Teesta Review: A Journal of Poetry, Volume 7, Number 2. November 2024. ISSN: 2581-7094
Fireflies
--- Chaitali Maitra
Sudha was lying down after a long and gruelling day;
recently, she has been a little unwell. It was the third day after the Durga
Puja was over. The next day was Lakshmi
Puja. It was a few hours before the dusk befell and she was complacently
overhearing the bubbly and chirpy conversation between her grandchildren, some
of whom lived abroad; they were here only for the festive times. The seven
consecutive days, bringing the Pujo to an end, took a heavy toll on her health
and energies. Lying down in the late afternoon, gave her the precious slice of
a relaxing mood.
Sudha pleasingly thought how powerful a binding
factor these few days could be. The entire family was here and the otherwise
lonely and almost dilapidated house, in a village precinct, outside Kolkata,
was brimming with life. The parents were having a nice time with rather little
to do; the kids, who are in touch only electronically, round the year, were
enjoying the physical presence and the proximity of one another. For these few
days, there was no electronic communication – something unimaginable for them but
satisfying for Sudha.
‘I remember the shiuli tree outside the house, full
of hundreds of fireflies’, said Rima.
‘I have never seen fireflies here’, replied the
youngster Jhimli.
‘Usually, they are seen in the twilight hours’,
snapped Pintu.
‘The conspicuous production of light, is a mating
signal’, continued Pintu, who was a life-science student in a leading city
college. He further went on to explain that fireflies are threatened due to
pollution, deforestation, pesticides and a host of other causes.
‘Yes’, said Rima, ‘maybe that’s the reason why some
places have a sanctuary for them like Georgia and a very recent one in
Bangladesh, ‘Sundarbans Firefly Sanctuary’ operational since 2019’.
Sudha was soon going to turn an octogenarian: she
was remembering her salad days. Married to a family, noted for celebrating
Durga Puja, for over two centuries, meant a lot of hardship for her generation.
Those were different times. Electricity was available but was scarce;
artificial lights were not encouraged; the evening chores were to be completed
with the help of kerosene lamps. New clothes and ornaments were to be worn only
to be seen partially, in muted light.
Things have changed; now, her grandchildren could
sit inside the house in the neon light and enjoy a long and informal chat, with
intermittent hot snacks that were served with Sudha’s directions. Every
generation has their preferred means, to relax for these few days. Tea and
snacks were abundant. The concept of ‘time’ was no longer associated with the atmosphere
of the village.
Outside, now, it was quiet. The hired lights which
bathed the foyer during the Puja days were now packed off. Everyone who came
from the city or abroad were slowly getting ready to leave soon.
Lakshmi Puja was imminent for which, the
preparations were almost done. Sudha took care of every little details – the
paddy sheaths, the coconut laddus, the earthen pots, beautifully painted full
of murki and other sweets offered and finally, the big pot of milk in which was
placed heaps of scraped coconut, flour, bananas, cashews and raisins. This,
after the puja, would be mixed together with a lot of care and respect, and
distributed amongst all in small, earthenware pots. Since the Lakshmi Puja is a
quiet affair, the drummers too were paid their dues and left for their
respective villages. Now, outside the large house, only darkness prevailed.
This darkness had its own language and existed in
capital letters. After the ‘bisarjan’, it was unusually dark in the foyer,
where the morning rituals would be performed. Insects of sorts would throb in
millions and one could not even sit at peace inside the house, without the
mosquito net. Candles were common and would be used often with an arbitrary
attitude – to be put off once their need was over. The pace of life was
controlled by darkness and for the city dwellers, this would be slowed down by
at least three times. The uncertainly of darkness in the environment challenged
for navigation and this would be done more instinctively and less physically,
usually, by people who lived there. The tall trees around the house, reinforced
the darkness and the only sound would be the rustle of the leaves and the
branches, under the starlit sky. The strong smell of the white flowers like
tuberose and jasmine and night phlox imparted a softness to the dark and
created an aura of sanctity in the area where goddess Durga was worshipped. This
darkness was also soft and protective; and overall, it was the part of life, at
least for Sudha.
In her heart of hearts, Sudha knew that this area
had a faint silvery tinge in that diffused light in which neither tree, nor
wall, nor a small animal could cast a shadow. Every year the goddess of wealth
is worshipped and Sudha takes great care to look into the formalities; also,
every year she longs to see the white, barn owl, which has a traditional and
symbolic association with Goddess Lakshmi. It is associated with the
enhancement of wealth and prosperity in the family. Unlike Durga, who is
worshipped as a family deity, the altar for Lakshmi is done by the ladies of
the family, who have their husbands. They hold each other, blow the conch
shell, chew the betel leaf, make a shrill sound (called huludhoni) as they
invert a big cooking basin of clay, which is full of paddy. Once the paddy is
fully poured out, vermillion is applied to the basin and the wooden owls are
positioned. They are the divine vehicle (vahan) of Lakshmi. Sudha meticulously
arranged for everything; but, a widow, she could not be a part of this.
With the twilight hours approaching, Sudha, sat up
on her bed and began to get ready for the special evening. She changed her
clothes, combed her hair, and wore the air of readiness, absolutely necessary
for the specific time. The priest had arrived; he was ushered in the house and
made to sit respectfully before he headed for the puja-lobby. Sudha alerted
everybody and asked them to assemble in the dalan. Now, she slowly walked out
of the house, glancing at the shiuli tree outside which has been standing like a
gatekeeper for so many decades of her married life; there were many fireflies,
moving softly amidst the dark and the shilouetted tree. They imparted a magical
and uncanny air to the atmosphere. As she was at the closest point from the
tree she saw a fairly big and essentially white bulk perching on the tree;
before she could fix her gaze on it, the tree shook and a white, massive barn
owl jumped into the almost dark twilight sky with its wings widely spread!
Sudha, absolutely overwhelmed, smiled her happiest smile. The gross bulk of the
bird was remarkable and slowly but surely, it melted into the horizon of the
twilight sky.
The puja was over and the family was enjoying the
aftermath with the prasad and the mood of the hour. Sudha felt a throttling
pain in her chest; she tried to walk away from the puja room after bowing to
the goddess. But within a few steps she could not see anything; she searched
for a helping hand but fell down. She was taken to the bed and made to lie
down, thronged by the youngers. But
Sudha could hardly talk. Within a short while she was delirious and muttered,
‘I saw the fireflies; they were lights themselves’.
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