Отсутствие досы в Лондоне привело к открытию связи между мифом о Вамане и поэзией Тамил

Now Reading: What does the myth behind Onam and a Tamil Sangam poem have to do with each other? In this week’s episode, the writer reflects on how a missed dosa led to interesting connections between Vamana, the Rigveda and ancient Tamil literature. What did Valluvar use the metaphor of Trivikrama’s three great strides for? Listen in. Sep 5, 2026, 6:00 IST # Last week, I was in London and had a day to myself. I decided to visit the Sherlock Holmes Museum. Sherlock Holmes has always been a favourite character of mine. As is often the case in London, getting to the station, followed by two train rides. It was quite a journey, but entirely worth it. On my return, hunger took over. I was delighted when my host suggested a South Indian restaurant. I asked for a dosa. “Not available.” The only item on the menu was Onam sadhya. Of course, it was Onam. And suddenly, the absence of a dosa seemed like a blessing. A sadhya is not merely a meal. It is a celebration of abundance. Sitting in a corner of London, with thoran, erissery and jackfruit payasam before me, felt less like eating and more like being transported to heaven. Onam celebrates the annual return of King Mahabali to visit his people in Kerala. His reign is remembered as an age of prosperity, equality and generosity. The sadhya seems to embody the spirit of his kingdom: may there always be enough for everyone. That thought took me to another story—that of Vamana, who became Trivikrama. The image at its core—the three cosmic strides of Vishnu—is much older. In the Rigveda, Vishnu is celebrated as the deity who takes three great steps across the universe. It is interesting that the names Rama and Krishna find little mention in the early scriptures, but Trivikrama is omnipresent; both in scriptures and literature, even in ancient Tamil literature. Sangam works such as Paripadal, Kalithogai and Perumpaanatrupadai evoke Vishnu as Nediyon or Ulagalandhaan —the One who measured the worlds. There is even an ancient tradition connecting the origin of the River Vaigai with this cosmic act. When Trivikrama raised his foot and pierced the upper worlds, Brahma is said to have washed that divine foot. The sacred water that flowed down towards Earth became associated with the Vaigai. Myth, landscape and poetry became woven together. Early Tamil poetry was deeply conscious of landscape, boundaries and celestial order. A God who could cross the limits of the universe with a single stride was a magnificent poetic image. And Thiruvalluvar, who rarely invokes deities directly, chose precisely this image in the Thirukkural. In the chapter on freedom from laziness, he says in Kural 610: “Madiyila Mannavan Eydhum Adialandhaan Thaaya Dhellam Orungu.” “A king who is completely free from laziness will gain all that was Measured by the feet of Trivikrama.” The grandeur of the image is striking. Trivikrama measured the worlds with his feet; Valluvar transforms that into a metaphor for human effort. The energetic can reach whatever vastness the universe may contain. What seems beyond one’s grasp may become attainable when one refuses to be held back by indolence. And there is another thought in this transformation from Vamana to Trivikrama: never underestimate the power of someone who appears unassuming. When the right moment comes, every Vamana may blossom into a Trivikrama. And perhaps that was the unexpected journey I experienced at London: from Sherlock Holmes to an Onam sadhya, to Mahabali, and from Mahabali to Trivikrama; my friend and I travelled quite a lot for the dosa we didn’t get. My takeaway was; don’t be upset if you don’t get what you wanted: you may end up with much more!