Two curved frames, joined at the centre, rest across the shoulders of the bearer. Decorated with flowers, cloth, or peacock feathers, the structure moves through the road, slowly and steadily. It is the ‘kavadi’ procession.
Some ‘kavadi’ remain small and simple, while others rise taller, shaped like temple towers. In its many forms, the kavadi is seen as both an offering and a symbol of self-sacrifice — the acceptance of pain and burden as part of devotion.
As the procession moves forward, the bearers step in familiar patterns, moving forward and back, occasionally turning in place to the beat of the drums. Once the kavadi is lifted, it determines the body’s rhythm — pace, posture, and even breath until the group reaches the temple.
Kavadiyattam, typically performed by men, has long been practised across Tamil Nadu and Kerala. Though practised as a ritual, it has changed over time, becoming more like an art form. Music has expanded beyond traditional percussion and nadaswaram to include bands and even film songs, and the scale of the ‘kavadi’ has grown more elaborate.
What was once the traditional saffron or yellow mundu, worn bare-chested with garlands and bare feet, has given way to jerseys, pants, and shoes in some places; at the same time, ‘kavadis’ have grown heavier, and the number of organised teams has increased. Yet what has remained constant is the crowd that follows, watching the bearers move with ease, to the tune of drums, under the weight of colourful kavadis.
This is the season for the ritual in Subrahmanya temples, where Kavadiyattam is part of the annual celebrations.
V R Jyothiprakash, 67, started doing kavadi when he was in Class 10. “I was following my father, who had been doing it for years. Back then, it was not like now,” he recalls.
The number of flowers was fewer, and the kavadis were shorter, he says. This made it much easier to carry them on the head and dance, as there were no cables or extra decorations in the way. “It was like being under a trance. There would be no strain or pain while performing. But the next two days, our bodies would be sore. Some would even place a coconut or a glass of water on their heads and balance the kavadi on it while swaying in rhythm.”
Jyothiprakash doesn’t perform anymore. But he still goes to watch Kavadiyattam wherever it is happening. “That spirit will never fade,” he adds.
While Jyothiprakash remembers the ritual’s past vigour, not everyone sees the same level of movement. “With the weight of the ‘kavadis’ growing and the focus shifting to which team can carry the largest or most elaborate one, people are not able to move as freely as they used to. The movement is fewer, but the ‘kavadis’ have become more colourful,” said Dasan M K, a passionate follower who goes to watch Kavadiyattam at every temple.
According to Vijay H Kumar, a member of Sree Durga Kalasamithi in Alappuzha, the major shift happened after the pandemic. Efforts were made to attract people again — experiments began.
“I don’t think any other ritual has undergone this much transformation. ‘Kavadis’ themselves have changed. What used to weigh 10–12kg is now about 18–22kg,” Vijay says.
The dance steps have evolved. “Earlier, there were only two basic steps. Now, since the melam sometimes does not provide enough beats, film songs are often included. And it’s not just in temples, religious institutions across the state now host Kavadiyattam performances. That’s a huge change.”
Moreover, once a temple ritual, Kavadiyattam has also found space in private events like weddings and inauguration ceremonies. Vishnu C G from Sree Brahma Kalasamithi, which introduced cinematic movements into the traditional folk-dance format and reshaped how the performance was presented, says the turning point came when paper-shot effects became popular.
“Once that clicked, Poo Kavadi saw a huge demand. There were months when we had programmes for 25 days straight. Though most shows were temple-based, it slowly became an entertainment form,” he says.
Invitations soon began arriving from outside Kerala as well. “We have performed at weddings in other states, Ganesh Chaturthi events in Karnataka, and inaugurations. Poo Kavadi became something people sought out,” Vishnu adds.
The change also helped teams survive beyond Kerala’s festival calendar. “The main season here is from January to May. Earlier, that meant a large off-season. Now, with outside programmes, there is no real break,” says Vishnu.
The group has also performed internationally, including at Chinese New Year celebrations in Macau, as well as shows in Dubai and Kuwait. What began as a six-member team has now grown into a 26-member professional group, with many young performers joining in.
However, the expansion has brought its own challenges. “Earlier, there were only two or three teams outside Ernakulam. Now there are many,” Vishnu says.
Druvam Kalasamithi member Sachu K M agrees. “There are around 30 to 32 groups in Kerala just for Poo Kavadi. If we include other ‘kavadi’ forms, the number will easily cross 100,” he notes.
Another visible shift is the participation of women. He points to a recent trend in temples, where Kaikottikkali performances include miniature ‘kavadi’. “Women are slowly taking up ‘kavadi’ in newer formats,” he says.
Yet, between all these changes, the ritual continues. There are still devotees who undergo week-long preparations involving prayer, fasting, early morning baths, and strict discipline, taking up kavadi as a vow that includes practices like ‘vel’ or ‘shoolam’ piercing.
Sree Karthikeya Kalasamithi member Anandhu Prakash says while younger performers often prefer more convenient methods, the ritual itself is not abandoned. “We respect the tradition and the ritual. For temple events, we follow the prayers and fasting strictly. But for other events, we approach it more as a performing art,” he says.
Legend
Legend has it that Agastya once wished to return from Mount Kailasa after worshipping Shiva, carrying with him two sacred hills. With Shiva’s blessing, the task was entrusted to Idumban, who bore the hills on his shoulders. Near present-day Palani, Idumban grew exhausted and rested, placing the hills on the ground. When he tried to lift them again, they would not move. He then noticed a young boy standing atop one hill, claiming it as his own. A battle followed, in which Idumban was killed. Realising that the boy was Murugan, sage Agastya prayed for mercy. Murugan restored Idumban to life, and Idumban in turn sought a boon — devotees who carry offerings in a ‘kavadi’ be blessed, and that he be appointed guardian of the hill. This belief is why pilgrims worship Idumban before ascending the Palani hill, and why Kavadiyattam became a part of Muruga worship.
Kavadiyattam
Translated as the ‘carrying of the burden’ dance, Kavadiyattam is considered one of the most favoured offerings to Lord Murugan. Depending on the offering carried, ‘kavadis’ take various forms such as Paal Kavadi (milk), Kalabha Kavadi (sandal paste), Peeli Kavadi (peacock feathers), Bhasma Kavadi (sacred ash), Anna Kavadi (rice), Thaila Kavadi (oil), Agni Kavadi (fire), and Karpoora Kavadi (camphor).