Saree weaving ~ Amarchinta

Introduction:

Usage:

The usage of craft in Amarchinta—whether in textiles, tools, or ritual objects—is deeply embedded in daily life. Woven silk fabrics are not produced to be showcased but to be used: worn in fields, laid out during prayers, gifted during weddings, or torn and tied around wounds during labor in the fields. These are not luxury goods but lived materials—objects that accompany birth, hardship, celebration, and mourning alike.

In the homes of Amarchinta, you may find a charpai with rope fraying at the edges but still used for mid-day naps; a rusted loom still humming in the evenings as an elder weaves cloth not for sale, but for memory; brass utensils blackened from use, passed down through generations. Everything that is crafted is made to be used, and through use, it gathers value—not monetary, but emotional, social, and spiritual.

The place is renowned for its exquisite pure silk sarees adorned with intricate zari work. Skilled artisans here are masters of weaving elaborate jaala patterns, creating sarees that are rich in detail and grandeur. These sarees often feature heavy zari, giving them a regal appearance that sets them apart from everyday wear. Because of the intensive craftsmanship and the precious materials involved, prices usually range from ₹15,000 to ₹30,000. Naturally, such sarees are not for daily use but are treasured as occasion-based attire, most often purchased for weddings, festivals, or other significant life events. Each piece thus becomes more than just clothing, it is a symbol of heritage, status, and celebration.

Significance:

The significance of craft in Amarchinta goes far beyond function—it becomes memory, identity, and even quiet resistance. In a region with limited access to external markets or institutional recognition, the very endurance of its craft traditions speaks of resilience: the strength to keep creating, even when there is no stage to display the work.

The Padmashalis, the third-largest community in Andhra Pradesh and Telangana, have weaving as their primary occupation. In most households, men and women work together, both contributing to the family income. A small loom setup in the main living room is often enough to sustain their livelihood. This way, men do not have to leave home for work, and life remains simple, safe, and centered around the craft. These families continue to carry forward the skills inherited from their ancestors, producing sarees with intricate and complex designs.

At first glance, the loom appears intimidating, a web of countless silk threads stretched in perfect tension. Yet, with their fine, nimble fingers, the weavers handle thousands of threads with remarkable precision. A single mistake can ruin an entire saree. When you sit with them and watch, you begin to understand the depth of their passion and the pride they take in their work. The true value of a saree becomes clear only when you witness the process: hour after hour, as the shuttle moves left to right and back again, a motif slowly comes alive on the loom. It is in these countless, patient repetitions that beauty is born, and tradition is kept alive.

Myths & Legends:

The Padmashalis trace their beginnings not through kings or conquerors, but through threads of story, myth, devotion, and daily labor spun together. Elders often say their ancestors were linked to the Vrushis, sages whose gothras became the foundation of every family name. Even now, at the time of marriage, these gothras are recited carefully, like ancient mantras, to ensure that two lines of the same weave never overlap. In this way, ancestry itself is guarded as one would guard the integrity of a sari’s border.

Two streams of belief flow through their origin. The Vaishnavas tell it as a story of intelligence and awakening. For them, Padmashali is born of two words: Padma, the lotus of a thousand petals, and Shali, the bearer. The lotus is not merely a flower but the sahasrara chakra, the crown of human wisdom. To be Padmashali, they say, is to hold that lotus of insight, to carry intelligence as both inheritance and duty. They often point to the story of Goddess Padmavathi of Tirupati, who is remembered as the daughter of a Padmashali, her very name echoing the lotus-thread connection. In this telling, the loom itself becomes a place of awakening, where the weaver’s patience mirrors the meditation of sages.

The Shaiva version tells it differently but with no less reverence. They speak of Bhavana Rishi, born of a sacred fire, who rose holding a lotus offered by Shiva. Vishnu, moved by his devotion, gave him a lotus stem and asked him to weave cloth. When Bhavana presented the woven fabric, Narayana blessed him, saying that his hundred and one sons would become the forefathers of the Padmashalis. In this myth, weaving itself is divine labor—an offering that equals prayer. Markandeya is said to have called this the “Padma Veda,” the fifth scripture, with the four other Vedas mirrored as lotus petals. For Padmashalis, to weave is to continue that sacred act of creation first begun at a cosmic altar.

