A few days before Navaratri every year, the familiar rhythm of preparation begins. The first task is always the cleaning: cobwebs prised from stubborn corners, ceilings dusted, and every surface made spotless, to welcome divinity. Then comes the rustle of boxes being drawn out of storage, their edges fraying with age but filled with treasures waiting to be awakened. Steps are assembled — three, five, nine, sometimes even eleven —့ and atop each step a miniature stage awaits its players.
And out come the dolls. Tall gods and goddesses claim the topmost tiers, while the smallest figures find a place on the lower rungs. Slowly the world comes alive: girls frozen mid-leap in Adu Puli Attam, a wedding party bustling with ritual, a cheerful gathering seated cross-legged with banana leaves spread before them, and sometimes with even two cricket teams locked forever in a match, umpires mid-signal in crisp whites. The Golu is not just an arrangement, it is a living tableau, stitching the mythic with the everyday.
Amid this riot of colour, shine, and clay, there lies a quieter presence: a pair of wooden dolls, often carved smooth and unpainted, their bare grain whispering of the artisan’s hand that shaped them. Wrapped together in a single piece of cloth through the year, they are always unpacked as a pair, never separated. Unlike the bright gods and folk scenes, the Marapachi bommai carry no hue but the soft brown of their timber, and yet they hold a dignity that commands as much care as the resplendent deities. Their presence is understated, but never overlooked — they are never simply placed, they are prepared for. Hands, old and young, work to stitch tiny clothes out of torn saris, blouse pieces, and veshtis wrapping torn fabric into new meaning. Together they stand as silent witnesses to both devotion and artistry.
But what makes this modest wooden pair indispensable to every Golu, despite their simplicity? The answer lies in the traditional belief systems that anchor them to households, says Meenakshi Devaraj, a historian.
Culture in dolls
“Dolls are ingrained in Tamil culture and literature. If you take the Thiruppavai and Thiruvempavai, it is based on doll play only. Pavai itself means doll and Pavai Adal is nothing but a dolls play. Marapachi, the name, comes from the name 'Marapavai' where 'Maram' denotes wood and 'pavai', a doll. Over time, the common term for it became Marapachi,” Meenakshi notes. These wooden dolls find a place not just in Tamil culture, but in Telugu culture too, she adds.
“In many families across castes, a pair of Marapachi dolls is given as a wedding gift. In some households, the dolls are presented before the first Navaratri after marriage to the bridegroom and the bride. In others, it is customary to decorate the dolls fashionably and place them inside the couple’s room on the wedding night. I have even heard that in some pockets of the Telugu belt, the boy doll is given first during the wedding, and when the bride conceives a child, the female doll is presented. At many weddings, these Marapachi dolls were also used in an ice-breaking ritual, where the bridegroom and bride were made to care for the dolls as though they were their children. They would clean the dolls with turmeric, dress them up, and so on,” Meenakshi explains, summing up that together, these customs underscore the role of the dolls as enduring symbols of fertility.
There is also a misconception that Marapachi dolls were only made from red sanders, and also only from the same block of wood, she debunks. According to the historian, Marapachi dolls were made from a variety of indigenous wood, including neem wood. Neem and red sanders among the other commonly used wood varieties for making these dolls have natural antibacterial and anti-inflammatory properties, and they were therefore handed to teething toddlers to sooth and strengthen gums. And as toddlers grew older, these same dolls doubled into their cherished toys. Although the practice of them being carved from the same block of wood could have been the norm, it is no longer practiced, Meenakshi adds.
Jeyasree Ravi, founder of Palam Silks, recalls how she played with Marapachi dolls as a child. “I am unsure about the children of today, but at least when I was a child, we all played with Marapachi dolls. We always had them at home,” she says, adding how they became the source of inspiration last year for her to bring out a collection of saris. “Many of our friends had Marapachi dolls at home, we went through them, and then created a whole collection first. The reception was so good that we have brought out a new set of designs this year!” Jeyasree exclaims.
Superstitions attached
No tradition exists without its share of superstitions, and the Marapachi customs are certainly no exception. Year on year, thanks to these superstitious beliefs, in many families, these wooden dolls are believed to be symbolic of the couple they are presented to. Many communities see an auspicious time to get the dolls delivered home. They are also never separated and a possible separation of the dolls — such as one being lost — is traditionally considered a bad omen for the couple. Padma D, who owns two pairs of Marapachi dolls, one of which even came with two pairs of baby dolls, says, “Even when we pack them away after displaying them in our Golu, every step is followed with care. We wrap the dolls together in the same piece of cloth, always ensuring they face each other and never with their backs turned,” she corroborates.
Some even believe that Marapachi dolls embody their ancestors. Meenakshi says, “I have heard families say that, since their mothers gifted the dolls to them, after their mothers pass away, the dolls take on their mothers’ presence. So if a quarrel arises, they caution one another, ‘Speak softly — the Marapachis can hear us’.” Families even think twice before speaking ill of their ancestors due to these belief systems, she adds.
This season reveals the remarkable presence of the humble pair of Marapachi dolls: unpainted and bare, yet holding a profound sway through fear, tradition, and cultural weight — an authority that even the resplendent gods on the upper tiers of the Golu steps seldom achieve.