In the rain-nourished lands of Tulunadu, located in the Dakshina Kannada and Udupi districts of southern India, traditions are deeply rooted in the soil. Among them is Koral Parbha, also known as Thene Habba, a cherished festival that marks the arrival of the season’s first rice harvest. More than a celebration, it is an act of gratitude—an offering to the earth and a reflection of a community's bond with nature.
Tulunadu, often referred to as the land of Parashurama, has long been shaped by agriculture. At the heart of this way of life is rice, a grain that sustains families, shapes customs, and guides local calendars. Across India, the natural world is often revered. In Tulunadu, rice is more than just food; it is life itself.
The journey begins with the arrival of the monsoon in June, when paddy is planted across the fields. Over the next few months, the crop is nurtured with care. By September, the fields turn golden, the stalks heavy with grain. This signals the time to harvest and to prepare for Koral Parbha. The name speaks to its essence: Koral refers to a bundle of newly harvested paddy, and Parbha means festival in Tulu.
Though the exact date may vary from household to household, the festival usually takes place between Ganesha Chaturthi and Vijaya Dashami. On the morning of the celebration, families gather in the fields. A small portion of the new harvest is collected, accompanied by seasonal offerings such as red spinach, colocasia leaves, jackfruit and banana leaves, mango and bamboo leaves, banyan bark fibre, bananas, cucumbers, and coconuts. According to age-old stories, elders say that these ingredients were not randomly chosed. The belief is that, once upon a time, before rice, these ingredients were used as food and hence, they’re used in this ceremony to pay homage to them. Another interesting side story is that, since colocasia is a root, it is symbolically placed in the middle of the rice harvest. This is done since colocasia germinates quickly, and should act as a guide for rice also to germinate quickly. These are carefully arranged on one side of the field. An oil lamp is lit, a simple aarti is performed, and a coconut is ceremonially broken to mark the occasion.
The paddy and offerings are then placed in a copper or steel tray known as a Harivaana, which is carried home on the head. Before stepping inside, the person bearing the harvest pauses at the tulsi katte (a raised platform, where a Tulsi (holy basil) plant is grown and worshipped), worships the offerings again and only then comes to the doorstep of the house. A traditional welcoming ritual follows: the housewife washes their feet, removes the evil eye using okali water (a mix of lime and turmeric), and pours it at a three-way junction nearby—an act believed to ward off misfortune. Inside, the harvest is respectfully placed on a wooden platform, or Mane, near the household deity. A small handful of the paddy is placed at the center, flanked by chopped cucumber and a broken coconut. Another lamp is lit, and a quiet prayer is offered, thanking nature for its abundance.
This reverence continues beyond the puja room. A small bundle made from the new paddy, tied together with banyan bark fibre and decorated with bamboo, mango, and jackfruit leaves, is hung on farming tools, doorways, vehicles, and house pillars. It serves as a symbolic blessing for everything that supports a farmer’s life.
No festival is complete without food. On the day of Koral Parbha, every household prepares a simple but special dish—a warm porridge made from the freshly harvested rice. This humble meal is shared among family and neighbours, turning a modest preparation into a meaningful celebration.
Koral Parbha is not only a festival of farmers. It is a reminder of how closely our lives are tied to the rhythms of the earth. In celebrating the first crop of the season, communities renew their relationship with the land. The rituals may be small, but they speak volumes about respect and gratitude.
In a fast-paced world, where meals often arrive in black takeout boxes and the origins of our food are forgotten, Koral Parbha invites us to pause. It calls us to reflect on where our food comes from, to honour the hands that nurture it, and to celebrate not just the harvest, but the deep relationship that sustains it.
*All photographs provided by the author