These are not just stories—they shape how people view their work even today. When you enter a Padmashali home, the loom is often set up in the main room, humming like a heartbeat. Men and women sit together, their fingers moving swiftly through thousands of delicate silk threads. One misstep can spoil an entire sari, yet they work with quiet concentration, almost like chanting without words. To them, every sari is more than fabric—it is the continuation of a vow made by their ancestors, a living remembrance of divine blessing.

And so, the Padmashalis say, cloth is never just cloth. It carries memory, ancestry, and devotion. A sari woven by a grandmother’s hand is believed to carry healing, wisdom, and unseen strength. “Ammamma cheyuto chesina cheera daani viluva teliyadu”—a grandmother’s sari has a value beyond price. In their world, weaving is not simply livelihood, but the unbroken thread that ties myth to everyday life, gods to humans, and past to present.

History:

The formal history of Amarchinta is sparsely documented, but its material culture tells a more textured tale. Once part of the broader Wanaparthy Samsthan under the Nizam’s rule, Amarchinta was primarily agrarian but known for its deep ties to weaving, tool-making, and seasonal craft production. Weaving was often done within households using pit looms, producing light cotton for everyday wear—durable, breathable, and easy to maintain in hot climates.

Historically, women dyed fabric using local plant materials—indigo for blue, turmeric for yellow, laterite soil for rust red. These colours were not just aesthetic choices, but a reflection of ecological wisdom, knowledge of seasons, and resourcefulness. Oral accounts suggest that before independence, communities in Amarchinta often bartered woven cloth or handmade goods in nearby markets instead of using money. Craft was currency, reputation, and pride.

The question arises: since when did silk weaving begin here? Unfortunately, there is no clear answer. What we do know is that Gadwal has long been one of the most famous and oldest silk weaving centres in the region, and that the Andhra–Telangana belt has always been rich in cotton cultivation and weaving traditions. Locals say that a group of artisans who once worked in Gadwal learned the craft there. Later, they returned to Amarchinta and established their own weaving units in Amarchinta and the neighbouring villages, effectively creating an offshoot of the renowned Gadwal handloom mega cluster.

Even today, when we speak to the local weavers, they explain that most of their business still flows through Gadwal, with their sarees being supplied to master weavers or traders based there. Only a handful of artisans or groups engage in direct trade with buyers. When asked why they do not sell directly, they point to the challenges: silk sarees require heavy investment, and for many, supplying through Gadwal remains the safer option.

Design:

The design of these silk sarees is marked by a striking visual dualism, where beauty is woven with symbolic grammar and technical precision. Their unique identity comes from the seamless integration of three distinct elements—the silk body, silk border, and silk pallu—through an intricate interlocking method. This interplay of textures creates contrast while balancing simplicity and grandeur.

Among the most iconic features are the bold zari borders and richly decorated pallus, often inspired by temples, mythology, and nature. The body is usually plain or delicately patterned, allowing the ornate edges to stand out, much like temple architecture where the sanctum remains understated while the gopuram and mandapas radiate grandeur.

Motifs such as stylized peacocks, mango paisleys, temple domes, and floral vines remain central, carrying meanings rooted in agrarian life, cosmology, and devotion. Borders, often called Kumbam or gopuram borders, echo temple spires and act as protective frames for the saree’s central canvas.

Color also plays a vital role—vibrant emeralds, crimson reds, turmeric yellows, indigo blues, and deep blacks are thoughtfully placed to emphasize the borders and pallu. These shades are not merely aesthetic but ritualistic, chosen for ceremonies and seasonal occasions. Zari, once woven from silver threads coated in gold, adds both shimmer and symbolic gravity, coming alive in movement during festivals and processions.

Over time, the craft has adapted to changing tastes. Different weavers cater to varied budgets, while newer design banks have introduced fresh motifs and local designers experiment with scale, asymmetry, and minimalism. Yet, the true essence lies in the silk with rich zari work—where the texture, weave, and finishing reveal an unmatched refinement, making each piece extraordinary.

This evolving tradition bridges past and present, ensuring the saree remains both rooted in heritage and alive with contemporary spirit.

