blessed times!

Since my first memories, Durgapuja was the occasion for which we waited the year through. Durgapuja meant waking up when stars were still shining in the sky and cross the lawn to reach the siuli trees, leaving marks of bare foot on dew covered grass, where the grass was covered with siuli flowers, that has dropped with the dew, all night through. The air used to be heavy with the fragrance of my forever favourite flower. We used to pick them up so we can take them to the para puja. Which used to be held in our school’s hall. Where we used to hand them over to older didis, who used to make garlands.

Then I returned home to West Bengal, and Durgapuja took a far more important role in my life, then the waiting for the next puja started from Vijayadashami, when we used to watch out from our terrace, with tears in our eyes the men of our family carrying away the Devipratima for bisarjan to Damodar.

Our Durgapuja started from Mahashasti evening when Madurga is invited down to the body of the idol, it is called pranpratishtha. It’s the most important part of durgapuja in old families, and I never missed it. During those hours, it appeared that slowly Madurga is coming down to the clay idol and transforming it to herself.

Next morning, very early, the dhakis make a round near the panchmundi asan, (an asan, where our family believes that one of our ancestors was able to see Makali), waking up those who want to go to pujadalan, slowly we come around, only a handful of us on other days, and all the men on saptami, because they have to go to the river while the purohit fills up the mangalghat, the symbol of madurga, in our family, that mangalghat symbolizes the bringing home of deities. And we, those handcounted women who wake up either head for lakshmir ghar (the room where malakhshmi stays, that is the room where all the preparations of any puja are done, its an elaborate affair believe me), or for the equally important affair of gathering flowers to prepare garland, I belonged to the latter part. While we gathered flowers we used to keep our ears open, because the moment we could hear the dhaks approaching toward home from distant we had to run for two kamandalus, by which two of the women used to rinse the path of the mangalghat, while it approached the pujadalan. After that, we used to get busy in stitching garlands of flower, tulsi and belpatti, that was quite a long affair, because the numbers were huge. Then we had to run for bath, because the arati and pushpanjali was to follow. After that, elders used to stay in the pujadalan because of Hoam , we used to head for the hall, to eat. Then fun with extended family for the rest of the day, and evening meant a lot of cajoling then we used to wear the new dress, and head for the sandhyarati.

Ashtami meant sandhipuja’s anjali. 108 lotus, an arati of madurga with 108 pradeeps. One of the most waited for moments for us. I was one of the permanent candidates for sandhipuja anjali, no matter when it fell. In our home anjali meant a fasting without drinking a drop of water, forget about food. Yet, whenever the sandhi kshan fell, a lot of candidates were sure to show up.

Next mahanavami, sadness had already caught up with us. Apart from the regular puja, mahanavami meant a special hoam, a hoam is held in our home every day of durgapuja, but mahanavami hoam is special, 108 belpattis are offered to agni, we all have to be present, when the 108th belpatti is offered to agni, the senior most member of our family touches the purohit (which is strictly prohibited otherwise), and we touch him through a chain. That is one person touches him, then those around him touch him and so on, so that the chain is universal. After hoam, we are given tilaks with the ashes of that hoam. Mahanavami sandhyarati is the longest one, yet our hearts never get satisfied with it.

Then comes the Vijayadashami, the final puja is performed and then the mangalghat is tilted a little by the purohit, that means bidding farewell to the Mother. After that a special ritual called kanakanjali is performed and the men (now the women too) write down the name of madurga 108 times on belpattis, these are immersed with the devipratima. And the purohit ties a piece of aparajta branch on right wrist of every one who writes the name. Then after a while mangalghat gets immersed in the river.

Then the evening came, the devipratima is taken out, we change our clothes and touch the feet of the idol, then She is carried away by the carriers towed by men of our family, while we head for the roof, to see it as far as we can. And wait for the next year with tears in our eyes.

Even though I have not been there since long, yet those days of divine purity are never away from me. No matter, where I am my soul always go there during these five days. And these five days are always the best five days of my life. So, on vijayadashami, just like all Bengalis, I can say, aashchhe bachhar aabar habe. Shubho Vijayadashami to all, may the blessings of the eternal mother shower down on all of you!