Festivals are about coming together. The Makara Sankranthi festival in the villages of Andhra Pradesh is actually a four day festival, celebrated as Bhogi, Sankranthi, Kanuma and Mukkanuma.
The practices and rituals may vary from place to place, but the theme of the Sankranthi festival is the worship of the harvest God, the Sun, paying obeisance to your ancestors who will give you their blessings from their heavenly abode and worshipping the cattle, the buffaloes, cows and oxen which are the farmer’s friends. For me, a town bred person, for long Sankranthi was only about burning old material in the Bhogi flame and gorging on delicious sweets like Ariselu, kobbari vadalu, Nippatlu which are the toast of the season. My mother’s enthusiasm on this aspect was nearly extraordinary.
She would say around December 15 that the festival season has set in, assiduously collecting old, discarded items for the Bhogi bonfire. Preparing large quantities of the mentioned sweets, she would give out packets of them to relatives, friends, well wishers and others. Despite her health and age, she would compete with youngsters and neighbors to paint Rangolis in front of our home.
After the passing away of Dad and Mother, this festival lost its charm since I could not go anywhere. But a new responsibility of paying obeisance to the elders, by calling a priest to our home and offering prayers to the departed souls, made me see some inner peace. To this was added a practice of donating meals to the needy, giving clothes to other elders, offering a small scholarship to students. Despite these gestures, I had a feeling that I was yet to connect to the real spirit of Sankranthi.
This Sankranthi, I diverged from my regular practice and went to my father’s native village, called Thogurupeta. I am sure where ever he is, my Dad would appreciate my trip to the village he had left long ago for his education and then for his employment. During his last years, he reminisced a lot about his village and his childhood. It is a magical village bestowed with water, greenery, hills and streams in abundance. It is the last village on the route and has a real idyllic quality to it. With nothing beyond but the hills which merge into the Seshachalam range, for me this was a village that time had forgotten. I offered prayers to my elders on Sankranthi day here and also got to know a little family history which has to be the subject of a longer tale.
We arrived on the evening before the day of the Bhogi festival. After the courtesies and pleasantries, I did what I like most about the village; Taking a long walk into the village roads where silence reigns, especially in the morning and the evening. This time the village tank was full. As black ducklings swam in the blue waters at a slow pace, I could spot several blossoming lotuses. I am a stranger, and a few inquisitive faces peep out of their doors to have a look at the new comer. The roosting birds take a circuitous route and come to rest over a huge Peepal tree. Bhogi is a traditional affair and a few oldies brag about the heights of bon fires in the olden days. The morning chill is nullified by the warmth of the crackling embers and we sit around the fire, savoring the magic moments of festivals. There is a glut of delicacies everywhere. Aunts and sisters-in-law keep pestering with various sweets made for the occasion unmindful of the eater’s gastronomic capacity. All the cousins and near relatives are crowded into small groups exchanging their banter or a tete-a-tete. A vigorous competition of cards is on in another place. Everywhere there is bonhomie and camaraderie. People are conscious of the precious moments that festivals can offer and everyone is trying to make their presence felt. Meeting people, and bonding with each other to build a relationship, carrying fond memories of a good time: This is the space that festivals can offer and no wonder we feel like going back home to be there during Sankranthi.