Challenges:

The biggest challenge facing Amarchinta today is invisibility. Its crafts are not represented in exhibitions, catalogues, or academic papers. The artisans do not identify themselves as craftspeople, but simply as “doing what we’ve always done.” This humility, while beautiful, becomes a burden when systems of recognition fail to acknowledge their skill.

Economic pressures have forced many to leave these practices behind. Younger generations seek stable incomes in cities or government jobs. The tools lie unused in corners, the looms gather dust, and the dyes dry up in forgotten jars. What was once passed down through observation and repetition is now interrupted by migration, modern schooling, and market disinterest.

Raw materials are harder to access. Cotton is more expensive. Time is shorter. And with cheap, mass-produced goods flooding rural markets, the need for hand-crafted alternatives seems, to many, like a luxury they cannot afford.

But perhaps the most profound challenge is this: memory loss. When the last artisan forgets a technique, when the last user no longer sees value in a handwoven cloth, something quiet disappears—not loudly, but finally.

Yet, hope remains. Some NGOs, researchers, and storytellers have begun to visit Amarchinta, gathering oral histories, documenting practices, and facilitating small-scale revivals. There is still a chance to listen before it is too late—to record, to honor, and to value what has always been there: quiet, resilient, and waiting to be seen.

Introduction Process:

The Turamlavedi colony in Amarchinta, home to around 300 looms, bears witness to a process that is simple yet deeply meaningful. It begins with gathering materials, setting up tools—often handmade themselves—and continues with the slow, steady rhythm of handwork. Even the waste finds a purpose, reflecting how nothing is taken for granted. This way of working is quiet and humble, yet deeply rooted in tradition, sustainability, respect, and the skill passed down through generations.

Raw Materials:

• Zari: Zari brings the main charm to Amarchinta sarees, sourced primarily from Surat. In many designs, an 8–10 inch border is set with zari warp, and the pallu is richly adorned with detailed zari motifs. Golden zari is most commonly used here, adding a luminous elegance to the weave.
  
  
• Natural Dyes (now rare): Older generations used turmeric, indigo, pomegranate rind, laterite soil, and tamarind bark to create beautiful, earthy tones. While synthetic dyes are now more common due to cost and availability, some elders still recall how cloth would be boiled with neem leaves to add antibacterial properties.

• Silk: After speaking with a few weavers, they shared that the entire cluster is dedicated exclusively to weaving pure silk sarees. The type of silk used here is Mulberry silk, which they source from Bangalore. For the warp alone, nearly 3,800 silk threads are employed, creating a strong yet lustrous foundation for weaving.Mulberry silk is the most widely used and highly regarded variety of silk. It comes from silkworms that feed solely on mulberry leaves, resulting in fibers that are exceptionally fine, soft, and uniform in texture. The silk’s natural smoothness, durability, and subtle sheen give it a radiant glow, making it particularly suited for luxury sarees and premium textiles.

  This careful choice of material, combined with the skill of the weavers, ensures that each saree not only carries visual beauty but also a tactile richness that defines its elegance and exclusivity.

Tools & Tech:

• Pit Looms: Most weaving in Amarchinta is done on pit looms, where the weaver sits with their feet in a dug-out pit to operate the pedals. These looms are usually installed in verandahs or side rooms, which provide shade and ventilation. On one side of the loom, there is a beam on which the silk threads for the warp are wound, while on the other side is a beam called the “donki”, where the finished fabric is rolled.
  
• Shuttles: Two sizes – “nadi” (larger for body) and “salunodi” (smaller for borders).
• Jacquard: The Jacquard mechanism is used to create intricate patterns on the borders, pallu, and butis of the saree. Simpler designs require only a dobby mechanism, while more complex patterns are crafted using Jacquards with as many as 480 hooks. On average, 200 cards are used for border designs, 50 cards for butis, and up to 500 cards for elaborate designs woven with the Jacquard.
• Charkha (Rattanam): Though not as commonly used today, older women still spin thread using a charkha for small household needs or ritual cloth.
  
• Patelu:  This is a traditional bamboo spool in which the yarn bundle is first spun into. The yarn from this spool is again spun into spindles with the help of the spinning wheel.
  
