Mahabali’s Onam present

King Mahabali ruled Kerala once upon a time. He was a kind, benevolent ruler adored by the people. One day, the gods, jealous of his popularity, complained to the sustainer of the universe, Mahavishnu. Mahabali was usurping their elevated status among the people of Kerala, they said. He needed to be taught a lesson, pulled down a peg or two. Vishnu acceded to their demand. He transformed himself into a vamana (dwarf) and approached Mahabali,

“Great king, please grant me some land to meditate,” he pleaded, “all I need is a plot covering three steps.”

Mahabali immediately granted him his wish. No sooner had he said yes, than the vamana transformed into a giant – feet on the ground, head among the stars. With one step he covered the earth, with the next he took the heavens.

“Where shall I take the third step?” he roared.

Mahabali bowed down and indicated his head. As he was being pushed into the netherworld, Vishnu asked him if he had a last wish. Mahabali said he would like to visit his people once a year. Thus he emerges every year to spend ten days with his subjects. The occasion called Onam is the biggest festival of Kerala.

People of Kerala welcome their beloved king with floral decorations adorning their floors. They offer him a grand and sumptuous lunch. Women put on their finest jewellery and everyone wears new clothes. Caparisoned elephants decked in flowers are paraded on the streets to the beat of drums and trumpets. Snake boats are raced in the backwaters. It is as if the people of Kerala genuinely believe that their favourite king has returned to them. The festivities last ten days with people of all religions participating.

I was born in Kerala and spent my early childhood there. Some close relatives were staying with us in Southampton during this Onam season. It was perhaps bravura induced by a glass or two of celebratory Rosé. I promised our guests that I would prepare the Onasadhya or Onam feast. They were excited by the prospect of a 27 item feast – yes you read that right – 27, all freshly cooked vegetarian dishes, served on banana leaves.

The enormity of my promise dawned on me the next day after the Rosè had worn off. I had never cooked more than four items in a day. Yes, some of the 27 included banana chips (bought in a packet) and papadom which only has to be fried in oil. However, everything else required to be cooked, vegetables diced, mustard seeds spluttered, coconut ground and its milk extracted, lentils soaked, and a hundred other operations carried out with precision and sequenced correctly to produce the goods. I would have to multitask, juggling the activities expertly if I wished to finish in time. To top it all, I didn’t have a clue if all the traditional Onam vegetables could be purchased in Southampton. Where was I to find raw plantains and ash gourd and Kerala cucumber? What about banana leaves?

After a lot of nail biting and a few frantic calls to Kerala friends in Southampton, I got the address of a shop which sold the Onam paraphernalia. But I had to be quick because there are many other subjects of Mahabali in Southampton and all of them would be embarking on similar cooking projects.

My wife and I, with our two guests (our cousins) made a beeline for the Kerala store. The shop was like an Alladin’s cave of exotic vegetables and groceries. Picking up a basket, and holding a list that ran into several notebook pages, I started collecting the items one by one. As the basket filled, a part of me was rejoicing in sweet nostalgia and another major part was silently panicking.

And then it was that the cousin shouted across to me from the far corner of the shop as if she had found a treasure.

“Look look,” she said, pointing at some boxes in the freezer section. And there it was. Its label read, “Traditional Kerala vegetarian sadhya for five.” The box contained 19 items, all individually packed and frozen. I only had to cook the rice (item 20), fry the papadom and defrost everything else. It was as if Mahabali, sensing the distress I was in, came up with a solution. I abandoned my basket, nostalgia and all, and grabbed a box.

We had to use some imagination to fill the remaining slots to get to the magic number of 27. So we added red wine, rosè, chardonnay, gin & tonic, vodka & orange juice .. and somewhere along the way lost the ability to count. We raised our glasses and proposed a toast to Mahabali, our very own king cheated by some jealous gods.