Sabarimala Pilgrimage, Kerala - January 1996
“Every January, hundreds of thousands of devotees trek across Southern India to witness the Makara Jyothi- the light which is believed to be Lord Ayyappa himself.”
This is a diary entry from a three month visit to India and Nepal in the winter of 1996/7. Every day this year I’ll be posting an image from the trip on my Instagram.
We timed our visit to Kerala to coincide with the Makaravilakku, the culmination of a pilgrimage by around 250,000 people to a rural valley to witness the Makara Jyothi star which is worshipped by devotees during the Makara Sankranti festival on January 14. According to lore, the star is believed to be Lord Ayyappa showing himself to the devotees to bless them. For reasons explained later, Alex was not allowed to come with me. I was lucky to find a local guide and driver and we set off in a brand new jeep. The first leg was back along the road towards Kottayam for 14km. The bumps we hadn’t registered in the bus that we’d arrived in the previous day shook the Jeep violently, and we had to wind our way around some of the deeper potholes.
The road towards Sabarimala got narrower and rougher. We argued our way through two police checkpoints and continued up a steep, dusty and rocky track. By now we were passing pilgrims dressed in black and jeeps with up to 35 passengers crammed inside, perched on the roof or hanging on to the tailgate with their toes. After an hour's bumpy, dusty ride up the track we came to a stop behind a long line of Jeeps and parked. We asked the driver not to move in the hope that we would find him in the dark.
We joined the lines of pilgrims, past stalls selling food & drink and then up the hill from where we would witness a holy light out 6.40 precisely. As we walked up, the heavens opened and it poured unrelentingly for an hour and a half. We pulled on our waterproofs which only withstood the downpour for 10 minutes. There was nowhere to shelter - the pilgrims were either huddling in groups under plastic sheets or individually under woven coir sleeping mats. Some had even made grass huts. None of the above stayed waterproof for long but this didn't seem to dampen the pilgrims’ mood.
For the pilgrims, this was the culmination of 41 days of either fasting or following a pure vegetarian diet, going barefoot (far from easy given the huge distances walked by some), daily temple visits and celibacy. Many had travelled from all over the South of India; we met a teacher from Andhra Pradesh making his sixth visit, others had come from as far as Karnataka. One group from A.P had left home two weeks before. Others taken four months to walk from Madras, stopping for temple devotions on the way. We had seen these pilgrims on buses and in train stations since we arrived in the South, wearing cloth packets tied to their heads containing a coconut filled will ghee. This is smashed at the temple and gallons poured on a holy fire, the smoke from which was visible from our hilltop vantage point. Some had plants carried on their backs signifying their 18th pilgrimage, when they would plant a tree at the temple. Temple management puts religious restriction against entry of women of age 10 to 50, i.e. of menstruating age. So apart from a number of older women, the pilgrims were all male. Note from 2022: This has recently been the subject of court cases. It seems that the ban has been overturned, but an attempt of women to enter the temple has been met with being blocked by protesters.
A lone female pilgrim and a father and son
The pilgrims on the hill had already been to the temple and had walked many kilometres up through the forest. Despite this and the rain that met them, everybody was in very high spirits; it was a joyous occasion. Groups were singing what sounded like football chants or U.S army marching songs all featuring Ayappa, the god whose special day we were celebrating. We walked across the hillside and could see thousands of pilgrims below and to the left of us. Everybody seemed happy to see us there and very eager and pleased to have their photographs taken. At last the rain abated and the pilgrims cheered, wringing bucketloads of water out of their drenched lunghis. By now I was also soaked to the skin and shivering in the breeze, although I was most keen to keep my camera equipment dry. I somehow managed to change the film in the middle of the downpour.
We met a group of friends who had travelled from a town near Madurai. Two of them owned an electrical business, and they were all very well-educated and spoke excellent English. They also had the perfect vantage point of the temple complex below – its lights were beginning to twinkle and camera flashes were visible through the mist and smoke – and of the hillside on the opposite side of the valley. Here, every year on this date, at precisely 6.40pm, we would witness a holy light made by the Gods. Before the holy light, Ayappa’s star would appear above us at exactly 6.30pm. Earlier in the day a chest containing jewellery that had been carried from 50km away would be taken in a procession through the temple. Everybody I spoke to was convinced that it had a divine provenance rather than my more cynical suspicion that it might have been the result of some priests making a fire. Note from 2022: Having looked it up on Wikipedia just now “There is nothing supernatural in the Makaravilakku.” “During the festival, a sacred lamp or the Makara Vilakku is lit in the neighbouring hill of Ponnambalamedu, a few km away from Sabarimala and this is worshipped by devotees who view it from the Sannidhanam. The lighting of the lamp was a tradition practiced by the tribal community of Mala Arayans who have lived on these hills for generations. The custom was taken over nearly 60 years ago by the Kerala government and today, the Kerala State Electricity Board lights the lamp during the festival with the support of the TDB.” Disappointing, but unsurprising.
As the sun began to set, sending beautiful beams of lights across the Western Ghats that stretched into the distance, shouting rippled through the crowd as everyone pointed toward the temple. The light of huge torch could be seen moving below, surrounded by the popping of camera flashes as the jewellery chest was processed through the temple grounds - occasionally the noise of firecrackers could be heard above the noise of the hilltop crowd.
By now if was after six and expectation was reaching fever pitch - songs extolling Ayappa echoed and rippled across the valley – the beat kept by tiny handheld cymbals and tambourines. At 6.30 a shout went up as, sure enough, the Makara Jyothi star (possibly the Sirius star) appeared on cue. By now everybody was chanting and all eyes were avidly watching the hillside. There was an initial false alarm as a light appeared in a distant valley. Everyone was looking at their watches or asking the time. At 6.40 exactly a roar erupted from the crowd and thousands of fingers pointed to the crest of the opposite hill – an orange light had flared up. Everybody was on their feet, their hands held together above their heads in prayer, a look of fervent joy on every face. The light died down, and a general murmur rose from the crowd as they searched for the second light. The murmur become a roar as the light re-appeared, and the chanting again crescendoed. A minute later a third and final illumination appeared.
As soon as the light faded, the immense crowd was on its feet and clambering up and over the hill in the half-light. Everybody was smiling. Many asked whether I had been able to see the light. "God is good”, they said when I answered “Yes”. We became part of a tributary that then joined a huge river of humanity leaving the hill. I looked back to see a wide stream of people with moving torches moving behind us. We were forced forward by the moving tide amidst a great deal of shouting. Groups of men held hands in long lines to try and prevent becoming separated. Other group leaders stood with flags shouting to attract stragglers. Somehow amongst the hundreds of jeeps we managed to find ours; it helped that it was shiny and new. Most of the other jeeps were acting as glorified buses, their conductors shouting out their destination. These often overtook us, swaying precariously as they hurtled down the uneven track.
The pilgrims that were doing things traditionally and travelling home on foot were almost running down the road, at points veering off to take short cuts before running back onto the road - often with cooking pots balanced on their heads - as they moved aside to avoid being crushed by the overfilled jeeps. Unsurprisingly we passed six or seven broken down jeeps on the way back to the hotel, surrounded by a group of still happy passengers.