• Dyeing Pots: Big iron or aluminum pots, often blackened with age, used for preparing dye baths. While synthetic dyes now dominate, some families still keep these for traditional dyeing or ritual use.For warping and stretching yarns, cotton ropes, wooden spindles, and hand-forged metal tools (like scissors, bobbin winders) are used. Some of these tools are heirlooms—passed down, repaired, and honored.

Rituals:

• Loom Blessing: Before a new loom is used, elders apply turmeric, kumkum, and rice flour, tying a yellow thread around the beam while chanting a quiet blessing to Vishwakarma, the divine craftsman.
  
• First Weave Offering: The first few inches of cloth woven on a new loom or by a new weaver is sometimes offered to a deity or placed in the family shrine as a symbol of gratitude.
• Dyeing on Auspicious Days: Some families used to prepare natural dye baths on Fridays or full moon days, believing the colors held better during spiritually aligned times.

process:

a. Yarn Preparation
Silk yarn is processed locally, where it is first bleached and then dyed using acid dyes. The process involves heating the yarn in a dye bath at about 80–90°C and fixing the color with acetic acid. Before dyeing, the silk undergoes degumming, a scouring process that removes the natural gum, oils, and dirt from the raw fibers, reducing its weight by nearly 25%. The cleaned silk is then pre-soaked in warm water with a mild acid, such as vinegar or citric acid, which opens up the fibers for better absorption. Once placed in the heated dye bath, the yarn is gently agitated to ensure an even, rich coloration. After sufficient dye penetration, it is rinsed thoroughly until the water runs clear and finally dried in the shade, which helps retain its natural sheen and strength.
Cotton yarn, on the other hand, generally arrives pre-dyed, which reduces both time and water consumption.

b. Warping
Once dyed, yarns are stretched in long parallel lines, either across open ground or on a warping drum, to create the warp—the foundation threads that run lengthwise on the loom. This is often a communal activity carried out in courtyards or open verandahs. In Amarchinta, both silk and zari yarns are included in the warp according to the design requirements.

c. Loom Setup
The prepared warp is carefully threaded through the loom’s heddles and reed. This is an exacting and time-consuming process where precision is crucial—one mistake at this stage can misalign the entire weave.

d. Jacquard Setup
If an artisan is beginning a new design with unique motifs, they must also install jacquard cards. These are typically made from stiff paperboard by local card makers, each hole carefully punched to control the lifting of specific warp threads.

e. Weaving
Seated at a pit loom, the weaver operates foot pedals to raise and lower alternate warp threads while passing the weft across with a shuttle. The process follows a steady rhythm—the soft thud of the pedals, the swift glide of the shuttle, and the firm beat of the comb come together like a well-rehearsed choreography.

f. Patterns and Motifs
For borders and pallus, the jacquard mechanism enables weavers to lift and lower selected warp threads, creating continuous, repetitive motifs. Where additional designs are required, extra-weft techniques or jacquard attachments may also be used. This stage requires exceptional precision and skill, as handling fine silk yarns demands both care and expertise.

g. Finishing
Once weaving is complete, the fabric is cut from the loom, its edges secured with knots or hemming. Finally, it is roll-pressed to smoothen the surface and bring out its lustrous finish.

Waste:

• Yarn Waste: Leftover thread from warping or broken weft threads is either reused in patchwork quilts (gudda godugu) or stored for future use. Nothing is thrown away easily.
  
• Water Waste from Dyeing: In the days of natural dyes, the leftover water was poured into gardens or at the base of trees. Now, with synthetic dyes, disposal has become more cautious—though practices vary.
  
• Worn-Out Tools: Chipped bobbins, broken shuttles, or dulled scissors are kept aside for repair. In some homes, these are repurposed—turned into toys, wall hooks, or ceremonial items.
• Fabric Scraps: Tail ends of woven cloth or miswoven pieces are often cut into small cloth pads, baby cloths, or house rags, ensuring that even mistakes find a second life.

Cluster Name: Amarchinta

Introduction:

Amarchinta is a small, quiet town located in the Wanaparthy district of Telangana. Surrounded by fields, trees, and red soil roads, it may seem like just another dot on the map, but for those who live there, Amarchinta holds deep meaning. Life here moves slowly and closely with nature—people rise with the sun, work in the fields, gather in courtyards, and celebrate local festivals with devotion and joy.

