Bengali Liturgy

Quintessential Bengalis bask in the liturgical Durga Puja (barowari) for four days straight. 

What do they do?

Drape the choicest ethnic wears and accessories procured throughout the year and consigned to an unreachable corner to restrain or stamp out any vestigial urge of wearing them before the coveted festivities - new clothes for Durga Puja is not a choice, it’s a mandate and an excuse of year-long shopping!

Offer Ma fruit, flower, pushpanjali, steeped in apparent reverence while squinting to cheat a bit - speculating what others are wearing - kaani, bhujodi, if that thick necklace is gold,  who’s  looking more gorgeous in silk or matching mine kora bangles, if I’m up to the bars others have set; an inner voice harks to concentrate on the ridiculously complex Sanskrit chants to be uttered following the Purohit’s cues; I follow reluctantly! It’s undeniably utterly confusing at times - praying ‘haro priye’ - umm… I resort to epanorthosis pleading Ma to not misconstrue her epithet of mighty Lord Siva’s consort, and I reiterate to keep  my loved ones safe!

Conscious of limited amount of flowers (read petals) available for offering, three-in-one pushpanjali is wrapped up in a haste to queue up for food!

When has Khichurhi Proshad ever tasted ambrosial without achieving it navigating endless queuing to the counter. The long wait, spiced up with socialising (read gossiping), before a plate of boiled lentil-rice, eggplant 🍆 fritters, mushy labrha, chutney, and gulab jamoon is handed out, adds an intangible layer of deliciousness, more so as it ends the super long fasting that food-loving Bengalis are hardly used to.

With mouth watering proshad at finger tips, we flat squat or easy pose pretty much anywhere or jostle to a table if at all available - there’s no stopping from gorging on! 

With the busiest part of the day closed, we mill around the premises buying merchs or just lollygagging till the wait is over for Sandhya Arati and cultural performances. 

… and in all the bustle, somewhere Ma appears to have descended to Earth with her all-encompassing love and blessings…

Sensitive inner minds catch her transmogrify from mrinmoyee to chinmoyee momentarily behind the veil of smoke plume from censers and incense sticks - the 108-lotus garland shifts slightly, 108 diyas glow warmly, 108 bilwa-patra dipped in ghee simmer silently in leaping tongues of fire contained within hom kundo. The subtlety is often masked by Dhakis’ rhythmic trumpeting of huge dhaks adorned in vibrant cloths and catkins…an endeavour to give her some space, some privacy.

And what after the razzmatazz of these four days of festivities come to close?

What else but commence countdown, মা আসতে ৩** দিন, and shopping for the next! After all, we say lifecycle!

Dona, Sydney, September ‘26