Every Kodava festival is inseparably tied to nature. Kailpodh was born from the spirit of protecting the land. Puthari was meant to rejoice in the harvest. Kaveri Changrandi was to honour our river. Without fields, forests, and water – what exactly are we celebrating?
For generations, Kodava festivals have been the rhythm of our lives. The worship of the gun during Kailpodh, the joy of families gathering for Puthari, the sacred dip at Talacauvery during Kaveri Changrandi – all of these were celebrations of our bond with nature.
I still remember the sight of endless green paddy fields, the laughter of neighbours joining hands during Naati Pani (paddy transplantation), and the smell of wet earth rising after the first rains. These were not just seasonal chores, they were the heartbeat of our festivals.
But today, the very heart of these festivals is weakening. With fewer paddy fields left to cultivate, what does Naati Pani mean anymore? With commercialization replacing cultivation, rituals risk turning hollow, performed more for tradition’s sake than for their original purpose.
Farming culture has already lost significance as fields disappear. Festivals today risk becoming performances staged for memory, not lived realities.
As paddy fields give way to resorts and homestays, our culture is being traded for commerce. A Kailpodh without fields is like a warrior with no cause. A Puthari without harvest is an empty ritual.
Today, as paddy fields vanish under the weight of concrete and commercialization, the soul of our celebrations is slipping away. The gun is polished, the harvest ritual is performed – but where are the fields to protect, and what is left to harvest if farmland has given way to homestays and villas? Even Kaveri Changrandi reminds us of the fragile state of our river, threatened by reckless development.
If our festivals lose their connection to nature, they risk becoming empty shells of performance. To keep them alive, we must protect the land that gave them birth. If we truly want to preserve Kodava traditions, we must first preserve the land. Festivals cannot survive on concrete. They can only thrive on soil, water, and the bond between people and nature.
Our festivals were never about mere customs – they were expressions of gratitude to nature. Without the fields, without the river, without the forests, the celebrations lose their soil. As paddy fields fade away, we must ask ourselves: what are we truly celebrating?
– Kodandera Mamatha Subbaiah
