"All that was, all that is, and all that will ever be"
Will love be the strongest force that holds them together or be the ultimate tragedy that breaks them apart?
With death looming like a sword over their heads, endless efforts of a lover to prot...
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Anu
Sitting on the edge of the stage where the altar is set up, I decorate the aarti taali with flowers, incenses, sindoor, haldi, betel nuts, and leaves, lighting the brass diya in the center. Transcending above me is the Durga murti. Her skin a bright olive complexion, drawing to the kohl around her dark eyes and flowing black locks. Red vermillion fills the center of her head stopping just above the scared third eye.
Adorned with the heavy jewelry and a marigold mala around her neck flowing down to her stomach, each of her hands is weaponized with an object to destroy evil. Draped in a bright red and gold saree for the last night of Navratri before the visarjan ceremony where she is immersed in a natural body of water.
The first ritual for this last night is nine young girls, who haven't physically matured to womanhood are dressed in their finest sarees and are worshipped as physical representations of the Devi. The girls are seen as an embodiment of purity and feminine power, their innocence and clear souls are considered auspicious.
Also happening tonight, married women gather in great pomp offering each other and the murti sindoor in the form of play. They dance to the dhol feeding each other sweets to bring bliss and longevity to their marriages, smearing vermillion on cheeks and the forehead. Sitting on the stage I watch as the women dip sindoor on a betel leaf applying it to the cheek of the idol. Maa feeds some sweetmeat to my chachie, while aunty Jaya rubs sindoor on her cheeks. They laugh and dance going around the two huge drums.
Being here for Navratri has been one of the most surreal experiences of my life. Fasting from sunrise to sunset, puja throughout the day, watching the dances, all the amazing food and of course the outfits. Walking across the stage I fix the pallu of my dark emerald-green, gold-embroidered saree, over my head.
Clasping three red double-petal hibiscuses, I offer a short prayer. Also praying for the peace of mind and strength to move on with my life. Placing the flowers at the feet of the murti, I touch the tips of my fingers to my eyes, passing my palms over my head. Collecting the taali from the pandit I rest it on a marble table so anyone wanting to participate is free to do so.
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In a separate hall, the buffet-style dinner is set up. There are three separate sections set up for appetizers and entrees, desserts, and drinks. All of the tables even the ones set up outside are filled. Joining the line, ready for some actual food, I recognize the tall, lean man standing in front of me, filling out his green kurta to a T. His black hair growing down to the nape of his neck. Tapping his shoulder, he glances over in his usual reserved, broody mannerism.
