By Ananya S Guha
The coming of Durga Puja in the months of September and October mesmerised my infantile imagination, in childhood. They rake memories of rains, pandals, the arati, the bhog or offering and finally the immersion.
The immersion day would be a sad one, end of festivities, advent of a gloomy winter and of course the dreaded end term examinations. Added to these was the fetish for new clothes. As if it was man remade, as if the incarceration of being bodily housed in old clothes was despicable, damnable.
Pujas had that striking coloration of fruits, sweets, garish clothes, colourful dress, songs and of course eateries. The Kumari Puja day was as auspicious as Goddess herself. The statue of the Goddess with 10 arms, and a third eye with her consorts was imposing to say, the least, but the evil incarnate, the asura did not seem to be very perturbed. His response, wrathful.
I wondered though sometimes, why the evil incarnate had to be paid obeisance too! My mother soberly replied that good and evil co-exist. But I was not to be outdone by philosophical shams. All that I needed was to be peripatetic from place to place, comparing and making notes as to which idol(s) looked better than the rest.
The backdrop sketches of mountains lured my imagination, to a mythic world of forests and mountains, which had somewhat of an opacity about it.
Where did the Mother emerge from I asked? From the clouds, turbulent seas, sometimes coming on a boat, amidst inclement weather, sometimes riding an animal were the replies. This was not at all clear, but why to Shillong? I asked petulantly. God is everywhere, is omnipresent, someone said. I started wrestling with good and evil, omnipresence, the question of evil personified, Durga’s sons and daughters, each possessing distinctive qualities. But what intrigued was the half elephant, half god. Mother said that is God’s form and shape. Durga too, she said appears in all shapes. My puerile imagination was insatiable.
Ramakrishna Mission and its precincts was where we loved to go, or rather it became mandatory. The bhajans in the evenings were a sop to my early childhood religiosity. Why don’t we have Durga Puja at home? I asked my mother. The answer was far from satisfactory. Only some are chosen for that, she answered. I muttered beneath a heavy breath.
After Ramakrishna Mission, it was compulsory to go to Laban, Jail Road, Rilbong, Dhankheti, Nam Ghor, Kench’s Trace, Polo Ground, Kali Mandir, there really seemed to be no end of it.
In the seventies and eighties the crowds seemed to be both deafening and maddening. These eras also saw change in decoration of pandals, images of goddesses being cast in ships, war fields, mountainous terrain, armed with instruments having a power, thrust and force of technology at its best. I marvelled, fantasy, imagination and reality blurred my senses. The fictive became real, in those three or four days.
One year in the early nineties I had an opportunity to visit every pandal in Shillong. From Barapathar to GTC, idol viewing became a mission, touched with boastfulness. I visited ALL. Some friends seemed to be envious.
Shillong has a history of Durga Puja tradition, more quiescent than festivities in Kolkata or Guwahati, more touch of the human warmth and personal. It was as if friendships and relationships were rejuvenated, it was as if in the season of autumn vistas of a new, ripening world had opened and unfurled on our impressionistic minds. “There were seasons” in the sun. I bathed in the sun, attired in new clothes, eternally wishing that this would never end. What mystified me most as a child was the Siva Parvati mystique. But the Pujas must prolong. I waited with patience for Lakshmi Puja, and Kali Puja, The vestiges would crumble.
But they had to be clung on to… Immersion day was as remorseful as failing in an examination.
Pujas are whorled with Shillong’s green and breathtaking landscape, clammy hills and the first songs of autumnal fervor.
(The author is regional director, Indira Gandhi National Open
University)
