DEDICATED TO: lonelylamb1 HumbleWinner yaris052018
Thank you for being strangers who helped when I needed it❤
"I don't know if it was the warmth I craved or perhaps it was the light.
It beckoned me closer to replace the dimness, replace it with the bright
Flame that flickered;
Wavering in the breeze,
Struggling to stay alight.
I shivered, moving closer, the temptation
To get warm, to seek the light from close
Was overwhelming.
It hurt. It pained.
It took me a lot to stay awake,
Not succumbing to the cold,
That little beacon of faith, the lit lamp,
Calling me close.
I struggled to reach what had tempted me all along,
My feet pained, the soles bleeding,
The tiny splinters of glass and wood piercing,
The flame alas, flickered one last time, the brightness dimming,
The warmth rendered, an unfortunate illusion.
I cried in agony,
My feet gave up.
I fell to the ground, the cold biting, the strength that had been, remained no longer.
My will to survive alas, killed itself,
Just as soon as the lit lamp of faith smothered, leaving behind residue ashen,
Replicating my frail self laying fatigued, the strength gone,
lifeless.
-Elegiac_Damsel
______
10th October
Third person's point of view:
Farewell; a word that conveys separation, the harbinger of despondency and melancholy.
In Bengal, while bidding farewell, it is customary to use the declarative phrase roughly translating to, "I am coming". Although it may sound like an oxymoron, mothers and grandmothers have taken care, over the years, to impart to the new generations the relevance of this seemingly irrelevant practice.
Through this phrase, one never mars this occasion marking separation with gloom, but with hope and anticipation that one would meet again, that the paths set to diverge today would converge again sometime in the future.
It was the 10th day of the Autumn waxing moon; Dashami.
During Sharadiya Navratri, the Mother Goddess, Durga, is believed to be visiting her maiden home on Earth along with her four kids; Ganesha, Kartikeya, Lakshmi, and Saraswati. She is thus, welcomed home like a daughter, fed and pampered, celebrated and worshipped in every lane and avenue in Bengal. The festivities of Autumn, thus, are a celebration of homecoming, of welcome, of the daughter who is a warrior, beautiful, fierce, and invincible, feared, loved, and revered.
On the 10th day of the waxing moon, that day the nation celebrates the victory of good over evil, the victory of Durga over Mahishasur, the victory of Lord Rama over Ravana, the Goddess bids farewell to her home on Earth, proceeding towards her heavenly abode alongside the destroyer of the universe, the serene and ascetic Shiva.
The local associations and organisers of the 5-day long festival geared up for the immersion of the deity. It was barely 10 in the morning, and the last ceremonial obeisance had already been paid. With moist eyes and a heavy heart, the priest had whispered into the ears of the universal mother, the parting words, asking her to be on her way, to heaven, to return the coming year, and to shower her grace upon her children. The darpan visarjan, the ritual that signified the departure of the Goddess from the earth, was underway, a ceremonial immersing of a small handmirror, as it reflected the idol's serene, beautiful face.
YOU ARE READING
Mrinalini♦
General FictionThe households in India have been run by women primarily, following the centuries old tradition. From taking care of the child's breakfast to ensuring that the mother in-law's morning cup of tea is served on time, it is always the woman of the house...
