The Twelve-Day Sarpam Thullal
(A Short Story Inspired by an Anecdote from Shekharan Channar’s Life)
The midday sun shone fiercely upon the sprawling compound of Alummoottil, where last-minute preparations were underway for a grand ceremony like none seen in recent memory. Workers scurried about, erecting decorative arches of fresh mango leaves, while children peeked around pillars in wide-eyed anticipation. At the heart of all this bustle stood Shekharan Channar, surveying the scene with quiet satisfaction.
He had organized a grand Sarpam Thullal—an elaborate twelve-day ritual invoking the blessings of serpent deities. Word of this ambitious event spread through the surrounding villages, drawing both the curious and the devout. Relatives from Lakshanam, Komalareth, Kayyalaikkal, Paditteth, Komath, Vallyoor, and Valiyakottukal arrived in throngs, uniting to assist in any way they could.
On the first morning of the festival, drummers in vibrant waistcloths performed an awakening rhythm that rattled through the courtyard. Priests chanted ancient incantations, their voices echoing under the temporary pavilion Shekharan’s men had built beside the family shrine. There, in a specially crafted enclosure, idols representing a snake king and two snake maidens stood ready to be ceremonially “awakened.”
As the days unfurled, the energy mounted. Every evening, the courtyard transformed into a scene of flickering lamps and colorful decorations. Dancers, their arms entwined with flower garlands, performed hypnotic steps, swaying to the beat of percussionists who seemed inspired by the very spirits they invoked. Incense perfumed the night air, and shimmering bronze lamps cast dancing shadows on the walls.
Throughout the ceremony, Shekharan proved the attentive host. In between overseeing religious rites, he personally checked on the food served to the visitors. From sunrise to midnight, enormous vessels of steaming rice and fragrant curries fed families crowding the dining area. Children giggled and ran about, chasing each other among clusters of devotees offering flowers to the serpent idols.
Beyond the spectacle lay deeper motives. Shekharan felt convinced that appeasing these deities would safeguard the family’s fortunes and ensure harmony among the relatives who had come together from various branches. An undercurrent of familial tension was not uncommon; he hoped the shared reverence and cooperation might restore goodwill.
By the eighth day, the village roads were jammed with bullock carts and palanquins bearing visitors. Musicians from distant regions arrived to lend their art to the festival, playing wind instruments that mingled with the drumbeats. Even the nights were alive—families gathered in circles, exchanging stories beneath rows of oil lamps, while priests performed smaller rituals to maintain the sacred aura.
At last, on the twelfth day, the culmination of the Sarpam Thullal filled Alummoottil with fervent devotion. Priests sprinkled holy water, chanting prayers to the serpent deities. Dancers traced intricate patterns in the courtyard, their anklets clinking in unison, symbolizing the end of the serpents’ ceremonial “dance” in mortal realms. The atmosphere brimmed with awe, relief, and collective pride over having completed such an extensive celebration.
When dusk settled and final lamps were extinguished, Shekharan walked the compound in reflective silence. Gone were the bright draperies, the rhythmic drums, and the crowd of hundreds. All that remained were footprints in the soft earth and a deep sense of accomplishment. In the subdued glow of lanterns, he felt an unspoken gratitude: for the camaraderie among kin, for the villagers’ embrace of this tradition, and for a fleeting moment when differences were set aside in deference to faith.
In time, villagers told tales of that glorious twelve-day event—the lavish feasts, the thrumming energy of drums, and the sight of serpent idols swaying as though animated by unseen forces. They credited Shekharan Channar for orchestrating a ritual that not only honored divine serpents but also drew scattered relatives into one living tapestry of unity. And though the final night brought quiet once more to Alummoottil, its echoes of music, incense, and worship lingered, a lasting testament to Shekharan’s devotion and flair for bringing people together.
