I am looking at a picture of my home.

The sky is blue. The sun glows. Thin clouds scatter like kite tails unraveling in the wind. Somewhere, the voice of the weatherman drifts in. Dashain aayo.

My mind flickers through the calendar.

Autumn has begun its alchemy, churning greens into auburns. The pallid Darjeeling sun, still damp from the moody monsoons, dares to shine and outshine the sleepy old town.

And because festivals are invariably synonymous with cleansing, the great scouring has begun.

I see-

In every household in motion, mothers transform into robots, scurrying in and out to lay blankets, wash carpets, and spread ever-damp bath towels in the warm sunlight spilling across the veranda.

Memories are nothing but markers in time. I see my mother holding a bottle of Brasso, carrying a heap of khas bara, commanding us to polish it to perfection for the puja.

The blue-and-white bottle with its red cap, the ‘Brasso aesthetic,’ still holds appeal, though the infatuation was brief. The acrid yet addictive smell of Brasso repelled me, like a mosquito hovering over an insecticide coil, and I turned into an instant rebel. But of course, you can never escape a war led by a mother—you become her default captive.

Out on the veranda, I see myself, warmed by the sun, and I begin the polishing session. My nostrils turn numb from Brasso’s sting.

I recall how the chore felt like a punishment writ large. The first innings was all about plotting the grand escape. Thoughts of friends languishing in leisure made me burn with envy. But the truth was, every child suffered the same malady. Loud music from the neighbour’s stereo offered much-needed relief.

It was the year of Hrithik Roshan, and the neighbourhood celebrated him as though he were the son of our soil. Teenagers limped joyfully to the hook step, swaying to Kaho Naa… Pyaar Hai. The song lifted my spirits even as Brasso blackened my hands. I whispered to myself: Time for new clothes. It was our family ritual to end the shopping spree with a plate of hot chowmein and sizzling pork sausages at the Great China restaurant on H.D. Lama Road. Instantly, my hands infused with renewed power, grew swift, rhythmical, with every stroke of Brasso. There were occasional stops to practice Hrithik’s hook steps, sometimes battling thoughts of new shoes selling out at Mahakal Market, the lone shopping complex back then.

I stop here to smile. But I feel a shiver slowly filling the contours of my body. A dark silhouette of another memory hangs loose. That year, around Dashain, a man from the tea gardens committed suicide after their wages were postponed.

In the corridors of my mind, the local channel plays out.

The vignettes appear.

A shabby room, shielded by tin walls, soggy earth for a floor, two children, the dead man’s son and daughter, dirty as though they had been wrestling in the mud, smiling shyly into the camera. A manifestation of a young mind’s bereavement. Then, the camera traversed the expanse of the courtyard. Neighbours, all tea-pickers, stood aghast, dirtied by injustice. A yellow gumboot is peeking into view. Wearing it was a man whose eyes seemed to have left Earth long ago.

The cold churning returns. Hollow like a hunger pang. When I was a teenager, the only name I could ascribe to the sentiment was trepidation. I had never seen that side of my community. Now, decades later, I recognise it as guilt. Everything I wanted for Dashain was someone else’s three months’ wages.

Then I see a cup of black tea.

I despise the fact that we drank tea at the cost of our own people’s lives.

“This is tragic, but this is life,” the neighbours gossip pools about my ears. They are sipping hot black tea. The audacity to gulp down the truth, I recall, had baffled me.

Little did I know, the joke was on me.

Darjeeling tea never stayed in Darjeeling. It was not for the locals.

‘You are an imposter.’ I hear a voice in my head.

Growing up, I never expressed my discomfort to my friends and family. I disliked the risk of baring my soul. I perceived vulnerability as a weakness. I guarded my privacy with my life. I also feared being called uncool because morbid thoughts about life and death plague what teenager? But out of curiosity, I tried to solicit a response from my friends at school.

Did you watch the local channel yesterday?

No.

So, I turned to my diary. I wrote about my first brush with mortality. A naïve discourse on depravity. I penned my first poem, Somebody’s family is dying. But I remember nothing more than the title now.

I have lost those writings, but I still feel it. The guilt. The shock. I recognise the shame that silently plagued me. I understand now that awareness alone does not free you. You carry it quietly, in small, persistent ways: a hesitation, a glance, a thought of someone else’s life when you sip your tea.

It comes uninvited. The dead eyes flash through my mind. Sometimes I see the knee- grazing yellow gumboots. I see it for what it is.

