Alha-Udal, Taala Sayeed and Mahabali: Echoes of India’s many voices

Two parts of India—Mahoba in Bundelkhand of Uttar Pradesh and Kerala in the South of the Vindhyas—are still basking in the aroma, colours and rhymes of Kajli Teej and Onam festivals, respectively, celebrated over a week ago.

The month of Shravana or Sawan in North India, and the same as Chingam (the first month of the Kollam Era) in Kerala, typically overlaps with the mid-August to mid-September period during which Onam in the land of Mahabali and Kajli Teej in the land of Alha and Udal are celebrated as vivid community expressions.

There is hardly anything common between the two regions in terms of landscape. But despite the stark geographical distance between the rugged, sun-baked hills of Bundelkhand and the emerald backwaters of Kerala, a profound cultural thread links Mahoba’s Kajli Teej with Kerala’s Onam.

Both the festivals take place under the same lunar window—Sawan in the North and Chingam in the South—and both stand as subversions of orthodox hierarchies, celebrating folk heroes over mainstream, elite narratives. The core ethos of both traditions lies in extolling local, marginalized figures over high-caste or canonical authorities.

Alha-Udal vs. Prithviraj Chouhan

In the oral epics of Bundelkhand (Alha-Khand—attributed to the 12th-century epic Parmal Raso by Jagnik Rao, which doesn’t exist in original form but has been living on the lips of Alhaets, Alha singers, in Bundelkhandi, Awadhi, Bhojpuri and Khadi Boli dialects of the Hindi heartland for over 900 years), Alha and Udal belong to the Banafar clan, often dismissed as low-born or mixed-caste warriors.

When the elite Chahman king Prithviraj Chauhan attacked Mahoba, destroyed the royal gardens, and besieged the city, it was the banished Banafar brothers Alha and Udal who returned to save their homeland. During Kajli Teej, the people of Mahoba float their kajlis (barley seedlings) in Kirat Sagar Lake to commemorate the bloody battle fought by Alha and Udal to protect their women and honour.

The subtext: the high-born Rajput emperor is remembered as an aggressor, while the "low-born" Banafar brothers are revered as immortal guardians of the soil.

Significantly, the elite narrative links the defeat of Prithviraj by Mu'izz al-Din Muhammad Ghori in the Second Battle of Tarain in 1192 AD as a turning point in Indian history, which heralded the reign of Turk Sultans in India.

However, in the Alhaets’ rendition of Alha-Khand, Taala Sayeed, a Muslim warrior, is extolled as an avatar (incarnation) of the Mahabharata guru Dronacharya, who mentored and trained Alha and Udal in warfare and fought alongside the Banafar brothers in many battles against Prithviraj and other elite Rajput kings ahead of Ghori’s invasion.

Alha and Udal are revered as avatars of Yudhishthira and Bhima, whereas Prithviraj is painted as Duryodhana in Alha's singing. Alha, Udal, Malkhan, Dheba, and Brahmanand—all the warriors of the Chandel king, Parmardideva or Parmal—revere Taala Sayeed as “Chacha Taala Sayeed” in the rendition of Alha-Khand and follow his guidance and wisdom in most of the Bavangarh ki ladai (52 battles against the elite imperial powers of that time).

The Alhaets infuse excitement and love for the motherland by their Alha singing with a specialized, high-pitched recitative style accompanied by the heavy, insistent thrum (thaap) of the Dholak and Manjira. They bring tears to the eyes of the audience when they remember the martyrdom of Taala Sayeed and Udal at the hands of the imperial aggressors. The Mazar (shrine) of Taala Sayeed on a hill near the historic Kirat Sagar is a special attraction at the Kajli mela.

Mahabali vs. Vamana (Onam):

In mainstream Puranic literature, Asuras are depicted as demonic entities, and Vamana (the dwarf avatar of Lord Vishnu) is celebrated for reclaiming the three worlds. However, in Kerala's living folk tradition, the narrative is flipped. Mahabali—an Asura king—is remembered as a champion of egalitarian rule where "all men were equal, free from deceit and falsehood."

His banishment to the underworld by cosmic trickery is felt as a tragedy. Onam is not celebrated to honour Vamana’s victory, but to welcome Mahabali back to his kingdom for one day. The folk ethos centres human justice over divine intervention.

While bound by this spirit of subversion, the physical environments that birthed these traditions present a dramatic contrast: granite outcrops, dry ravines, scrub forests and artificial lakes mark Mahoba (Bundelkhand), whereas Kerala's homes, lush paddy fields, coconut groves, backwaters, and the Western Ghats. While Bundeli, a lingo of the Indo-Aryan dialect, is rooted in heroic Alha-Udal folklore, Onam songs are rooted in Malayalam, a Dravidian language with rich classical and folk literature.

The ultimate unifying force across these landscapes is the retreat of the monsoon. In Mahoba, the rising waters of Kirat Sagar become the stage for floating barley sprouts and singing Alha ballads; in Kerala, the swollen backwaters become the arena for Vallam Kali (snake boat races), while homes are decorated with Pookkalam (flower carpets).

Both Kajli Teej and Onam present a spectacle of love, unity, co-existence, harmony, and community life, with people of diverse castes, creeds, faiths, and religions celebrating them with gusto and bonhomie.

In both regions, the performance is not merely literary; it is an act of communal renewal—reclaiming through voice and rhythm a space where the marginalized hero reigns supreme.

Disclaimer:

The purpose of this column is not to pass judgement either on the acts of the elite and imperial powers, Gods, and demons in our history and mythology and their rival combatants, but to underline the threads of unity behind diversity that has been the hallmark of Indian culture and civilisation for time immemorial.

What has lasted and what will last eventually is the love and respect for diversity. The current air in India is thick with the talk of “one nation, one language, one election, a central command under one ruler, one education system, one tax structure, one colour, all under one umbrella of Hindutva,” so on and so forth.

This is just to apprise a section of the current crop of ruling elites that the “talks of oneness” are antithetical to our identity and are downright outlandish—we have to live in the spirit of unity behind diversity always and ever.

Jai Hind!