Pun­dit Sunesh To­ta-Ma­haraj

Phag­wa, or Holi, is up­on us—and in Trinidad, we wit­ness com­mu­ni­ty spaces puls­ing with colour, com­ing alive with chow­taal rhythms and the glow of Ho­li­ka Da­han pierc­ing the night. Cel­e­brat­ed this year be­tween March 13 to 17, this Hin­du fes­ti­val her­alds the tri­umph of good over evil, de­vo­tion over ar­ro­gance, and spring’s re­new­al over win­ter’s lull.

Be­yond splash­es of abeer, Phag­wa weaves a rich ta­pes­try of scrip­ture, mu­sic, and tra­di­tion—deeply root­ed in In­dia yet vi­brant­ly reimag­ined by Trinidad’s Hin­du di­as­po­ra.

Scrip­tur­al Ori­gins of Phag­wa

The heart of Phag­wa beats in an­cient texts like the Vish­nu Pu­ran (1.17) and Bha­ga­vat Pu­ran (7.8), where the tale of Prahlad, Ho­li­ka, and Lord Vish­nu un­folds. Prahlad, an un­shak­able devo­tee of Vish­nu, de­fied his fa­ther, King Hi­ranyaka­shipu, who de­mand­ed wor­ship as a god.

En­raged, the king turned to his sis­ter, Ho­li­ka, who pos­sessed a mys­ti­cal scarf that promised im­mu­ni­ty from fire. She lured Prahlad on­to a blaz­ing pyre, cer­tain the flames would spare her and claim him. But as the fire roared, Prahlad’s faith turned the ta­bles—the scarf flut­tered from Ho­li­ka’s shoul­ders to his, shield­ing him as she per­ished in the in­fer­no.

This vic­to­ry of right­eous­ness over wicked­ness lives on in Ho­li­ka Da­han, the rit­u­al bon­fire lit on Phag­wa’s eve. In Trinidad, it’s a sto­ry that res­onates with a com­mu­ni­ty bound to its an­ces­tral past.

Ho­li­ka Da­han in Trinidad

Ho­li­ka Da­han shines a light on the In­do-Trinida­di­an spir­it, forged by the de­scen­dants of in­den­tured labour­ers who ar­rived be­tween 1845 and 1917. In vil­lages like Fe­lic­i­ty, Dow Vil­lage, and Pasea, fam­i­lies gath­er un­der star­lit skies to build pyres and Ho­li­ka ef­fi­gies. As the wood crack­les and flames leap, chants rise—each spark is a tes­ta­ment to evil’s de­feat and de­vo­tion’s tri­umph.

Rem­i­nisc­ing on the in­den­ture­ship pe­ri­od, one can pic­ture the scene in com­mu­ni­ties across Trinidad: chil­dren clutch sticks of sug­ar­cane, el­ders re­cite soul­ful chants, and the air hums with an­tic­i­pa­tion as the ef­fi­gy ig­nites. This isn’t just a rit­u­al—it’s a liv­ing link to an­ces­tral roots, adapt­ed with Trinida­di­an re­silience.

On Thurs­day, you wit­nessed this your­self at the Lak­sh­mi Narayan Bhak­ti Man­dali in Tu­na­puna, where Ho­li­ka Da­han be­gan at 7 pm—a night of fire and faith open to all.

Chow­taal Singing: The Rhyth­mic Heart­beat of Phag­wa

Phag­wa in Trinidad is in­com­plete with­out chow­taal, the four-beat folk songs that set the fes­ti­val’s tem­po. Born in In­dia’s Bho­jpuri-speak­ing re­gions, this call-and-re­sponse tra­di­tion thrives here, unit­ing voic­es young and old. In the weeks be­fore Phag­wa, chow­taal groups gath­er in tem­ples and com­mu­ni­ty cen­tres—re­hears­ing lyrics that ho­n­our the di­vine forms of Kr­ish­na, Rad­ha, Shi­va, and oth­er deities while wel­com­ing spring’s em­brace.

The sound is un­mis­tak­able: the dho­lak’s deep thump, jhaal cym­bals clash­ing, and kar­tals chim­ing in sync. Late­ly, tas­sa drum­ming—a Trinida­di­an twist—has joined the mix, adding a fiercer edge to the beat. You might have hear da group’s ren­di­tion of ‘Holi Khele Raghu­veera,’ voic­es soar­ing as the rhythm pulls every­one in. It’s more than mu­sic—it’s her­itage puls­ing through schools and mandirs, en­sur­ing the young know their roots. At Tu­na­puna’s Ho­li­ka Da­han, chow­taal echoed through the night’s air—many joined in and felt the rhythm.

The Cel­e­bra­tion of Colour and Joy

Phag­wa day dawns with laugh­ter and colour. Across tem­ple grounds and open spaces, friends and strangers alike throw coloured pow­ders and spray abeer with home­made pichkaris—PVC wa­ter guns wield­ed with glee­ful pre­ci­sion. Chil­dren dart through crowds, dous­ing el­ders who re­spond with hand­fuls of coloured pow­der. Caste, age, and sta­tus blur in this vi­brant melee, unit­ing all in love and to­geth­er­ness.

This play echoes Kr­ish­na and Rad­ha’s mis­chief, im­mor­talised in Bhak­ti texts. Kr­ish­na, the di­vine prankster, smears Rad­ha and the Gopis with colour, his laugh­ter weav­ing bonds of joy. In Trinidad, that spir­it lives on—each splash is a nod to di­vine de­light.

Phag­wa’s Cul­tur­al Sig­nif­i­cance in Trinidad

Brought by in­den­tured labour­ers in the 19th cen­tu­ry, Phag­wa has meta­mor­phosed in­to a Trinida­di­an cel­e­bra­tion of iden­ti­ty and re­silience. It tran­scends re­li­gion, draw­ing Hin­dus and non-Hin­dus in­to its em­brace. From Ho­li­ka Da­han’s solemn flames to chow­taal’s live­ly ren­di­tions, it’s a pil­lar of In­do-Trinida­di­an her­itage, a bridge be­tween cane-field strug­gles and to­day’s vi­brant present.

Faith, Fun, Free­dom

Phag­wa is faith, fun, and free­dom fused in­to one. Root­ed in scrip­ture, lift­ed by song, and sus­tained by rit­u­als, it’s Trinidad’s heart­beat of joy—a lega­cy that thrives in every pyre, every note, every burst of colour. Whether you’re watch­ing Ho­li­ka burn, singing chow­taal, or dodg­ing abeer, re­mem­ber you are part of a cen­turies-old tra­di­tion of de­vo­tion and uni­ty. Let Phag­wa paint your world with won­der.