Holi arrives at the turn of the seasons, on the full moon of the month of Phalguna, usually in March, when the last cold has gone from north India and the fields are gold with mustard. It is the loudest, messiest and most physical of Hindu festivals. For one morning the rules that usually hold people in place, between elder and younger, rich and poor, stranger and friend, are set aside, and everyone is fair game for a fistful of colour.
But Holi begins the night before, not with colour but with fire. To understand why, you need the story of a boy called Prahlada.
The boy who would not stop praying
The story is told in the Bhagavata Purana. Hiranyakashipu was a king of the asuras, the demons, and he had won from Brahma a boon that seemed to make him immortal. He could not be killed by any man or animal, indoors or outdoors, by day or by night, on the ground or in the air, by any weapon. Armed with this, he conquered the three worlds and demanded to be worshipped as God.
His own son refused. Prahlada, still a small boy, was a devotee of Vishnu, and nothing could shake him from it. His father tried persuasion, then threats, then poison, then elephants and snakes, and each time the child came through unharmed, calmly repeating the name of Vishnu. Finally Hiranyakashipu turned to his sister, Holika, who possessed a boon of her own: fire could not harm her. She sat down on a pyre with Prahlada in her lap, expecting to walk out of the flames alone.
The fire took her instead. In some tellings her protection held only if she entered the fire alone; in others the cloak that shielded her lifted in the wind and settled on the boy. Prahlada walked out untouched. That bonfire is Holika Dahan, the burning of Holika, lit on the night of the full moon in villages and city squares alike. People circle it, throw in grain and coconut, and carry a little of its flame home.
The story has a final chapter. Enraged, Hiranyakashipu demanded to know where this Vishnu was. "Everywhere," said Prahlada. "Even in this pillar?" The king struck it, and out stepped Narasimha, half man and half lion, neither man nor beast. At twilight, neither day nor night, on the threshold of the palace, neither indoors nor out, he lifted the king onto his lap, neither earth nor sky, and killed him with his claws, which are no weapon. Every clause of the boon was honoured, and every clause was broken.
The lesson Hindus draw from this is the one Krishna gives in the Bhagavad Gita:
Declare it boldly, O son of Kunti: my devotee never perishes.
Krishna, Radha and the colours of Braj
If the fire belongs to Prahlada, the colour belongs to Krishna. The young Krishna, dark-skinned, complained to his mother Yashoda that Radha and the other cowherd girls were fair while he was not. Yashoda, half teasing, told him to go and colour Radha's face whatever shade he liked. He did, and so did his friends, and the girls retaliated, and the morning dissolved into a riot of pigment and laughter.
That is why the heart of Holi is Braj, the countryside around Mathura and Vrindavan where Krishna grew up. There the festival lasts more than a week. In Barsana, Radha's village, the men of Krishna's village of Nandgaon arrive to play Holi and are met by the women with long sticks, while the men crouch under shields. This is Lathmar Holi, "the Holi of sticks", and the men go home bruised and delighted. In Vrindavan the temples throw flowers rather than powder, and the air in the courtyards turns to petals.
Krishna's Holi is about play, lila: the relationship between the soul and God is not solemn but joyful, teasing and intimate, and the colour on the face is a mark of that familiarity.
The morning of colour
The day after the bonfire is Rangwali Holi, also called Dhulandi or Dhuleti, "the day of dust". Dry colour, gulal, is smeared on cheeks; wet colour is flung from buckets and squirted from pumps called pichkaris; water balloons arrive from rooftops. Drums are beaten, and the phrase that excuses everything is shouted everywhere: Bura na mano, Holi hai. "Don't mind, it's Holi."
By afternoon the colour is washed off, clean clothes are put on, and the social part of the day begins. People visit neighbours, embrace, and share sweets: gujiya, crescent pastries stuffed with sweetened milk solids and nuts, and thandai, a cold, spiced milk drink flavoured with almonds, fennel and rose. In Maharashtra the festival is kept with puran poli, a flatbread stuffed with sweetened lentils; in Bengal it is Dol Jatra, when images of Krishna and Radha are placed on a swing and carried through the streets.
What Holi is for
Underneath the noise, Holi has the same purpose as the fire. A bonfire burns away the dead growth of the year; Holi is meant to burn away grudges.
It is the one day when the hierarchies that organise Indian life, and that follow Indian families abroad, are formally suspended. A servant may colour the face of the master; a daughter-in-law may drench her mother-in-law; strangers in the street become temporary family. The colour on the skin is a great leveller, because once everyone is purple and green, it is hard to tell who is who. Old enemies are expected to embrace, and in many villages the morning is the appointed time for settling the year's quarrels.
The festival also marks the end of winter and the start of the spring harvest, and in parts of south India it is remembered as Kama Dahanam, the day Shiva burned Kama, the god of desire, for disturbing his meditation, and then, at the pleading of Kama's wife, restored him to life. Desire burned and reborn is a fair description of spring.
A word about colour
The colours of Holi were once entirely natural, and the best of them still are. Yellow comes from turmeric mixed with gram flour. Orange comes from the flowers of the tesu or palash, the flame of the forest, soaked overnight in water. Red comes from hibiscus or sandalwood; green from henna or dried spinach; magenta from beetroot; blue from indigo. These wash off, smell pleasant and do no harm to skin or eyes.
Many cheap packets sold today contain industrial dyes that cause rashes and eye injuries, so buy colours labelled natural or herbal, or make your own. Krishna coloured Radha's face with flowers, not chemicals.
Celebrating at home
- The night before, light a small fire, or a lamp if a fire is impossible, and tell the story of Prahlada. Throw in a handful of grain for the harvest and name one grudge you intend to leave in the flames.
- In the morning, play with colour outdoors if you can, using natural powders and old clothes. Keep it gentle with anyone who has not asked to join.
- Wash, change and make something sweet. Gujiya can be bought, but thandai is easy to make.
- In the afternoon, visit or call someone you have been avoiding. That is the real Holi.
The fire says that faith will outlast tyranny. The colour says that love is playful and that it belongs to everyone. Between them they make a spring festival that is hard to improve on.