It was not just a shield against the storm. It is rather a symbol of the storm.

‘Dashain comes every year, but not every household is greeted by the same festival.’

The sibilant whisper awakens a civilization of goose bumps on my arms.

The Hrithik Roshan track has fallen silent.

In the silence, the cacophony rises.

I hear not just my mother’s voice, but the steady traffic of neighbours walking in and out of our home. Some complain about delayed bonuses. Some warnings about thieves at Orient oralo. I can still feel the furtive glances of the neighbors toward my blackened hands. ‘Still using Brasso? Try using Dara. It is the best.’ A cackle breaks out at a quip: “Kete keta ko lagi Dashain, thulo manchey lai dasa.” But I fail to connect the ‘dasa’ and the ‘suicide.’

I hear quarrels over koseli for the elders. Honey Bee and Old Monk suddenly become matters of prestige.

“No, no. Teachers is the best. Don’t you come to my house with a bottle of Honey Bee.”

“No sweets from Beech Galli, please. They’re hard as stones,” someone insists, favouring pricier ones.

Dashain slowly reduced from a festival to a brand.

It was the year 2000. Looking back, that was the year socio-economic dynamics shifted. Simple things acquired complex meanings. Cozy wooden homes turned into lanky buildings, concealing Kanchenjunga.

That year, as the man’s suicide lingered in whispers, the stereo kept blasting music. Merrymaking continued.

Dressed in my new clothes, I see myself dancing, but something inside me has stopped moving.

Memories flip through my mind at lightning speed.

Verandas shape and shift. Flags changing colours. Among the sundry items on display, the khas bara has quietly vanished. Bronze plates, spoons, glasses, jugs, and vases, once polished to perfection, are now ragged remnants of the past. They no longer fit within the definition of a ‘brand’.

Somewhere between Brasso and the bonus, between bronze and brand, Dashain itself has slipped beyond my recognition.

I open my eyes.

I still see home.

It is in the autumnal sky, in the shape of the thin clouds, and a whisper escapes my lips. Dashain aayo.

Writes – Prerna Rai Dewan. She is the author of “The Oblique Rays of Sunshine“

The post Dashain Aayo appeared first on The Darjeeling Chronicle.

It was the time we all waited for. The wait for cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends who had become more like strangers over the year. But as soon as Dashain came, so did they, and in an instant, those long-lost bonds felt just as strong as they always had. From the moment you stepped off the vehicle, the town embraced you like a warm blanket, reminding you that this is where you belong.

Do you remember those days? The way the sky looked impossibly blue, the chill of the early mornings giving way to golden afternoons. The shops bursting with bright new clothes, the air thick with excitement as families prepared for the days ahead. The joy wasn’t just in the rituals, but in the people—the faces you hadn’t seen in what felt like forever, now gathered in one place, catching up, laughing, sharing stories from their new lives far away.

Sure, things have changed. The festival may not feel as grand as it once did. Maybe we’ve all grown up a bit, become too busy, or perhaps it’s the world around us that’s changed, with fewer of us making the journey home. But even with that, Dashain is still our anchor, the one time that calls us back to where it all began. No matter where life has taken you, there’s still that little pull inside that says, “It’s time to go home.”

And let’s be honest, we’ve all been feeling that pull. We long for the simpler days, where the biggest concern was which friend you’d run into first at the local fair, or what prank your cousin had planned for the family dinner. Dashain, for me, has always been about those little moments. The ones we took for granted back then but now look back on with such fondness.

This year, I hope you feel that pull too. The town isn’t the same without you. The stories don’t feel complete, and the laughter isn’t as full. So, why not plan a visit? Pack your bags, take some time off, and come back to the place that knows you best. The roads may have changed, the houses might look a little different, but the feeling of Dashain—the joy, the nostalgia, the comfort of being home—will always be the same.

Come home this Dashain. Let’s relive those memories and make new ones to carry us through the years ahead.

Writes – Dr. Ugyal Tshering Lama Yolmo

The post Are You Coming Home for Dashain This Year? appeared first on The Darjeeling Chronicle.

The big day finally dawns in. There is a festive air around and some frenzy activity in the kitchen already. Dashain or Dusshera is the biggest and the longest festival of the Gorkhali people.

Dashain festival would mean new clothes and food fit for royalty. Early morning and the preparation for the day’s feast has already begun. After 9 days of Navratri puja and fasting, the 10th day marks the beginning of Dashain festivity, and with it the annual gastronomical indulgence. The 5 days-long festivities are marked by family gatherings and sumptuous food and endless rounds of drinks.

