Standing by the side of a pandal made of the long green leaves of coconut palms, a holy man mumbling his undecipherable name resembled what makes people think of a naga sadhu—transcendental, valorous, yet reclusive. “The Nila river was once a silent witness to the original Maamaankam (a local twist to Mahamagham) on whose banks warriors fought and fell. It has become, thanks to a former Communist who found god, a ritualistic, celebratory congregation over the years.” he asserts. The Mahamagham, or Kerala’s Mahakumbh held on the banks of the Nila (Bharathapuzha) between January 18 to February 3, has unfolded differently indeed. About 270 years ago when the Maamaankam fair was stopped after suicide squads—cheykor pada—tried to kill the Zamorin of Calicut, which later descended to clan warfare.
The festival was revived in its current mass form by Swami Anandavanam Bharati, a former Malayali firebrand CPI(M) student leader who became a monk, and subsequently the first Mahamandaleshwar of the Juna Akhara, Varansi last year— Akhada is more than 1,200 years old and has more than 400,000 members. Born P. Salil in Chalakudy, Kerala he worked at a local daily before discovering spirituality and journeying to Haridwar, Varanasi, Rishikesh, and even the Himalayas. The former rebel in him comes alive when as he speaks of Mahamagham as an ancient river festival held in the Indian month of Magham— akin to the Kumbh melas of the Gangetic plains—as a forum for debates in philosophy, social laws, and where folk traditions join hands in an invocation for peace. The conflict zone it later became was a gory aberration, according to him. The idea of reviving the festival was seen as unfeasible. But the swami and his team, the Tirunavaya Mahamagham organising committee, were undeterred. “The Maamaankam will happen no matter what,” he had declared openly. And it started as is its destiny.
The festival was held on the banks Nila River, where the Nava Mukunda temple, the Tavannur Brahma temple and the Shiva temple to the left of the bank form a sacred triad. The banks reverberated with cultural noises, with a specific stage dedicated to folk and traditional performances such as Tholpavakoothu (puppetry) and Tiruvathira.
But, it wasn't easy. The initial days began in fits and starts, with people sceptical about how things would pan out at a remote location in Malappuram. “The scene was nothing like other river festivals, where brisk activity would start months before. Here, there was nothing," recalls Vishwanath R, an entrepreneur who arranges accommodation for pilgrims in congregations such as the Kumbh Mela.
Rajesh Varma, a coordinator from Mohanji Foundation, claims the 15-member team of priests his foundation brought from Varanasi to conduct the Nila aarti had wished to return as soon as they came. “But in a day or two, devotees flocked here in swarms, primarily to watch the aarti, held much like the Ganga aarti at Varanasi’s Dashashwamedh Ghat,” he smiles. The congregation soon became a crowd-puller as footfalls increased by the thousands daily. The last few days saw a daily footfall of five lakh, with devotees coming from many other states Priests holding lamps, doing aarti with many storied lamps to the rhythm of chants and beats is a healing feeling, believes Varma. It is meant to heal the river too. Historian K. V. Krishna Iyer writes that the last Mamankam fair was held in 1755 after Kozhikode was captured by Haidar Ali. “I had always felt the bloodshed had stolen Nila of her joy. Now, we can see her glory,” Varma says. Maamaankam’s references as a sacred congregating space of cross-country pilgrims and travellers can be amply found in some scriptures. For many Malayalis like Kalari practitioner Balakrishna Pai, it is a platform where locals bring out their “not before seen rituals”. “Here, one could see tribals and Kalari experts showcasing arcane rituals such as Aksharakalari, Muthamum Muthiyum, Yakshiyagam, etc. These were held alongside Vedic practices like Kalachakrabali,” he says, showing the essence of Kalari as a worship methodology.
Towards the last leg of the programme, as visitors, including celebrities, poured in, organisers faced mounting management challenges. On February 2, two trainloads of people, including several naga sanyasins from across the country, came to attend the mela. “We had not anticipated such a response. The grand, once-in-12-years session of Maamaankam falls in 2028, and this current one is just the annual observance of the Magha ritual, but a scale-up from the small ceremony held here every year. But people came, even braving odds, like worshippers from Tamil Nadu arriving with Taay Veetu Seer (ceremonial gifts for Nila, their daughter),” says Varma.
The sight of devotees congregating in large numbers at Mahamagham this year, the organisers are enthused; they have resolved to keep the revival fest on, but better-planned next year, and a big gala show in 2028. They believe Mahamagham's history is being rewritten, with the hope that this time, it will not be overwritten by change, as the Nila flows at her majestic pace as she has for centuries, her sandy banks once upon a time stained crimson with the blood of warriors who fought in forgotten wars and has now returned to its festive convivial nature.