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Onake Obavva
(c.1750 - 1777)
South Indian Whack-a-Mole Champion, 1777-present
“Onake” Obavva lived in the fort town of Chitradurga at a rough time in its history. Hyder Ali, one of the most powerful warlords of the time, had been going buck wild with his army, conquering town after town. Chitradurga, blissfully, had been left out of it, due to its leader being cool with Hyder. Until said leader decided to switch sides. This was a move that did not go unnoticed by Ali, nor unpunished.
But Ali had a problem: Chitradurga was a total pain in the ass to get into. After multiple attacks, bribes, and meetings with informants he found one weakness: a tiny hole in the wall (a kindi), that could fit one person at a time. Figuring that even that was better than nothing, he hatched a plan: he’d send in troops single-file. When enough had entered, they would start attacking. They even knew that the guard for that area regularly took off for lunch. Ali had thought of everything.
Everything, that is, save the guard’s wife. Enter “Onake” Obavva.
Hyder was not wrong on the guard being a bit of a doof. Sure enough, he wandered back home, started stuffing his face, pausing only to request water. Since they had none in the house, Obavva went to a stream near the kindi to refill their supply – only to find Hyder’s soldiers approaching the fort. Realizing her city was about to be invaded, she grabbed a heavy pestle nearby and proceeded to set the Indian high score for whack-a-mole.
Within seconds of the first soldier popping his head out of the kindi, she had caved it in with her onake. Calmly, she dragged out his lifeless body, shoved it to the side, and set up for the next soldier.
Unfortunately for the soldiers, they were in stealth mode. So when soldier #2 didn’t hear anything from soldier #1, that was totally the plan – he wasn’t supposed to be making any noise! Really, from that perspective, she was just helping them out, as none of them would make noise ever again.
The next bit of her life went something like this:
Whack head. Crush skull. Shove corpse.
Whack head. Crush skull. Shove corpse.
Whack head. Crush skull. Shove corpse.
Again. And again. And again.
Meanwhile, her oblivious husband was just chowing down on some roti.
After a truly exhausting amount of homicide, her thirsty husband wandered out for some water – only to find his bloodied, panting wife standing over a towering pile of corpses. In some tellings, by this point she had murdered upwards of a hundred men.
Her husband sounded the alarm, and the guards finally reinforced the poor beleaguered woman, pushing back the invaders. She died that day, although the reasons vary from telling to telling. In most versions, one of the invaders finally got through and fatally stabbed her (and had his head subsequently caved in for his trouble). In others, she dropped dead of exhaustion — which, if the hundred man murder spree is true, is somewhat understandable.
Oh, and she was part of the Beda community, a group considered by some to fall under the Dalit (“untouchable”) grouping in the caste system1 Although this is a contentious claim. Regardless, they’re a tribal minority.. Which is pretty rad.
So here’s to Obavva: whack-a-mole champion, South India division, 1777-present.
IN OTHER MEDIA
Unsurprisingly, Obavva shown up in a couple movies (although this poorly-reviewed 2011 one seemingly has almost nothing to do with her). She also has more than one musical number devoted to her. You can find a couple on YouTube — this one is my favorite on account of her awesome rage face at around the 5 minute mark.
Footnotes
| ↑1 | Although this is a contentious claim. Regardless, they’re a tribal minority. |
Art Notes
I pictured this moment as being an extended musical number, but one as sanity-crushingly awful as Afro Circus or It’s A Small World. No musical progression, just the same irritating melody over and over. Every time a soldier would pop out of the hole, they’d come out singing a new line, which Obavva would quickly silence:
We’re all here to sack this fort, nobody’s ever gonna thwar-CRACK
Coming on up through the wall, couldn’t possibly stop us a-CRACK
Nilay’s running kind of mute, I should probably follow sui-CRACK
Last three guys are surely fine, I’ll be too if I hold the li-CRACK
CHORUS:
We’re snea~kin’, we’re cree~pin’, we’ve got this garri, son!
Why bother even look ahead? I’m sure this war’s been wo-CRACK
(Obavva) I’m wha~acking, I’m cra~cking, I’m caving in your head
Send all the bozos that you want, I’ll send them all back dea-CRACK
Although I’ve been well prepared, I must admit I’m somewhat sca-CRACK
Do not want to head up there, but Raj picked truth and I picked da-CRACK
Guys, these stairs, there’s so much blood – and I think I just heard a thu-CRACK
Why’s this roof starting to drip? And hey wait, is that Nilay’s li-CRACK
CHORUS:
We’re snea~kin’, we’re cree~pin’, we’ve got this garri, son!Why bother even look ahead, I’m sure this war’s been wo-CRACK
(Obavva) I’m wha~acking, I’m cra~cking, I’m caving in your head
If my hubs don’t come back here soon he too will turn up dea-CRACK
Careful, guys, this stairwell’s slick! Huh, what’s the red stuff on that bri-CRACK
Who the hell would think to store / meat chunks in here during a w-CRACK
Uh, maybe this plan went south – swear that’s part of Dhruva’s mou-CRACK
Eesh, this fort’s begun to smell. These small red lumps sure stink like h-CRACK
CHORUS:
We’re snea~kin’, we’re cree~pin’, we’ve got this garri, son!Why bother even look ahead, I’m sure this war’s been wo-CRACK
(Obavva) I’m wha~acking, I’m cra~cking, I’m caving in your head
Where the fuck is that doofus to whom I am sadly w-CRACK
Come on just let me turn back, can’t you tell we’re under atta-CRACK
Give love to my kids and wife, clearly I don’t value my l-CRACK
Really, y’all, can’t we retreat? Only fools would face certain defea-CRACK
Okay, who here just crapped their pants? It’s me, cause I don’t stand a ch-CRACK
CHORUS:
(Obavva and last soldier) They’ve bled here, they’ve fled here, they’ve quite messed up the stairsStill, guess I’ll press ahead, hope to catch them unawa-CRACK
(Obavva, to pestle) Oh bu~ddy, you’re bloo~dy, you won’t make bread again
Oh look, that asshole hubs of mine, come on let’s go make frie-CRACK
I dare you to put this to music. Or make your own. And mail it to me.
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Next Time on Rejected Princesses
Be forewarned, the hint (which is for a historical figure!) is very difficult:
This “crane princess” earned her divine greatness – and legendary armor – with bombs.
