready for any eventuality, medical teams arrive, and bus services shape up for running all-women free shuttles from across town and neighboring villages. Private taxis and auto-rickshaws do their share to manage the inflow. Women-only trains run to the city, jammed with the festival-goers.
City streets divert traffic for the day and offer maximum space for the women. Local citizens open their homes, their kitchens, and bathrooms for the out-of-towners. Restaurants offer free lunches.
The women’s needs are simple: a few bricks to create a stove, a bundle of dry kindling, a cooking pot, a ladle, rice, water, ghee, and jaggery (brown molasses). Some use a few cashew nuts and a handful of grated coconut for garnishing. They sit by the side of the roads, as close to the Goddess temple as possible, or in empty lots, or wherever they can find space, and set up the stoves. The ritual cooking begins at the precise time indicated by the temple priest, who brings a sacred flame to light the stoves. The ritual is so well organized that within minutes, the flames catch on and the rice begins to cook. Smoke rises up, engulfing the city.
The millions of pots sizzle with the sweet pongal, or rice pudding, which they offer to the Goddess.
Like all rituals in India, there is a legend behind the event. It commemorates the ordeal of a poor woman named Kannagi, whose burning anger caused the destruction of the city of Madurai.
The story is mesmerizing: Kannagi was a patient, loving, and devoted wife. Once, overcome by poverty, she sends her husband, Kovalan, to pawn one of her gold anklets at the market. But mistaking the jewelry to be the stolen anklet of the queen, he is arrested and put to death without a trial.
Kannagi, angered by the injustice, throws her other anklet to smithereens, exposing the precious gems inside, and proves the authorities wrong. The queen’s anklet has pearls in them. She curses the city and its rulers to burn in a fire. As the fire roars through Madurai, Kannagi, still seething, goes away to neighboring Thiruvanantha Puram. The women of Thiruvanantha Puram pacify her with pots of sweet pongal, and worship her as their Goddess.
Each year, the temple festival attracts more and more women to the spot. As the largest gathering of women, Attukal Pongala has earned mention in the Guinness Book of World Records.
Many women join outside their own homes, away from the crowd; and yet, follow the exact same ritual at the precise time. Participating in this year’s event, I joined my sisters-in-law, who cooked the pongal in their front yards.
“Are the women of
Did she mean if they felt powerful doing the ritual? Or if the women are generally powerful?
How would I describe my own experience? The ritual was certainly exciting; from the beginning to the end. It was also empowering to see the smoke and steam from two-and-a-half million stoves mingle and rise to the sky, like a community’s prayer. But it was the quietness of mind that I remember the most – a peaceful feeling of harmony; a genuine joy of togetherness.
“The ritual itself was empowering,” I said. “For the women… Well, they are powerful inside the homes, generally speaking.”
Then I thought to myself: what if the gathering had been a demonstration of power? A protest? If so, would it be supported or celebrated as much?
Suddenly, an uneasiness began to fill inside me. For all its glory and camaraderie, the Pongala festival is a very humble, personal achievement for the woman. Her role in it is still traditional; her duty, a quiet service.
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Padma Shandas is the author of Spices in the Melting Pot: Life Stories of Exceptional South Asian Immigrant Women.