Mahalaya, and the emotions it evokes in me

Baajlo Tomar Aalor Benu
Maatlo Je Bhubon
Aaj Probhate Se Sur Shune Khule Dinu Mon
Antare Ja Lukiye Raaje
Arun Binayai Se Sur Baaje
Ai Ananda Jagye Sobaar Madhuro Amantran
Maatlo Je Bhubon!....

For the last thirty eight years, as long as I can remember, I have woken with this song on this day. No matter where I lived, I have listened to Mahalaya on this day. It evokes a myriad of feelings in me. Life has been through so much in these years, this one aspect of my life has remained constant.

Mahalaya is about hope, about Devi Durga waging a war with the demon, Mahishasur (Buffalo Demon) and killing him after a vigorous battle. It was a time when the demons were wrecking heaven and earth, Durga was born from that extreme helplessness and pain. The story is about how she was created to bring about destruction of evil, how she was endowed, how she marched to war, how the demon changed forms to deceive her, how she bravely fought, how she won at the end. She was beautiful, full of hope and inspiration, required to do the most difficult task of fighting the worst enemy, how she wakes up and how she delivers. The fellow gods give her the weapons, and Durga then goes into war riding a lion, fighting the demon and his million forms and after a very difficult battle manages to pierce his heart with the spear.

This is not the only story surrounding Mahalaya, there are many more. One such story is of Karna (from Mahabharata), after he died in the battle, slain by his brother Arjuna, went to heaven was not given food since he did not pay respects to his ancestors while he was living. In his defense, he did not know who his ancestors were as he was an adopted child. He was sent down to earth during this new moon day of Mahalaya, to spend then next fortnight performing all the rites for his ancestors (Pitri Pakhya). We Bengalis, spend this auspicious day remembering our ancestors and paying respect (Torpon). The other story is that Rama (from Ramayana) performed this puja before the went to war with Ravana. It is said he had run out of lotuses to offer to the goddess and was about to cut out his lotus-like eye to make an offering and the goddess appeared and stopped him, she blessed him for the upcoming war. Another story is of Durga coming to visit her parents (Himalaya) with her four kids - Lakshmi (goddess of wealth), Saraswati (goddess of learning), Karthik (god that helps people overcome vices), and Ganesha (god of prosperity, and quite a Momma's boy!).

I was never a fan of religion or the gods. Born in India, I grew up with the mythological stories, with Ramayana and Mahabharata, and the thousands of stories about gods and demons, of good and evil. Those stories are dear to me, very dear. They are woven in the fabric of my existence. I don't try to rationalize them, I don't try to also find the scientific background for all that. It does not matter whether it happened for real, or if the gods will get angry if I do not "believe" it for real. I like these stories for their allegory, I see them as stories that show you how life really is and gives you wisdom through example. Yes, I find it very unfortunate that the population of India takes some of these stories and characters to the level of fanaticism and fight each other over them, and fail to imbibe the ultimate truth of these stories in their life. But I can't do anything about that, no matter how much I try to change the world, I only have the power to look into my being and change myself.

Durga puja is during early autumn, and Mahalaya is on the first moon of that season. Back in India, this is the time when the rains are gone, the mornings are enveloped in a seductive mist, there is a slight chill in the air that makes you draw the bed sheet over you in the mornings. The sheuli flowers are in full bloom spreading their heady fragrance about the neighborhood, so is the kaash phool blooming in the vast open fields. During such a time, in the pre-dawn hours, when you are in that place between sleep and waking up (tandra), that is when Mahalaya is played over the radio. The beaming resonant voice of Birendra Krishna Bhadra fills the home, punctuated by the 'aagomoni' (welcome) songs rendered in the early morning ragas - Bhairavi, Marwa, Lalit, Poorvi, etc. You wake up to "Jaago Tumi Jaago....", your whole being resonating with the message of hope and happiness.

As I look back into my childhood, that was one morning, my dad used to let me stay in bed till the whole Mahalaya was complete. I used to feel so peaceful, just lying in bed, not a care in the world, reveling in the present moment, listening to the beautiful songs and chanting. I did not understand the words then, but they resonated with me. Chanting invoking the goddess, singing about her beauty, her radiance, her promise, and her victory over evil. The words are some in Bengali, some Vedic Sanskrit, some in Hindi, all of them so poetic, so melodious.  I am told that my maternal grandfather used to do Chandi Paath every year at their local puja. Too bad I never got to hear it, he passed away when I was two. After I came to the US, we could only listen to Mahalaya on CD/online and not on the radio anymore. My husband did not care much for it, so sometimes I played it in the mornings, but mostly listened to it on my own on my way to work, on this day every year. It always seemed to swell my heart with emotions.

