It’s Mahalaya our dear festival
The invocation of Ma Durga
Her divine eyes adorn us with
strength, mercy and wisdom.
She has ten armoured hands
To destroy the might of demons
To bestow us with her blessings
To inspire us to be on virtuous path
Our mother is so beautiful
Elegantly, she sits on the lion
Like a queen upon her throne
She represents power and mercy unified.
Mercy for the victims of wrongdoings
Power for conquering the evil
Our dear mother blesses the earth
She symbolizes victory of truth.
quiet , all are quiet
half or wide awake
elderly ones with folded hands
one heart ; one voice
at this auspicious dawn….
blared sound sounds psalms
The Goddess Durga
along with her family
will land on this land
in seven days to come
to her parental home.
the religious heartfelt invitation
on radio durga puja chants done by birendra krishna
on this Almanac fixed occasion
gets all the devotees or mere revelers
ready with warm welcome….
the articulated divine
in somber deep voice
raises numerous goose pimples
in involuntary reverence .
the holy utterance brings
the heady waft of faith-intoxication.
The festival of Durga Puja was designing to a close…
The coral carpets were being coiled up,
The poles were being pulled out,
The tents were being ejected,
And broken pieces of thermocol lay strewn around
Like pieces of luggage…
Ma Durga stood in a corner
With her family and the wily Mahishasur
In a posture of steely resolve and quiet determination,
Serene and calm…
Determined to continue her journey
From this earthly mess into the divine, the infinite…
We had our lunch and trickled out in small groups…
Some wore wear smiles on their faces,
Feeling let down, disappointed…
One of them said, “Pujo shesh hoye jache, Puja is going to be over.”
Some wore distant, faraway, brooding expressions on their faces,
Feeling sad, morose…
One of them said, “No, I will not go for the bisarjon, amar mon khub kharab hoye jabe, it would be too painful.”
Some younger ones were bubbling with enthusiasm,
One of them said, “Of course, I will go for the bisarjon; next year Ma Durga abar ashbe, will come again, grander, stronger, more beautiful.”
With a heavy heart and weary legs, I turned around,
Picked up our luggage, caught hold of my daughter’s hand…
Together we walked away,
Quite overcome by the frenzy of the moment…