Avurudu in the days gone by | Sunday Observer

Avurudu in the days gone by

12 April, 2020

No other annual event brings the country together like the Sinhala and Hindu New Year, which is celebrated every April. Although primarily celebrated by Sinhala Buddhists and Hindus, it has now become a national event that transcends all man-made boundaries. Indeed, those belonging to other communities and religions participate in Avurudu events with great enthusiasm.

This year, we will be celebrating Avurudu in the midst of a global pandemic, which has confined us to our homes. Nevertheless, even a pandemic cannot defeat our collective will as a nation to come together in spirit at this time to celebrate togetherness at Avurudu.

But one question remains: Whether the excessive commercialization of our national events including Avurudu, Vesak and Christmas is a healthy trend. This year this was not so apparent due to the pandemic situation, but it is otherwise a part and parcel of Avurudu.

The message of unity and happiness embedded in the Avurudu celebrations is in danger of being submerged in this torrent of commercialism.

It is a tough battle of tradition versus modernity that could leave the former battered and bruised.

Contrast today’s situation with that experienced by generations that knew nothing about commercialism.

I still remember those pre-TV days when Avurudu was a merry occasion without even a hint of artificial gloss. In the village off Ambalangoda where I lived for a good part of my childhood, Avurudu was a unique celebration of life itself.

It brought the entire village together in a spirit of camaraderie, buoyed by an air of festivity.

It marked a new beginning for the entire village, which was heavily dependent on agriculture.

All the families in the village strictly followed the traditions associated with Avurudu, which marked the transition of the Sun from Pisces to Aries in the heavens above.

Avurudu was a marvellous time for children in the village. Unlike today, there was no pressure from adults to study all day and no tuition classes to attend.

This was especially so during Avurudu, where we enjoyed being carefree to the maximum, playing in the open air near paddy fields and bathing in the stream afterwards.

Today, you can walk into any supermarket or pastry outlet and buy sweetmeats (Rasakevili) to your heart’s content.

This was not the case all those years ago.

Sweetmeats had to be made at home, and in any case, no one would have it any other way.

We looked forward to this more than any other event associated with Avurudu.

How could anyone possibly resist the aroma of freshly made sweetmeats? My grandmother specialized in Konda Kavum.

It was wonderful to watch and it was even better when we surreptitiously crept into the kitchen and lifted one or two of them, with the oil still dripping, right under her nose. We found Avurudu Nekaths (auspicious times) rather fascinating.

It was amazing that an entire village (and indeed an entire country) could do one thing at exactly the same time. We would visit the temple, attired in white, during the nonagathaya (Punya Kaalaya or period for meritorious deeds).

Then came the lighting of the hearth, which was a family affair, followed by another even more important (for us) family affair, the partaking of meals.

The Avurudu table was a veritable feast for the eyes, milk rice, kavum, munguli, athirasa, kokis, asmi, aluwa, banana. You name it, they had it.

The partaking of meals was usually followed by an event that we children always looked forward to: the worshipping of parents and elders and the exchanging of gifts.

The latter was often a one-way street, from elders to children.

By this time, we had also received (and attired) new clothes for the New Year, usually in the colour stipulated by astrologers for that particular year sparkling new sarongs, shorts and shirts for boys and frocks for girls. Of course, it took very little time for them to get dirty.

The hisa-thel-gema (anointing of oil) was another highly anticipated event, held at the village temple.

No villager wanted to miss this important event, where the chief priest invoked blessings on all.

Farmers and those who were employed also left for work at an auspicious moment, a couple of days later. Needless to say, Avurudu was easily the most joyous occasion of the year, heralded by the lighting of crackers and the beat of rabanas amidst a profusion of erabadu flowers.

But the villagers often saved the best for the last - the annual Bakmaha Ulela (Avurudu festival) replete with traditional games such as pillow fighting, climbing the greasy pole, bun eating and some modern games such as cross country running. The village lasses got an opportunity to become the Avurudu Kumari. Incidentally, the Bak Maha Ulela has survived largely intact through the years, albeit with a heavy dose of sponsorship and commercialism. These cannot be held right now due to the pandemic, but next year we will see a profusion of them.

Perhaps the best part of Avurudu was not the festivity per se - it was the spirit of giving and forgiving.

Animosity was cast away in place of friendship. Enemies became friends. People vowed to give up discord and rancour. The betel leaf was the symbol for this.

That was bigger and better than even the sheer joy of Avurudu itself. And visits to friends and relatives far and near, strengthened lifelong bonds. Again, this is not possible this year for the time being.

As we celebrate yet another Sinhala and Hindu New Year, it is time we went back to these basics, these simple pleasures of life.

These are simple things that made Avurudu special for both children and adults all over the country. They still have the potential to do so.

We should be able to see through the veneer of commercialism and extract the essence of Avurudu so that future generations could still benefit from time-honoured traditions which we have inherited from our ancestors. Avurudu once again needs to be the simple celebration of spontaneous joy that it used to be.

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