Mahashtami-an episode from the epic

“I am speaking from the Vidyasagar Niketan Puja Mandap. Those who want to pay their homage to the deity and participate in the anjali, please come to the mandap soon” – These words. These very words greet me every morning along with the resonance of the rat-a-tat of the drums, during the Durga puja celebrations in our locality in Kolkata. The inimitable voice of Pinku da has a charm of its own. What more ! It does not sound repetitive also. The voice is a beckoning-a beckoning to tread through the green dewy grass and make my way to the colossal pandal amidst rows of shiuli flowers and the freshly incensed air, hovering all around the scene.
The anjali or the holy offering of flowers to the Goddess marks the beginning of the day, every Mahashtami. As I changed into the crisp beige coloured dhoti and a newly purchased rust coloured embroidered kurta, I heard my friends calling me to come to the pandal. Making a quick reply, I literally skipped through the flight of stairs and made my way downstairs to the street. All my friends had neatly dressed themselves in traditional Indian wear. Arka was robed in a pista coloured kurta pajama, Tanya in one of her favourite yellow saree with red border.. Rhea was at her usual best, tying her hair tidily and sporting a chrome coloured saree, clutching the pallu with her hands. Arunava was the only one who wore a pair of jeans and a casual t-shirt. “Look Tipu, I don’t feel like dressing up in a traditional way”, he says, “It feels good to be different…” and we are left in splits.
As we made our way to the Puja pandal, which is about fifty feet away from my building , we saw Mukut kaku approaching us hurriedly, ignorant of the fact that his snot-smeared handkerchief was hanging loose from his kurta’s pocket. The glasses were slipping down his sweaty nose, every time he made an attempt to wear it tightly.
“Arey ! You are still wandering here-You young kids ! Don’t have any respect for tradition,it seems! When I was of your age, I used to reach the mandap early morning and helped the elders prepare for the anjali” he said. “Go to the pandal fast. The anjali will start soon.”—The quintessential English professor, who sported a golden heart beneath a tough exterior.
The plastic chairs outside the pandal were unoccupied as most of the people had gathered inside to participate in the holy occasion. We jostled for space inside the pandal which was crammed with uncles in khadis and spotless white pajamas, aunties in crisp cotton sarees with vermillion smeared across their forehead, and grandmothers with their restless grandchildren in their arms. A brass container with flowers and bel leaves were making rounds among the people. We clutched on to a sufficient amount of flowers as offerings to the Goddess. The old shriveled, bare bodied priest was standing on the dias in front of the Goddess ,waiting impatiently for the crowd to assemble and organize so that the proceedings can begin.
And there was the deity of Maa Durga standing tall .Her structure dazzled with golden decorations, a bright red saree adorning her image. Her ten hands grasped the glittering weapons, out of which the trishul was seen to be piercing Mahishasura’s muscular frame. The images of Lakhshmi, Saraswati, Ganesha and Kartikeya, masterfully crafted and carefully decorated flanked Devi Durga. As the flame of the 5-headed lamp burned vigorously, the reflection of that in Maa’s eyes was a sight to behold. It is a sight which inspires the craftsmen after they have completed constructing the image, the priest who worships the Goddess and has devoted all his life to the service of The Mother. It inspires the millions of devotees who pray with folded hands, laying their hearts bare to Maa. The eyes of the Goddess spoke of power, love, trust, faith, benevolence, forgiveness, destruction and empathy. It is a sight which gives us power- the power to transcend the oddities and complexities of our every day life and emerge as the warrior under the shadows of Durga, who blesses us with the strength and the will to excel.
“Namoh Vishnu…”-the priest started to chant, quivery voiced, but with the tone of passion, enriched through long years of experience and servitude to the Goddess. Soon there was a lull inside the mandap-the mutterings of the repeated prayers and the noise of the rickety table fan being the only sounds apart from the chanting by the priest on the microphone. I overheard some sniffs of overwhelm, a chuckle of unmindfulness, soft murmurs discussing about where to visit this evening and low hushes of mothers asking their children to keep quiet and pray. Every fragment fitted perfectly to the scene. It was as if the omission of a single element would cause the sight to be incomplete.
Everything added to the magic of the atmosphere.
Outside the pandal, Kaash flowers were getting blown all around by the breeze. The sun shone gracefully generating an aura of purity which cleanses the soul of even the most skeptic.. One could hear koyals chirping among the branches, hiding among the shades of the peepul trees in the compound. The haze of the chaste smoke, emanating out of a puja ritual fumed the morning air as the anjali arrived at its climax. Soon the beatings of the drums reverberated and the clanking of Kaanshis incorporated a spirit of an eastern enchantment to the vista. After the anjali the devotees were sprinkled with holy water from the Ganges and slowly the mass began to disperse, their hearts full and souls purified. As the second batch of devotees entered the pandal, the others fed on the sacred offerings to the Goddess and broke their fast.

(This year I might have to miss the Durga Puja celebrations, back home. But the spirit of the site shall be imprinted on my mind and bore in my heart…forever.)