Faithful
After a break of ten days, the rains are back just as we welcome Gajanana, The Elephant Headed One, Akhuratha, He who has a mouse as His charioteer, Lambodara, the Pot Bellied Lover of ladoos and modaks, Avighna, Remover of Obstacles, Ganapati, Ganesha, Vinayaka, Vigneswara, Gauritanay, Rudrapriya (yes, I am fascinated by the names of ancient Gods, the many qualities they describe, as if human aspiration to some of these lofty ideals became transmuted into prayer many ages ago).
The favourite God of the city is welcomed home again, and the monsoon remembers its unfinished business – which is to make the ordinary citizen curse his luck if it’s a work or school day and celebrate if it’s a holiday when the rains pour down. It doesn’t need the rains to make the usually tumultuous start to the ten day festival a much quieter affair – the celebrations were always going to be subdued this year – too much calamity and tragedy all over the state, business is down and everybody is just about surviving. So no loud dhin-chak beats to worship He who is the Lord of Music (Kirti), no flashing blingy lights for the Lord of all Celestial Bodies (Ganadhyakshina), no obscene amounts of money being spent in the name of the Giver of Charity (Dharmik).
Around my home, there are three or four sarvajanik mandals (community celebrations). A few years ago, the music would start at six in the morning with the lovely Gayatri mantra and then go downhill from there. The volume would gradually increase, the music would become more frenetic and less spiritual and the day was shot. Each mandal attempted to out shout the next, with DJs, banks of amplifiers and sound systems, the Merciful Lord (Kripalu) smiling beatifically upon all the crass commercial show. It would end, blessedly, at around 10.30 pm only to start all over again the next morning.
This year, things are different. The mandals have agreed to tone down the music, and more pertinently, refrain from the frankly lascivious songs that had eclipsed the bhajans. Faintly audible over the sound of the rain, the Gayatri mantra is again a beautiful start to the day. It is magical to stand on the balcony, the rain pouring down (the seventeen year old sleepily asks, Is school cancelled?), listening to the prayer. Through the day, the blessed quiet continues, punctuated by the sound of a bell or a conch shell. Otherwise, there is only an aarti morning, afternoon and evening. I believe Buddhinath (Lord of Wisdom) may be pleased with the resurgent piety of his devotees. May He, who is Siddhivinayak (Bestower of Success), bless this year’s festival with peace and fulfillment.
And what of the aftermath? Ten days from now, when we bid Him farewell, and leave Him marooned in the murky low tide? He is Gajakarna (He who has eyes like an elephant). He gazes at us from the mud and filth in which we have left Him. He is Shoorpakarna (The Large Eared one). Does He hear our prayers even as His many discarded physical forms defile the ocean?
Perhaps the time has come to welcome Him in the silent sacred space of our mind and then there would be no need to say goodbye every year. There is no prayer, no piety in the poisonous colours and indestructible materials we use to give Him form and life year after year. It is very hard to gaze into His lovely auspicious face (Sumukha), as it lies, half smeared with mud, at any beach in the city, for days and sometimes weeks after the final goodbye.
Even (the Lord of the Gods) Devadeva himself may turn away from us as we heedlessly stumble further into Kaliyug. But He is also Namasthetu (Vanquisher of Evils and Sins). He is The Abode of Forgiveness (Kshamakaram). May He forgive us for the destruction we cause in His name.