Though not widely known, Amarchinta carries a rich culture through its everyday practices—whether in weaving, farming, storytelling, or prayer. Most of what is special about Amarchinta isn’t written in books, but passed down in conversations between generations. It is a place where tradition lives not in museums, but in homes, rituals, and relationships. In every thread spun and every song sung during festivals, Amarchinta quietly tells its story.

History:

Amarchinta’s history is not grandly inscribed in books, but it lives in the pauses between stories told by elders sitting on verandahs, in temple courtyards, or beneath mango trees. Located in the Wanaparthy district of southern Telangana, Amarchinta once belonged to the powerful Wanaparthy Samsthanam, a princely state under the Nizams of Hyderabad. While the samsthan’s courtly affairs were recorded, villages like Amarchinta remained in the shadows—quiet, agricultural, self-reliant.

Elders recall a time when the village was a farming stronghold, its identity built around cotton, pulses, and seasonal millet crops. But what they also remember—sometimes as a footnote, sometimes as pride—is how every home was a workshop. Women spun yarn during breaks from fieldwork. Men carved tools or built charpais under the shade of trees. No one called themselves an “artisan,” yet nearly everyone was one.

Stories circulate about how, during the Telangana Peasant Movement in the 1940s and ’50s, Amarchinta was both witness and participant—quietly supporting the cause by offering food, shelter, and handmade cloth to those resisting the feudal lords. One tale recalls a young woman stitching a red flag overnight to replace one that had been torn during a confrontation with local police. That flag, simple and hand-dyed, is still kept by her family, folded in a rusted tin box.

Amarchinta’s history, then, is not one of monuments but of gestures—of resistance embroidered into domestic cloth, of caste wisdom hidden in a farming tool, of love and labor entwined in the simplest things.

Geography:

Amarchinta rests amid the dry deciduous plains and rock-strewn slopes of southern Telangana, not far from the Karnataka border. The land here is hardy—red soil, black cotton patches, and scrub forests define the terrain. Small seasonal streams pass through the village, and every few kilometers, one stumbles upon a tank or a stepwell, many of them centuries old, now surrounded by whispering grass and children playing with sticks.

The geography has shaped its people. In this semi-arid landscape, life is built around resourcefulness. Farmers cultivate hardy crops—millets, jowar, cotton—not for commerce, but for sustenance. The vegetation gives birth to a palette of natural dyes, used for decades in cloth coloring before chemical substitutes arrived.

Amarchinta is part of what one might call an “intimate geography”—not large or famous, but deeply known to its people. They speak of hills where goats graze in the morning and ghost stories live by evening. They name the wells not by number, but by whose grandmother used to draw water from them. Even the trees have relationships—“that tamarind is older than three generations,” they say, or “that neem gave shade to the wedding mandap.”

It is in this kind of geography—of named trees, remembered rocks, seasonal silences—that craft traditions evolve. Not as isolated products, but as part of a lived ecology.

Environment:

The environment of Amarchinta is one of both challenge and quiet grace. Summers are harsh—scorching heat, cracked earth, water fetched from distant handpumps. Yet in the monsoon, the land changes: the parched fields turn green, frogs call from the rice paddies, and the scent of wet soil rises like incense.

Craft, here, is deeply influenced by climate. Fabrics are woven light—breathable cottons that dry quickly on the line. Ropes for charpais are made from materials that do not trap heat. Pots are shaped wide-mouthed, designed to cool water naturally. Even the design of courtyards and storage chests follows environmental wisdom—ventilation, sun paths, flood risk—passed down through practice rather than diagrams.

The people of Amarchinta are natural conservationists, though they may not use that word. Their dyeing methods once relied on plants they now struggle to find. Their clay is dug carefully, never from the same spot twice. There’s a gentle code of respect toward the land—one that is not taught but absorbed, like warmth from stone.

Infrastructure:

Amarchinta is still modest in terms of infrastructure, though it has grown in recent years. A government school, a primary health center, a village administrative office, and a few small grocery shops form the public heart of the town. There are local buses that connect it to Wanaparthy and Mahbubnagar, and mobile connectivity has improved, but patchy electricity and water shortages still mark daily life.

