Before I add Calatropis or madar to my set on extracting natural plant fibres to fashion lamp wicks, here’s one on the crown flower itself–which truly deserves a post all its own.
Erukkampoo, crown flower, giant milkweed, crown flower, bowstring hemp, Calatropis, what in Sanskrit is “arka,” after the sun because the plant is said to have grown from milk spilled from the heavens, when a homam [fire sacrifice] was being conducted for Surya Himself. It grows wantonly and wild and most especially in the hottest sun, and it is customary to make a mala out of the flowers for Vinayaka Chaturti in these parts though elsewhere the flower is used most prominently in Surya-worhsip, honoring Vishnu in his form as Surya, or is offered to Shiva and Hanuman. There’s something quite unitedly pan-regional about arka, its ecological habitats, and its symbolic and ritual uses. It’s like we all have known, through the ages, the potency of this plant and its capacities to bear heat and we keep in its company, as we do with neem, as a protection of sorts, a kind of talisman.
The husband chided me for collecting these: those plants grow in corners and wildernesses where people never go, he said, but when I suggested that maybe that’s why they’re known in Pondicherry as “courage”—aaah, he said and smiled and complained no more.
Calatropis leaves are part of ratha sapthami bathing practices: one on the head, two on shoulders, knees, and feet. Seven, in all, for the 7th day (thithi) of the fortnights (pakshas) that make the Hindu lunar calendar. Ratha saptami is Surya Jayanti: year-upon-year marking the birth of the sun to sage Kashyapa and Aditi, and the day when Surya’s 7-horse-pulled chariot turns towards the north-east. It prefigures the arrival of the new year marked by ugadi, gudi padwa, nobo borsho and other celebrations. Arka uses the suns rays to seek the benevolence and protection of the sun in the hot months yet to come.
It’s significant that the variety of erukkam that’s valued the most, whether ritually or physically, is the white, vella erukkam, Calotropis Procera though the purple (Calotropis Gigantea) is far more common around me and the malas sold around Chavithi time, all purple. White is symbolic, I suppose: purity, the white heat of the sun’s rays. But perhaps the white erukkam has subtle properties, too, that the purple does not?
Tella jilledu in Telugu, vella erukkam in Tamil, the flower, stem and root of this plant are each precious, dispellers of negative energies and harmful thoughts: hence also, I’m thinking, the association with Vinayaka. There is a belief that the roots of the plant acquire, after 12 years of growth, a peculiarly Ganesha-like shape. It’s rare and precious and is believed to bring immense fortune. The plant is uprooted and the Ganesha-shaped root used in tantrik Ganesha puja vidhis. It’s rare and precious and is believed to bring immense fortune, much as our favorite elephant-headed God does.
And yet there is a certain ambivalence, or maybe it’s a recognition of duality. The flower is mentioned in verse 106 of the Puranānūru, a collection of 400 late Sangam-era verses about kings and wars and public life. 106 is attributed to the sage Kapilar, and although different versions of the Tamil text circulate, the meaning is still always roughly this: ‘Just the gods are partial to no-one and would not refuse even clusters of pointed erukkam flowers with fading leaves which are neither good nor bad, so also King Pari receives all with generosity and benevolence’ (yes, that’s the same Pari who once gave up his chariot as trellis to a fragile jasmine creeper). The best we can say is that the erukkampoo represents not the finest qualities in each of us, certainly, but not the worst either, and it makes for a suitable offering nonetheless because that’s as we are, neither good nor bad but possibly one or the other.
In the East (Bengal), the flowers are akondo phool, associated with Shiva, possibly because of the resemblance of the crown’s shape to a lingam, possibly because of the purple blue association with Shiva’s blue throat. In the West (Gujarat), ankonda garlands and leaves are auspicious Saturday offerings at Hanumanji temples. Maharashtrians also use arka as one of the Pancha Pallava or five plants whose flowers and leaves are used in worship (along with Kadamba and the cluster fig; specifics vary by region).
As with most of our flora this one has medicinal properties (dried white flowers used to alleviate digestive issues and ground into tooth powders, sap used to treat insect bites, expel thorns from feet etc.) but this is one to use with extreme caution as it can be straight-out toxic. Its toxicity is part of its charm-like qualities, I want to say: the reason arka is kept at thresholds and such locations as would ward off evil forces of all sorts. Arka leaves are part of the Ayurvedic kizhi repertoire in Kerala. Many will speak of heating them and applying topically on arthritic joints or for relief from plantar fasciitis pain and I’ve used them myself on sprained feet (at night, heated, put a sock on top and take your foot to bed).
I’ll come to the stems in a subsequent post. For now, just a photo story on making garlands with the flowers themselves. These are a Vinayaka Chaturti special, sold in markets, and it’s no surprise at all that all our local erukkam plants were shorn of flowers days before the festival, for these are not cultivated but foraged. They make the women who sell them during festival time a little extra income. Knowing this, I almost never make my own for Ganesha Chaturti, but I have at other times, just because it’s wonderful working with these otherwise ignored beauties.
Here’s the process, which needs almost no explanation really.
For flowers fully bloomed, you’re wanting to pinch off the crown. If you have buds, gently open the petals, and then extract the crown.
Once you have sufficient crowns, it’s a matter of threading these together to make a garland of whatever length you please. The flowers are almost like beads, with an opening below, and a needle is only needed to pierce the little green center at its top.
Onwards, then, to the stems, the process of extracting fibres, and making wicks to propitiate that very same, very beloved elephant-headed diety…
