The story of Mahabali should also be seen through the eyes of Vindhyavali, his spouse. Her inexorable pain and lamentation over the murder of her innocent husband by a hitherto unseen trickster would have broken the heart of even the Sahyadri, the Western Ghats!
As such, isn’t it the woman who bears the brunt of every deceit, as it denudes her of her sense of security and peace of mind? It was poet Alexie, who penned the only poem in Malayalam about Vindhyavali.
The representative image of Mahabali, as he’s pictured these days, reminds one of Theetta Rappai (Rappai, the Glutton). But Mahabali’s physique could never be like this.
He was a robust warrior who led several battles with the gods. He would never have a paunch. Mahabali should be portrayed as a strongly-built warrior with a compassionate countenance.
Asura king
Mahabali’s complexion, as we see now, resembles that of white halwa! As an asura (demon) king, he should be viewed as a dark-skinned Dravidian. An asura doesn’t belong to any rung on the Hindu caste ladder. So the sacred thread ( poonool ) he’s shown as wearing in at least a few portrayals should be done away with. The thread was the Brahmins’ ticket to the dining room (temple oottupura ) in the past. Anyhow, Mahabali, or Maveli as he’s popularly known, doesn’t need the sacred thread.
Onam is a bright season bereft of rain clouds, heavy showers or severe heat. The palm leaf umbrella would be a burden for him. That can be removed as well.
Telugu radical poet Gaddar has an interesting insight into the Maveli story. He sees Mahabali as an icon of the oppressed, a reading that cannot be set aside. Vamanan, a high-caste fascist symbol, snatches away land from the Dalit king, Mahabali. In his first step, he grabs the Dalit farmland; deprives them of their living conditions in the second; and establishes absolute ownership over the Dalits in the last one.
Onam is about the generosity of the caste elite who has granted permission to the subaltern king to look up his own folks once in a year.
Lately, there’s a tendency in Kerala to celebrate Onam as the time of Vamanan’s avatar rather than the call-on window of Mahabali.
Contextually, equally interesting is the tale of Baleendran in circulation in Tulu-land. Baleendran and Mahabali aren’t different people. In this version, Vamanan agrees to return the land grabbed by him. But when? Whenever stones would turn into fruits and flowers would bloom on white pebbles. The day salt would turn into camphor and black gram would become the percussion instrument maddalam; when woodpecker would shave its head off the red crown and the black spot on kunnikkuru, the rosary pea, would fade away. It only means that the land grabbed by deceit would never be returned.
Noticeably, Vamanan addresses Mahabali as the ‘son of earth’ in the ballad of Baleendran. In Kerala, it’s the very same sons of the soil who are clamouring for their right to hold at least six-feet of land for a decent burial. The black sons of Mahabali have hoisted their flag of protest at Aralam, Muthanga, Meppady, Chengara and Arippa!
Onam should not be seen as a communal festival. Its roots run deep in the Malayalis’ dream of an egalitarian society. Malayalis around the world bury their caste and religious differences to celebrate the festival. But the vigour of the celebration is most evident among expat Malayalis. After all, isn’t Mahabali also an expatriate!
Kureepuzha Sreekumaris a widely-read Malayalam poet and social activist.
Mahabali was a robust warrior who led several battles with the gods. He would never have a paunch.
