The great battle of 1914: Deepavali vs Thaipusam

Malaysians have come to take our festivals for granted, gliding through Deepavali as if it were just another ordinary day on the calendar—a polite pause amid the roar of traffic and the clatter of daily life.

Yet, if we close our eyes for a moment and picture it—houses alive with oil lamps glowing in every direction, the air fragrant with sesame-scented murukku, and the laughter of children in new clothes spilling onto the streets—we are reminded of the festival’s vibrant soul.

What few of us realise, however, is that this radiant celebration once rose in daring rebellion.

Today, Deepavali burns brightly as a public holiday across Peninsular Malaysia, with Sabah having quietly folded it into its own calendar of observances.

But few know the breathless, dramatic saga of how this festival was once locked in a fierce, cinematic battle for supremacy—not merely over lamps and sweets, but for the very right to be recognised as a national holiday.

That epic contest was fought not against external forces, but between two towering pillars of the Hindu community itself: Deepavali and Thaipusam.

Both claimed the same prize: a full public holiday so their celebrations could soar to their unbridled heights. One side believed Deepavali, with its blaze of lights that welcomed every soul under the sun, was the broader, more inclusive flame that would carry Indian identity into the future. The other saw in Thaipusam—with its profound message of inner victory through devotion and discipline—the sacred, undying fire that needed to be nurtured.

The battle was real, heated, and decided in colonial Singapore in 1914—a moment that still echoes today, though almost all of us remain blissfully unaware of it.

I wonder how many Malaysians—Indians among them—know that the first Indian-related public holiday in British Malaya was actually for Thaipusam?

Then spelled Tai-pusum, it first flickered into existence in the 1879 Holidays Ordinance IX as a bank holiday in Penang. In British Malaya, bank holidays existed primarily to ensure the colony’s commercial engine paused simultaneously.

Thaipusam secured its spot because of a dynamic Indian merchant class in Penang and because government departments, most notably the Public Works Department and the municipal council, were overwhelmingly staffed by Indians.

Then came 1914. The colonial administration decided that one set of uniform public holidays should cover the entire Straits Settlements. Operating under the rule of “one major festival of each of the main races,” a Bill was drafted nominating Thaipusam for the Indian community as it was already a holiday in Penang.

Here the story takes a twist. The English-speaking elites and merchants of Singapore preferred Deepavali. Their community was a diverse tapestry woven from Telugus, Gujaratis, Sindhis, Malayalees, and Punjabis—not just Tamils. Thaipusam, they argued, was too narrow, too tied to the Chettiar community, and too purely religious for their cosmopolitan vision.

Led by the formidable Dr N Veerasamy Naidu—one of Singapore’s first Indian doctors and a municipal commissioner—the merchant group petitioned Governor Sir Arthur Henderson Young.

Their letter glowed with eloquence and loyalty, speaking of making Deepavali “an act of grace which will be greatly appreciated not only by the 60 or 70,000 most loyal and submissive subjects of His most gracious Majesty the Emperor of India but by the future generations of the permanent residents of the colony”.

They reminded the governor that Deepavali was already observed as a public holiday in India and that it was a public holiday in Singapore in the year 1912.

The movement quickly gained momentum. In February 1914, roughly a thousand prominent Hindus packed the Hindu Association on Belilios Road. Veerasamy, who chaired the meeting, reminded those present that Deepavali had been declared a holiday in Singapore in 1912, thanks to an earlier petition through the Hindu and Muhammadan Endowments Board. Yet a similar application in 1913 had not succeeded.

Now the stakes were higher — the holiday would cover the whole colony. And it would not require annual petitions.

Among those present were influential merchants and elites such as MV Pillay, SMR Naidu, KN Kothary, Nagar Das, Chotiirmal, M Soomapah, Mungul Singh, Dr Bardhan, Veer Singh, Thambyrajah, Veeraragava Aiyar, Singaram Pillai and Sivakadacha Padayachi.

Leaders like MV Pillay argued passionately that Deepavali suited Singapore’s multi-racial fabric better, allowing other races to share in its social joy, whereas Thaipusam remained a strictly intense, specialised Hindu observance.

Noting that Deepavali was a public holiday in India, Pillay insisted the same should apply in the Straits Settlements of Singapore, Penang and Malacca (now Melaka). He added that Indian workers in the PWD and municipal council in Singapore were usually given a holiday on Deepavali day and not Thaipusam day.

The meeting adopted a proposal to send a delegation to convince Governor Young to make Deepavali the public holiday for Hindus in the colony. MV Pillay, who moved the motion, claimed that it was the Chettiar community that was pushing for Thaipusam, and that in doing so it had disregarded the wishes of other communities.

Not everyone agreed with this resolution. Some Singapore Hindus, including those not from the Chettiar community, wrote directly to the governor insisting the original Bill remain unchanged. They claimed that Veerasamy’s group did not speak for everyone and that the government would earn the deep gratitude of the community by following Penang’s example.

A fierce but polite battle ensued between supporters of both festivals. Ultimately, the British authorities chose to listen to the Singapore merchant class and the more influential English-speaking elites.

They dropped Thaipusam from the Bill and substituted it with Deepavali, passing the Holidays (Amendment) Ordinance 1914 for the entire colony of Singapore, Penang, and Malacca.

I was unable to find any record that showed strong protests from Penang and Malacca Hindus. I suspect the Chettiars – a small, self-reliant and self-effacing mercantile community that prefers to conduct its business in quiet dignity – decided that Thaipusam would still be observed with due respect even if it was no longer an official holiday.

But the ripple effect soon reached the Federated Malay States (FMS). By April 1915, KT Parmanan Pillay, president of the Sri Mahamariamman Temple on High Street (Jalan Tun HS Lee), wrote to Selangor Resident Edward George Broadrick, telling him that the local Hindu community had passed a resolution asking for both Thaipusam and Deepavali to be declared public holidays.

In Taiping, then the capital of Perak, a public meeting was held in the town hall on Feb 21, 1926 under the chairmanship of H Rethinasamy Pillai, reportedly attended by Indians from several parts of the FMS. The meeting resolved to urge the British authorities to also make Deepavali a public holiday in the FMS, as there was then none for the community.

One of the leaders, V Murugasu Pillai, in a letter to the chief secretary to the FMS government Sir William George Maxwell, noted that Deepavali was already a holiday in the neighbouring Straits Settlements. He claimed that the views of the “Indian and Ceylonese communities” in Selangor, Negri Sembilan and Pahang had also been obtained and that all of them were unanimous in voicing the request for a holiday for Deepavali.

Whether the colonial authorities fully capitulated back then remains slightly murky in the archives, but the framework of history eventually birthed the national holiday we enjoy today under the 1951 Holidays Act.

Today, Deepavali’s lights burn brightly across Malaysia, while in several states, Thaipusam remains a powerful public holiday observed with equal vitality.

Ultimately, the story of Deepavali’s rise is one of quiet endurance rather than conquest. Two great flames once stood at opposite ends of the Hindu night sky—one broad and welcoming, the other focused and sacred. Colonial hands chose one over the other a century ago, but time has proven that neither had to be extinguished.

Today, both Deepavali and Thaipusam light up the Malaysian landscape side by side, proving that traditions fought for with such passion never truly fade. They simply learn to glow together, year after year, across the same land.

Happy Deepavali.

The writer can be contacted at [email protected].

The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of FMT.

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