Durga Puja At 41, Deblane:

Maha Astomi: Red for Anger to Uproot Evil.

Yesterday was like a dream. But for the families of some of my siblings like Barda, Chhotonda, and Khokonda, everyone else was here. Naturally, 41 was literally teeming with people after a long. I was in the seventh heaven when my cousin, Mrs Suparna, a retired lecturer, called out to someone :

"O holo amar bhai, English Teacher chhilo." He's my bro, a retired English Teacher. Then pointing to a charming lady standing next to her, she went on. "She's also an English Teacher at our college."

I was my usual humble self when I replied, " Tui onar sange amar tulana korchhis?" How can you compare me with her? She is, after all, a college teacher. My cousin though didn't care a hoot about my humility. That reminded me of my eldest maternal cousin, her eldest sister, Ranudi. She was also a Professor. All my siblings including Barda, Chhotonda gloated about her. 

Once my Ma was admitted to a nursing home in Dum Dum, that too at the recommendation of another cousin, Ranudi's younger sister, Sutopa Konar, a doctor by profession. While Ranudi was waiting to meet my ailing Ma, we kept talking. She told me something very intriguing that day. 

"Arey, universitier ei certificategulo ekta kagoj chhara ar ki? " What are those university certificates other than some pieces of papers? Later, I came across many people with high qualifications yet lacking in common sense. Someone may have a chequered academic background but when he starts interfering in matters quite personal to others, he is not acting out his high qualifications. You get me, don't you? Whatever, for me, it is like 'grapes are sour'. No matter what I do, where Life takes me, at the end of the day - academically, I will always be a backward student.

Later, I was informed that the charming English Lecturer was a colleague of my late cousin's younger daughter, Subhashree (Tumpa). We really live in a global village, don't we? 

One important pair to 41 yesterday was, Dwip Shankar Bharta (Baban) and his wife. They came with their daughter, who couldn't have been more than a month old. I kept a distance from her thinking that children are closest to God. They don't come to the kole (lap) of those they consider evil. 

In the evening, there was some singing going on. Payel, Baban, and Mantu, his wife, surprised me a great deal. I had to join them at Mamon's request. They started off with Kishore Kumar. We spent some time discussing why Sanu can never hold a candle to Kishore Kumar. One in a zillion, Kishore Kumar could sing a very light song like 'Jindegi ek safar hain suhana' yodeling his way to people's hearts one moment before breaking into "Pal pal dilke pass.. ", a very poignant and heart-touching song the next. A singer like Kishore Kumar is born once in a millennium. 

Anyway, Kishore made way for Sanu and others. This singing session was followed by some choral dancing during the Sandhi Puja. It was a heartening thing to see Payel, Mamom, Bulan, my daughter - all dancing to the drumbeat khullam khulla. 

My Sister enlivened the closing few minutes with her 'dhunuchi naach'. I don't know why I thought about my late nephew, Gutuda, at that time. Long ago, I saw him dancing with the dhunuchi (earthenware for burning perfumed stuff). There were people all over, standing on the balcony looking down at him from behind the railinged wall; there were people standing on the staircase; people around the courtyard, and my nephew was dancing in there like one possessed, in front of the chandi mandap. Everyone present that evening couldn't stop talking about my nephew and how wildly he danced. Sometimes twisting his wrists, sometimes holding the dhunuchi in his mouth, keeping his eyes focussed on it and moving his other hand all around to the beating of the drum. There was an air of a strong, sweet fragrance percolating over 41 that evening.

Why did such a handsome bloke have to die in the prime of his life? WHY?

My Sister enlivened the proceedings of the Sandhi Puja last evening somehow in a similar manner.

I'll end with what I told Rita, the wife of another nephew in the morning today. I'm telling her how long ago on the day of Nabomi there used to be a practice(tradition?) of slaughtering a goat. The cries "Balo, balo, Dugga Mai Ki" of the people assembled around the courtyard that afternoon made the atmosphere truly electrifying. 

That afternoon a close relative, an expert at severing animal head at a single stroke, was getting ready for the kill. I also remember how late Mejda was holding the head of the goat from one side with both hands. He was a strong man, my Mejda was. As the khara, the sharp instrument with a crescent-shaped end for severing the head, came down, there was a slight, the minutest of delay in severing the head at one stroke.

Though I was a mere lad at that time, I still remember what had happened at the time of the head being severed. There was a pin-drop-silence as a result. All thanks to Mejda's quick response, the head got severed all right. He pulled at the head from his end with all his might. The head got severed but people couldn't stop worrying due to the slight delay. It was a very bad omen, they exclaimed. 

I don't know if it was in the same year that my Mejo Jyatha passed away. Baba decided to do away with the practice of "Patha Boli", goat-slaughter from the next year on. Some happenings are part of our customs and culture. They tell you about the histories and beliefs of a family. 

I concluded by telling Rita that that was the last time the annual slaughter of the goat happened at 41. This major happening also makes one thing clear - that an expert, an experienced hand can falter; that despite the intelligent reaction or response of a member (Mejda) of the team, what is predestined will happen no matter what, that a very popular practice stretching over years, may come to an abrupt end. But all's well that ends well. The inhuman killing of innocent animals was done away with at 41. Which turned out to be a good decision for all concerned.