Preparation for the celebrations starts early. Early morning, a couple of goats and a pig has also been slaughtered in the neighborhood. Chicken and fish have been nicely marinating in salt and turmeric from the day before. The rice is being cleaned and soaked for either an aromatic pulao or just plain rice. Assorted seasonal vegetables are being sorted out, mainly for the strict vegetarians.

Mutton is an integral part of the Dashain feast. A festive meal would not be complete without a Khasi ko Masu (mutton curry) cooked with big chunks of Ishkus (Chayote Squash) in a gravy of cumin, coriander and garam masala, red chilli powder, garlic and ginger paste and a generous amount of mustard oil. No part of the goat is wasted. The prime cuts go for the curry. The head, lungs and the lesser cuts for a spicy fry loaded with green chillies called Pachauney. The entrails turn into another all-time favourite appetiser- Karchi Marchi- a spicy dry fry with onions, chillies, tomatoes, ginger-garlic and coriander leaves. Karchi Marchi will be later served with drinks, along with Mula ko Acchar -a hot and savoury pickle made with radish and churpi (a light Ricotta type local cottage cheese), onions, green chillies, tomatoes or the spicy Aloo Til Achar (boiled potatoes with roasted sesame seeds powder, tempered with fenugreek seeds, green chillies and onions). The goat trotters will be made into another classic favourite Khasi ko Khutta ko Achar, a hot and fiery curry/pickle. Khasi ko Sekuwa (marinated grilled mutton) will also find a place served along with drinks and other appetisers.

For Pork lovers, there will be the classic combination of Sungur ko Masu ra Rayo Saag (Pork with mustard greens, cooked in a simple tomato-based gravy) or the Sungur ko Khutta ko Achar (a close cousin of the Khasi ko Khutta ko Achar, prepared in a similar style). Another favourite dish would be Sukako Sungur ko Masu (Smoked and dried pork with dried chilly powder, salt and turmeric), served thinly sliced. Chicken and fish dishes are prepared in typical North India or Bengali style, giving the dishes a pan-India flavour. A traditional dish with the Kirat community of the Indian Gorkhas would be Wachipa, made with rice, minced chicken, and powder made out of burnt feathers of a chicken-the powder gives a unique bitter taste.

The hot and spicy appetizers would need something to wash it down. Raksi (local wine) is served in rural households, while modern wines, brandies and whiskeys, beer would find a place in the urban areas. Kodoko Jaanr and Nigar (local finger millet beers) would also be seen fighting for elbow room.

Meats cooked, appetizers ready, now it’s the turn of vegetables and dals. The occasion calls for the classic Nepali/Indian Gorkhali favourite Kalo dal (Black Gram Lentil soup) tempered with small pieces of onions in ghee. A Mixed Vegetable Tarkari (Curry) made with seasonal veggies, a lone paneer dish and some green vegetables are given a place in the festive menu. Papads are fried (again, a North Indian influence), a green salad for the health-conscious prepped up and some Aloo Dum, a perianal favourite spicy potato curry thrown in, for good measure.

No festivity is complete without Sel Roti, a traditional sweet, ring-shaped rice bread. A day before Dashain, menfolk would be engaged in beating the rice, soaked overnight, in a wooden Okhli Musli to a fine powder. A thick batter is prepared by adding milk, water, cooking oil, sugar, ghee, butter, cardamom, cloves and other flavours of personal choice the rice flour and is deep-fried in boiling oil or ghee in ring shapes until it turns light brown on both sides. It is a labour of love, and prepared with expert hands, mostly by ladies of the households. Sel Roti, with a shelf life of about a month, if stored properly are often sent as special gifts to family members living away from home or used as prasad in pujas. Generally, it is served with Gorkhali Achar (cooked onions and tomato, green chilly pickle), Khasi/Sungur ko Khutta ko Achar, Karchi Marchi, Aloo Til Achar or Aloo Dum. Or just with plain tea as a snack.

The dal-bhat-tarkari-achar (legume/lentil soup, rice, vegetable curry and pickle) being a stable food with the Indian Gorkhas, rice is the centrepiece of the festive spread as well and holds all the different meat and vegetable dishes together in perfect synergy. Rice is prepared last and as it is left to gently cook, it is time for the family members to wash up and get ready for the traditional Tika ceremony (blessings from elders) before the feasting starts.