Emotions that come up are a mix of nostalgia, of sadness, of happiness, of helplessness, of hope, all intertwined in a strong fabric that lays on me as the music permeates my pores. All my five senses and memories come alive with this music. Puja of my childhood was one of expectation and happiness in Ranchi - new clothes, holidays, spending time with friends, no studies, performing plays and songs at the local pandal, eating bhog everyday, staying up late, complete freedom, smell of the incense, giving anjali, folding the lotus petals for the puja at night, dancing dhunuchi, trying out the food stalls, giggling with friends, and of course as we grew up , those fleeting glances at the boys. Few pujas were spent at my ancestral home in either Barrackpore or Jaynagar Majilpur, and I remember the happy times spent with my cousins, including the trivial fights we had over a face powder, or lipstick, or a string of fake pearls. The lights of those pujas had a different glow to them, flickering tube lights, the smell of suburbs with incense all about, and the beats of dhaak uplifting the spirits everyday. 

As I grew up, puja changed for me. My years in Kolkata were very memorable. In 1991, I was falling in love, that first puja was simmering with anticipation to see him, waiting on the veranda to watch him coming over to my place, only to hold hands for a minute while no one was looking. That flicker in my heart, the missed beats, I still feel that sometimes when I remember those days. Then, as usual, he had to go home. I went about the rest of the puja days, visiting family across town, going to pandals all about the city, and feeling his essence with me all the time, imagining of how beautiful puja would be when we will be married. Seven long years were spent that way, in dreaming, until we moved together to the US in 1998. For the next three years, puja was again different, not like I dreamed it to be. We spent time at the temple at Buffalo during the puja weekend, helping with the puja food cooking, and then rehearsing for plays for Bijoya (victory) celebrations at Rochester. I used to wear sarees, my wedding sarees, and I was so bad at it!! I also remember cooking goat meat curry for 50+ people, that was quite a challenge for the new cook in me!! 

Puja at Buffalo /Rochester was great but no substitute for the puja feeling in India. I longed for the two of us spend a puja in Kolkata, make my dreams to come true. But we were students/early career workers, who could not get time off during mid September, no way! And the tickets were so expensive! I think most of all I wished about playing sindoor. Ever since I was a kid, I watched in awe, on the day of Dasami, when the married women would pay respect to the goddess and bid her goodbye by putting sindoor on her and 'feeding' her some shondesh. Then, they would do that to each other. At the end of the session, everyone's face was red with the sindoor. It was a time of happy laughter and shared feeling of love. Women were seeking blessings from the goddess for their happy marital life and wishing each other the same. While in Buffalo/Rochester, somehow I never got the chance to play sindoor and it was a desire I kept dormant in my heart. In the following years in Irvine, Raleigh, Australia, I did not even attend any puja. To be honest, I did not connect with the 'probasi' group anymore. I felt awkward attending these events. These events are very much about local Bengalis coming together, meeting up over food, flaunting their latest sarees and jewelry from Kolkata, have their young kids perform on stage, or talk about older kids going to every which top university in the US, etc. I don't share that common story, I have no kids, and no interest in latest fashion from Kolkata or jewelry, and so I feel very out of place. In 2012, Baba (dad) was visiting and we did go to the local San Diego celebration for a brief 15 minutes, that was enough for me. The pujas here in the US just don't invoke that feeling of elation in me. It seems lacking the spirit.

But I have to mention, after 14 years of not celebrating a "real" puja, I did visit Kolkata in 2011 and got the chance to absorb and revel in the essence of puja. I landed in Kolkata on the day of Mahalaya, and I listened to the program on my mobile device during the flight, the emotions of homecoming were very strong. As the plane landed, I was primed, anticipation was high. It was a fabulous trip. I spent almost all of it at my home in Patuli, at our local puja that Maa and Baba helped build over the last two decades. Maa was very active in those festivities, and also fell sick for the first time during that puja. It was to be her last puja, but we did not know that at that time, cancer was eating her insides. I feel so sad and happy at the same time when I remember that puja. I did get to play sindoor, for the first time in my 12 years of marriage, and I got to  play with my mom too. It was indeed a dream come true! But then, that was to be the last sindoor I would play, for my marriage broke up in the ensuing years.

Sindoor Khela, 2011 Durga Puja at Patuli

So, as I look back on Mahalaya every year, I am enveloped in a pervasive sense of a sad kind of happiness. I know that does not make literal sense, maybe if I were a poet, I could put the right words to describe it. Mahalaya is very sweet, it is full of promise and hope, of victory, of joy, of sharing and loving one another. The spirit is of renewal and rejoicing. For me it is also full of this pain of time gone by that will never return, it reminds me how ephemeral life and everything linked to it is. We ride the waves each year and the tides ebb and flow. Nothing ever remains constant. No matter how hard we try to hold on to everything we consider precious, it changes, it evolves, it arises and passes away. Today, as I write, I have Mahalaya playing, and I feel as if I am just an observer on the bank of my own life, where my life is but a river that flows on with all its eddies and currents and at times calm, under the surface teaming with life, and death.