Past-life regression and future-life progression are two wonder therapies enthralling seekers today. Can the yesterday and tomorrow of our life be known today? Can it help us understand this present moment?
By Saurabh Bhattacharya
The fervently devout worship of Durga, mother-goddess, is immortalized through
the lens of photographer Suman Sarkar
Devi is coming. Slaps of
clay on a bamboo-husk dummy greet the supreme manifestation of Shakti. Rough fingertips
lightly press the nose into shape, tenderly nurse the bosom of the Mother. The
hands of the Creator, ten awesome symbols of power both benign and destructive,
are massaged by muddy hands of the creator.
Legend has it that Durga
was created by Shiva to decimate the marauding demon Mahisasura. But legends are
there to adorn Truth with the trappings of a tale. And the Truth is that the dark
miasma of ignorance must give way to the light of realization. It is only a matter
of time.
That time has come. Outside the sculptor's workshop, a gentle
breeze of sharad (autumn) strokes the snowy-white fields of pollinated
grass. Inside, brow furrowed in concentration, the sculptor turns artist as he
brings the Mother's trinetra (third eye) to the fore with light strokes
of the brush. Stage by delicate stage, the Devi takes on an anthropomorphic tenor.
Decorated with weapons and ornaments, seated on a fierce lion, She moves from
the devoted hands of the sculptor before the worshipping gaze of people.
Devi arrives. A deafening crescendo of drums and cymbals greet the ultimate
symbol of Glory. Streams of devotees bow their heads in awe as the purohit
(priest) begins the ritual of prana-pratishtana, invoking the spirit of
the Goddess to enter the idol. Swept off their feet by sheer joy, frenzied worshippers
swirl around, holding a smoking cup of incense.
For the next
five days, the Mother's effulgence embraces all. The power of prayer is in the
air and nothing can keep the devotee from breathing it in. For five days, the
supreme intoxication of spirituality rules the roost. And finally, on the fifth
day, Vijaya Dashami...
Devi returns. Undulating waves of a river lap
their farewell to the eternal personification of Grace. A sorrowful, yet strangely
happy sun dips over the horizon, its dying rays lingering over the floating idol.
Shorn of all color, it still retains the heavenly beauty of divinity. The riverbank,
churned by endless feet—and tears—of devotees, returns to the placidity
of yore. Life trudges back—but with the flicker of a smile and joyous words
in the heart: Asche bochor aabaar hobey (It will happen next year too).
Durga never came. Durga never went. Durga is eternally here.
