Long before the chariot bells echo through the streets of Penang and coconuts shatter against the tar road, Thaipusam begins quietly at coconut plantations hundreds of kilometres away.
Each coconut broken during the sacred procession carries more than a prayer. It holds weeks of preparation, years of experience, and in some cases, a family legacy built on devotion and hard work.
Every year during Thaipusam, thousands of coconuts are smashed along the procession route of the golden and silver chariots as devotees fulfil vows made to Lord Murugan. The ritual, deeply symbolic of ego-breaking and surrender, draws not only Hindu devotees but also members of the Chinese and Bengali communities, as well as curious tourists willing to wait for hours beside towering coconut piles for a glimpse of the deity and his sacred vel.
What few realise is that each coconut has already travelled a long journey before reaching the streets of George Town.
For 41-year-old M. Joel Jayachandran, Thaipusam is not just the busiest period of the year, it is a continuation of a family tradition that began nearly three decades ago. Joel entered the coconut trade at just 18, learning the craft alongside his father, and today carries the responsibility of supplying thousands of coconuts for one of Penang’s most important religious festivals.
Preparations begin more than a month in advance at plantations in Bagan Datuk, Perak. The work is meticulous and physically demanding — selecting suitable fruit, cutting, husking, packing and transporting coconuts to Penang about a week before Thaipusam.
“For Thaipusam, everything starts at the plantation. We plan far ahead so that the coconuts reach Penang on time,” Joel shared.
Demand peaks during the festival, with between 50,000 and 80,000 coconuts prepared annually. Despite fluctuations in supply in recent years, prices remain unchanged at RM2.50 per coconut, a decision Joel maintains out of respect for the sacred nature of the ritual.
Devotees are particular about the coconuts they choose. ‘Mawar’ coconuts are preferred for their medium size, which makes them easier and safer to hold. Larger varieties are avoided, as they can slip and cause injuries in crowded conditions.
The work is not without challenges. Last-minute orders often complicate preparations, while unpredictable weather can delay harvesting and transportation. Heavy flooding at Joel’s plantation late last year caused disruptions, adding pressure to an already demanding season.
Even so, Joel makes it a point to be present along the chariot route on the eve of Thaipusam, setting up a sales station for devotees who arrive without prior arrangements.
“The ritual must continue. We do our best to make sure no one leaves disappointed,” he said.
While traditional trades like coconut supplying face labour shortages and rising operational challenges, Joel remains hopeful. He believes that as long as faith and culture endure, there will always be a place for those who work behind the scenes to support them.
When the ceremony ends and the streets are cleared, the broken coconuts are disposed of by the local council. For Joel, the job is already done not when the coconuts are smashed, but when each one reaches the hands of a devotee ready to fulfil a vow.
Thaipusam, celebrated on February 1, marks the divine moment when Lord Murugan received the sacred vel from Goddess Parvati to defeat evil and restore balance to the world. For many, the festival is about faith and fulfilment. For others, like Joel, it is about quietly ensuring that devotion finds its way to the ground, one coconut at a time.
Source / Image Credit : Malay Mail , Bernama
