Kumar: On this poignant dusk of Ashwin,
I sit in solitude on the revered banks of Hooghly
The fading dhaak beats haunt me ….the rows of kaash flowers disappearing in the horizon taunt me…. remind me of the fervorous celebrations of the autumnal carnival….
The chill in the air warns me of the remorseless winter coming up!
The silvery waves have washed the jute bodies tied to bamboo frames back on the shore,
The rotten marigold wreath around what seems to be Your waist is all that our obeisance has got reduced to,
The mud that formed Your arms and face have melted and returned to the unforgiving river,
The colors which brought out the magnanimity of Your three eyes and the endearment in Your smile
Have lost their identities and become a part of the all pervading darkness!
All that remains of Your magnificence and my hard work are these ugly jute skeletons!
Was it just three months before when it all began?
With these weather- beaten vein-lined hands, I molded Your organs,
The oil lamp flickered ….. The playful kalbaisakhi winds did their share of mischiefs.
But I carved You, oblivious to any worldly discomfort, oblivious to the hunger and the deficiencies in my household….I carved You with love and care!
I painted You with the hues of hope and prosperity, covered You in brightest benarasi I could find and decked You with ornaments of gold and rubby;
When the paddy seemed to be too scarce for my children who sat with me under the trickling roof!
I knew I would ask for my share of boons from You
Once I was successful in creating Your form….so elegant….so eternal…
But alas Mother! O Divine Blissful Mother!
As I went up to touch Your feet and pray on the coveted morning of Mahaashthami,
A chill ran down my spine and tears welled up in my eyes
I remembered Your image in clay that was not clothed ,
I was that unfortunate son who saw You unguarded and barren!
I sculpted the curve of Your hips and Your rotund breasts with these cursed hands,
I remembered running my fingers on Your lips as I painted them crimson,
I remembered touching Your cheeks and Your nose and Your thighs….to shape a befitting body for the consort of Shiva!
With those doomed hands, I could not bring myself to beg for Your generosity.
Multitude of other fortunate mortals immersed their hearts in the ecstasy of devotion,
The echoes of the hymns read by the learned Pujaari and the copper bells ringing seemed melancholic,
The fragrance of shiuli flowers and burning incense sticks appeared disconsolate,
I ran back to the doleful darkness of my diminutive hut,
I sobbed as I realized that even the demon You slew was less wretched than me,
As he lay on on Your auspicious altha painted feet….awaiting salvation!
It is Bijoya…I didn’t want to see the farewell,
Women in crisp colorful taant sarees, brandishing the vermilion on their faces,
Force feeding You sondesh made of molten gur and areca nuts daubed in betel leaves,
The capricious smoke from the dhunuchi made everything a blur,
As robust young men carried You on their shoulders,
Commanding more than cajoling You to come back the next year in their loud gleeful voices.
The emptiness in my heart started resonating with the void of this village, this country, this planet …
As You headed back to the abode of Your beloved!
Devi, tell me if I could call You “Mother “? Tell me if I should weave a garland of my tears as the last piece of my love as You vanish into the holy waters…..striping me of every last hope for redemption?
Devi: Kumar, my son!
Look at me!
I am Devi,
The Devi who pervades in all beings in the form of power, forgiveness and faith!
I am the dispeller of poverty ,pain and fear and the bestower of boons,
My strength is incomparable and My beauty is unparalleled.
I am the substratum of the entire cosmos and the destroyer of mighty Asuras,
Look at My face which shimmers like te full moon’s orb as I say this-
I have existed since the beginning of time
And the world is nothing but an infinitesimally small part of Me,
Yet it was through your art that the world found Me,
Your hands elevated me to the temples in their hearts, where they placed me in a form that you envisioned…
You sculpted not just My bosom and lips,
But My feet too….the feet whose mere sight makes humans find peace and assurance.
And has not every suckling infant, tied his legs around his mother’s hips and clung to her breasts for quenching his thirst?
Kumar that doesn’t make you any less of a son or Me any less of a mother!
It is your unceasing struggle in your poverty stricken hut that gives the mortals reasons to rejoice,
The mirth of this festival is your gift to them,
Then how can this be an apt culmination of the festivities to leave you so forlorn?
Kumar, it is strength of your arms as you dig the loads of mud that empowers Me,
It is the beauty of your mind that makes My eyes sparkle and My lips glimmer.
I come back to your planet, having debunked age old norms of the shahstras to embrace you My son!
I am incomprehensible even to Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva,
I am the resort of all!
You have seen me barren and uncovered…you are a witness of the fire from which the creation sprang out…and into which it shall disappear!
The womb that is primordial sojourn of all men and gods…the ambrosia that nurtures them!
Do not call yourself unfortunate!
By your touch and love, I have found My beauty, My prowess and My sensuality;
And by My grace, you shall find a mind that is bereft of fear and doubt!
Give Me Kumar the garland of your tears….as I have become more compete with every adornment you have chosen for Me….and if you say, let this be the final one….
By Kuntal Sen, MD
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