Most homes are a blend of old and new—mud walls patched with cement, tiled roofs underpinned by wooden beams, and now, the occasional concrete house with solar panels. Some homes have satellite TV dishes, yet store grain in age-old wooden chests.

There are no large cooperatives, training centers, or formal craft institutions here. But there is infrastructure of another kind: relationships. Weavers share looms, neighbors lend dyeing pots, and when someone is short on rope, another gives a coil without asking. In these invisible networks, the village runs smoother than any highway plan could suggest.

Architecture:

The architecture of Amarchinta is both practical and deeply symbolic. Homes are traditionally built with materials drawn directly from the land—clay, lime, stone, neem wood, and clay-tiled roofs. As in many other parts of Telangana, these traditional houses are now steadily being replaced by cement structures. In some of the older houses, however, large wooden pillars still stand tall, supporting beams while also creating storage spaces. Within these homes, it is often difficult to distinguish between work and living areas—most weaving families work together in groups, with every member contributing to the craft.

The front verandah is always the heart of the house, a stage where the charpai rests, where guests are welcomed, grain is winnowed, and stories are exchanged. Small niches in the walls often hold oil lamps lit in the evenings, and doorways are painted with turmeric and adorned with rangoli, especially during festivals.

From our limited travels, we observed that most homes are painted in white or pale sky blue. Bright colors are rarely seen, perhaps because, in the harsh summer heat, lighter shades help keep the interiors cool.

The temples in the village, mostly dedicated to local deities and guardian spirits—reflect a vernacular style: low-slung stone platforms, shaded entrances, and bells tied with red thread. The architectural language of Amarchinta is humble yet deeply intimate; each home and shrine speaks not just of shelter, but of the many lives and stories it has quietly held over generations.

Culture:

Amarchinta’s culture is rooted in oral tradition, agrarian rhythm, and devotional expression. Songs are sung while grinding grain or weaving a rope. Children learn rhymes that describe the stages of rice cultivation. Folk dances like Bathukamma and Kolatam appear during festivals, while the village fair (jatara) sees processions of decorated bullocks, offerings of home-cooked food, and impromptu poetry.

There’s a deep respect for seasonal cycles. Festivities are aligned with harvests, full moons, or shifts in climate. Every household has rituals that combine the practical with the sacred—a pot of water placed at the doorstep during Sankranti, a turmeric thread tied on the loom before weaving begins again.

Perhaps what stands out most is the culture of remembrance. Stories of ancestors are retold in fragments—who carved what, who wove which design, who gifted which tool to whom. These stories are not grand but personal, and they form the living museum of Amarchinta’s past.

People:

The people of Amarchinta are farmers, weavers, laborers, and memory-keepers. Most families have lived here for generations. The social fabric is diverse—communities are organized by occupation, often caste-bound, yet bound together by mutual reliance and shared histories.

Elders hold immense knowledge. Grandmothers remember dye recipes by smell, while grandfathers can still sharpen a blade to perfect balance. Youth are beginning to leave for towns and cities, looking for better prospects, but often return during festivals, bringing with them a mix of nostalgia and change.

There is a quiet dignity in the way people work—in the careful folding of a sari, the tying of a cow’s bell, the painting of a floor with wet rice flour. No one calls themselves an artist, but everyone creates.

Famous For:

Amarchinta may not yet be listed in travel brochures, but it is famous among those who’ve lived with it. It is known for its quiet endurance, its cotton textiles, its homemade dyes, its charpais woven from memory, and its resilient elders who remember every recipe, every repair, every ritual.

It is famous for its slowness, its insistence that time be kept by seasons and not by clocks. It is known for being a place where even today, a spindle might turn, a chisel might ring, and a tale might unfold at dusk.

Gallery

Craftsmen

List of craftsmen.

Documentation by:

Process Reference:

HISTORY OF THE PADMASHALIS AND THEIR MIGRATION TO MAHARASHTRA : A STUDY ON ADILABAD AND NIZAMABAD DISTICTS OF TELANGANA STATE
Ankam Jayaprakash

Cluster Reference: