The Sudukaadu or cemetery is a surprisingly happy place. Families are out, together, clearing, cleaning, decorating the burial areas of their families. A man in the cemetery told me (Deepa) about his wife’s 11-year old grave, which appears to be in an unmarked location but he says it’s there that she was buried. Here the ground is prepared by raising a bed a few inches, then sprinkling water, turmeric water, flowers and floral decorations, a small brick smeared with turmeric and kunkumam and placed as a headstone, lamp, incense. Then banana leaves are laid on top and the deceased person’s favourite food is laid on top. I saw idlis, kozhakattai, sundal, kuzhambu on rice, sweets, fruits, even ice creams and custards. We hadn’t known at all that Hindus have burial practices, and they certainly do not predominate. But there are plenty of graves here, including one of a G. Sankaran (Deepa’s father’s name), born in 1901.
A cremation is going on at the beach end of the cemetery. At the other end is the entrance. A “shack” is set up to cover two prone and fearsome mud figures: Vallalaraja and his Queen. They are dead, presumably, which is why this event is taking place in the sudukaadu (“the burning forest”). A large hand impression is on the queen’s belly. People are bringing and piling vegetables at their feet. A sacrificed chicken and a “plate” of offerings is at their heads.
Here the stories of Vallalaraja and his destruction intersect with that other great Puranic tale of Siva cutting off Brahma’s fifth head, and roaming wastelands and cemeteries with a hungry skull to atone for his sin of Brahminicide. Goddess Parvati comes as Angalamman, her fierce and terrible form to match Siva’s own, and prepares a feast. She offers the kapala three handfuls of rice. Two, it consumes, but the third falls deliberately to the ground, to draw the skull there and to create a moment for its destruction. This is why the vegetables are piled on the ground–to represent and recall that third handful.
I have never been to this event, so I ask around about what is to happen, and am told that Angalamman’s chariot is out in procession. When it comes to the cemetery (people are lining up on the roadsides leading there in anticipation), the ther will run over the prone bodies and destroy them. The Mayana Kollai offerings ritually recall the goddess feeding the fierce beings of the cremation ground and serve to feed and pacify the kapala, the goddess and the associated cremation-ground beings.
Angalamman’s arrival is preceded by the arrival of several thirunangai swamis – transgender women dressed as Goddesses. They each carry a theechatti, an earthen pot filled with burning coals; the தீச்சட்டி ஏந்துதல் (theechatti enthuddal) or carrying the fire-pot is an offering and vow to the Goddess (நேர்த்திக்கடன்/ nerttikkatan). By now the crowd has thickened considerably, and the family-oriented part of the evening is done. There are people I know in this mix: a maid’s daughter, the carpenter and his family. Young, old, everyone from the neighbourhood is here. The fishermen boys see my camera and tell me that I must come for their temple festival in Aadi masam. I take photos of them to send later.
When the chariot finally does arrive, Amman’s hair is long, loose, and flying–wild. The senior Angalamman priest accompanies the chariot. The place is such that the ther cannot overrun the prone bodies–but people do the needful, there are fireworks, and commotion, and vegetables start flying. I’m knocked by an eggplant, and a small murungakkai (drumstick) falls directly into my hands. The catching of the vegetables is auspicious, far more than collecting them from the ground. The whole thing becomes like a mela competition and game. Some are distributed later, but the luck of having one fall into your hands is a blessing from Amman.