The Guruvayoor Ekadashi I remember

Guruvayur Ekadasi brings back fond memories of my childhood days spent in our village, Manjalur, in Palakkad district.

As an eager eight-year-old whose head was filled to the brim with mystical stories from mythology, thanks to my endless supply of Amar Chithra Kathas, I looked forward to celebrating Ekadashi that year. Perhaps it was because of the visit the elders had planned to the nearby temple. Perhaps it was due to the stories narrated by my grandmother. Or perhaps it was simply because everything seemed more exciting when you were eight years old.

We children would be woken up early on the cold December morning and, after a bath in the freezing waters of the Mananchira, the nearby pond, we would partake of the theertham, which signified the start of the fasting process.

The real challenge began after that. We had to refrain from eating anything made of rice. And so, for one day every year, wheat acquired an importance it otherwise never enjoyed. Breakfast was a simple wheat upma sans onion. Lunch was wheat kanji with a curry known as puzhukku. Dinner was probably another round of wheat kanji, since chapatis were something of a rarity in those days. I am talking about the late 1970s.

consuming betel leaves with arecanut were considered auspicious after lunch, and the older women would gather in the cool courtyard for this ritual. I remember being rather fascinated—and equally repelled—by the red-stained teeth and tongues produced by the betel leaf juice. Somehow, I never developed a taste for it. I still haven't.

Another thing I remember vividly is the recital of the Bhagavatham. My grandmother or some other elderly person would narrate stories from it, and we children would listen, completely enthralled. At eight years of age, mythology wasn't something to be studied. It was a world in which gods, demons, miracles and mysterious happenings were all perfectly believable.

But the highlight of Ekadasi was undoubtedly the evening visit to the temple. A whole group of us—cousins, aunts and other relatives—would set off together. We had to walk several kilometres to and from the temple, across fields and rough terrain. But who cared!

There were pretty flowers to be collected.

There were vellarankallu—little white pebbles—to be added to our growing collection.

There were plenty of cousins to run around with.

The journey itself was as much a part of the Ekadasi rituals as the temple. Looking back, I realize that Ekadasi, in those days, was not simply another religious ritual to be observed. It was intertwined with a whole collection of little traditions, family gatherings, food, stories, walks, childhood adventures and people.

Somewhere along the way, as i grew up and relocated to other places, that particular charm disappeared. I am not complaining. Neither am I lamenting the fact that things have changed. Change is a way of life, and the sooner we learn to adapt to it, the better.

But tomorrow, when another Guruvayur Ekadasi comes around, I know I will think of those cold December mornings. Of Mananchira. Of wheat kanji and puzhukku my mother prepared. Of stories from the Bhagavatham.
And the faces that i loved, who are no more now...

I guess, childhood, unlike Ekadasi, comes only once in a while. And once it is gone, there is no way to fast your way back to it.