A Trail Through the Abode of Brass Lamps
Words by Aashika Suresh
Photographed by Naveen Sekar
On the banks of the Cauvery river that runs through the South Indian district of Tanjore is a small suburban hamlet called Nachiyar Koil. A walk through its lanes can be an en“light”ening experience.
Nachiyar Koil is the little village that plays a big part in lighting up the world. It is the place where kuthuvilakku, a type of brass lamp revered as one of the most auspicious objects in the Hindu tradition, is made.
If you have ever come across an authentic kuthuvilakku, chances are, it was made in one among the many cottage units here.
Lights. Brass. Action.
When Naveen and I arrived in Nachiyar Koil on a sunny October afternoon, I couldn’t help but marvel at the golden glow that bathed the busy market street we first alighted. Sunlight bounced off the polished lamps displayed in contiguous rows across the shops and danced across the surface of cars, buses, people, cows and anything that traversed its path.
Yet, we knew if we wanted in on the real action, we would have to look amongst the shadows. Determined to dig deeper into this story, equipped with our gear – a camera for him and a notepad for me – the two of us set off into the interiors to find someone who could help us learn more about the craft.
Tucked into an inconspicuous street, we found ourselves at Shri Sainath Metals, an orange building with grilled gates. The prominent whirring and buzzing from within indicated that the artisans had their work cut out for them.
Past the iron, through a snicket, we walked into the unit where R. Rajendran and R. Chandrasekar, the owner and his youngest son, met us. A meek but amicable man of sixty, Rajendran was eager to show us around the place he set up over forty years ago. He took us through the dim and rather dusty five rooms in the unit one by one, where eight men were going about their craft – lithe, experienced fingers jumping across metal, either adding intricate designs, creating the turning or screw lines, or polishing the freshly-manufactured lamp parts. Little flecks of golden metal flew about them like pixie dust as they added more disparate pieces to the heaps that lay around.
Chandrasekar explained how the lamps are usually made in four fragments – the base plate (thattu), the stem (karanai), the bowl to hold the oil and wicks (thaguli), and the crown (Annam or prabhai) – which are then assembled into a whole to create the village’s famous kuthuvilakkus.
Nachiyar Koil kuthuvilakkus are made based on agamas, or traditional rules that have been passed on through the generations. “The positive vibrations depend on how exactly these are made,” Chandrasekar explained to us.
The brass lamps from here are exported all across the world, from Sri Lanka and Singapore to the United States and Australia – everywhere that Tamizhs are. It is an integral part of their identity, one that has been handed over through the years.
Blast to the Past
The roots of Nachiyar Koil’s kuthuvilakku can be traced back to the Chozha period when the Kings employed artisans by the hundreds to build temples across southern India. It is believed that this is how the Vishwakarma community, considered descendants of the namesake Hindu deity of creation, initially came to settle in Nagercoil in Kerala.
Around the 1850s, a small group of lamp makers migrated to Nachiyar Koil in pursuit of better opportunities for their craft. Known as Pathers, these artisans settled in the village’s Kammalar street. They found that the vandal sand from the Cauvery river bed was the right texture of supple and smooth for them to create their lamp moulds.
For generations after, the Pathers had exclusive control over the craft. The brass-and-bell lamp making was their prerogative. Yet, when demand for the lamps began to increase, the Pathers had to hire more helping hands, thus inadvertently passing on the skill to others in the village.
Rajendran is not from the Pathers community. He learnt its workings as a daily wager in one of the units he was employed in as a young boy of about nine or ten. Once he had picked up the requisite skills and understanding, at 19, he set up his own shop.
“This has been my service for 40 years. In the earlier days, the Pathers used to do this in Kammalar Street. Since I couldn’t afford education, I went to work and learnt this skill from them,” he told us.
“I started this business with 8,000 rupees with my father’s help. I had one motor and made things myself and sold them. Once I made enough money, I recruited people and have brought the business this far.”
Today, at least 25 families depend on Shri Sainath Metals for their livelihood. Some work daily while others come in a few times a week. Women too have begun to learn the ropes.
The Process
Sustaining many people is easy because the manufacturing happens in distinct steps.
The first is to create a box mould for each lamp part that is filled with the vandal sand. Then, molten metal is poured to create rough casts for a single part. Some units remove the sand later on to reduce the weight of the lamp, especially if they are to be exported.
Each part is then sized to check if they fit together. Any corrections to the base design are made at this step and adjusted on a lathe, a machine used for shaping metals. After this, the screw lines or turners are added so the parts can be fastened into one and followed up with a round of burnishing.
As a penultimate move, a craftsman chisels intricate, ornamental designs of deities, elegant birds or florals on the metal after which a round of buff polish wraps up the process. The lamp is ready to be assembled into a complete kuthuvilakku.
In the earlier days, only one lamp could be made at a time but box moulds now enable their production in batches. Making it in batches is also more cost-effective because you can employ only the specialized labour you need at a point, Chandrasekar told us.
At Shri Sainath Metals, about 40 average-sized lamps of roughly 2 feet each are manufactured in 20 days. While the tallest lamp that is made in the unit is 5 feet, it can take a month to make six of those.
Chandrasekar wants to take his father’s business to the next level. He has a vision. He doesn’t just want to make simple lamps like his father has been doing all along, he says. He has already set up a store to sell them, but he would also like to make taller lamps with more intricate designs.
“My father and his generation aren’t educated, so they didn’t know how to take it (the business) to the next level. They all got stuck working under other people as wage workers,” Chandrasekar said.
“When I see bigger businesses thrive, I am motivated to do better. We aren’t very big now, but I want to get there. I want to do more. The competition makes me want to keep getting better at this business,” he added.
Keeping the Art Ablaze
Nachiyar Kovil’s kuthuvilakku are prized for their exclusivity. In fact, in February 2010, they have been registered under the Geographical indication of the Trade-Related Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPS) agreement.
Yet, workers can be hard to come by these days. Finding people to pass the baton on to can be difficult. Like everywhere else, the younger generation is pursuing formal education. Chandrasekar is himself a graduate.
Recognizing the importance of safeguarding this tradition, the government has stepped up its efforts. The Tamilnadu Handicrafts Development Corporation, Poompuhar, has four brass metal production centres across the state where interested artisans are trained in the craft of manufacturing and marketing brass lamps in various shapes and sizes. The one at Nachiyar Kovil is the chief centre.
Both Rajendran and Chandrasekar believe that this craft will thrive for a long time to come. Rajendran is happy with the way his life has shaped up. “My children are educated and they can do this better than me,” he said. His older son runs the store with Chandrasekar. “I am merely helping them now. I am very proud of what they have accomplished,” he said with a wide smile.
Chandrasekar, who married recently, already has plans for his children. “What’s the point of education? I want my children to get into the business,” the proud entrepreneur told us. “I want to teach them everything related to this business.”
After the tour, Naveen and I wandered through Kammalar street, peeking into other facilities and chatting with other workers. When we left the village at the end of the day, we carried with us the realization that kuthuvillaku manufacturing is more than just a profession for people of Nachiar Koil. The craft is intricately tied to the identity of its inhabitants and the village in itself.
Although it may seem like the younger generation is chasing after bigger dreams, listening to the conviction in Chandrasekhar’s voice convinced me that the art would not lose its shine any time in the near future.