Dashain is all about catching up with family members, relatives and friends and of course, eating scrumptious meals. This continues for five days during which families and relatives visit each other to exchange gifts and greetings and eat.

Every day favourites like momo, thukpa, kinema (spicy curry made from fermented soya bean paste) is given a miss during the festivities, but after five days of continuous feasting, a quintessential Indian Nepalese/Gorkhali dish makes a grand comeback- Gundruk ko Jhol. This basic humble soup is made from fermented green vegetables like mustard, turnip, radish, cauliflower leaves, known for its tangy sour taste and considered to be good for digestion. A simple bowl of Gundruk ko Jhol with plain rice is gentle on the stomach after nearly a week of rich, spicy food and drinking.

Once the Dashain festival is over, it is back to the basic- dal-bhat-tarkari-achar. Momos and Thukpas will rule our palates once again, along with other traditional favourites. But that’s another gastronomical journey altogether!

Writes: Sarikah Atreya

The post Dashain Specials – The Annual Gastronomical Indulgence appeared first on The Darjeeling Chronicle.

Days we fondly remember, how entire neighbourhood fills with aroma, flavours of different kinds of meat, rakti pachaunae/kasa-misa/karchi-marchi, wachipa and what not.

After “Maar”, people carefully cut long “silas” of “masu”, Khasi, “Langshya”, “Phakshya” “Ranga”, depending on which meat “chalcha”. In villages women make a fire in “Lipeko Chula” and there is “daura ko dhua”, above it is a “Bhar”. In the “Bhar” and above the fire, these “silas of masu” laced with turmeric and salt are placed in long bamboo sticks called”jhir”, for preserving the meat and drying it. This dried meat, mixed with “iskus”, cooked! will make everyone forget the restaurant’s food, after all, it’s Dashain and it’s your mother’s recipe. Well! Cooking gas has replaced all of them, but eating food cooked in a “Chula” has its own feel-good factor.

Amazingly we like to eat unusual parts of the Khasi during Dashain. “Gidi-Jibro (Brain-Tongue) is minor, eating “Kaan”(ear) by simply putting it into the fire for a few minutes, then chew it like chewing gum. Some even eat the “testicles” in the same manner, “hoina”!

Myself being a “thember” have eaten all kinds of meat in Dashain, especially my Meme cooking “Hyak part of Langshya (Beef)”.

Though Khasi is most sought after, the one that beats all, hands down, any time, is the king of meats – “Phakshya”(Pork). The “teen talley coconut” most prefer with “rayo ko saag” and 99% of the people want it “seto-seto matai hali-dinu- hos hai!rato ta hos”. In our villages, I vividly remember the “boso”(fat) melting from the “Bhar” and dropping in the fire making it burn more brightly. Children and folks alike cut the pork into big chunks, make a hole with “jhir”, sprinkle salt, hold with the “chimta”(thong) and simply put it into the fire. Ahh! The end product that comes out, along with attached “kharani”(ash), who the hell doesn’t love it. Only the thought of it brings buckets of water (mukh bhari thuk) in my mouth. What about you all?

The Khasi ko Khutta ko Achar, Sungur ko Khutta ko Acchar, the Goru ko Khutta ko Achar, the dried Kathmandu bata layeko “Ranga ko Sukuti”…. Ahhh! Dashain ayeeekoo…

Who doesn’t love and remember eating different kinds of “masu” in our almost extinct tradition of using “duna” and “baaf urdai gareko taato-bhaat”(hot steaming rice) in a “tapara”, are those days gone?

Giving company to masu-bhaat were the usual suspects! home made “baem-ma or bottle ma haleko” karela and rukh tamatar ko acchar” and not to forget the pungent “mula ko acchar”. This deadly combination with halka “chirip” made the voltage of my fellow villagers high, with “tote-boli” and “jhimikkai pareko ankha”. The whole Dashain used to be filled with sounds of “ Aijaaa, Open Fight Khelchas! yet next day no one held grudges, unlike now.

The tradition of eating food from this house is slowly in wane, I wonder whether myself or my child would continue the tradition of my Baba, Ama, Mam Meme, or will it go the today’s way of not celebrating Dashain together, divided by politics and ego, engrossed in our own world? Ah! Hoos! Let the Khasi worry about it for the time being.

Days of feasting on heavy meals make the stomach upset, most of us say “masu ley wakkai bhayoo” abo “Gundruk ko Jhol” nai Khau!. The “ Gundruk ko jhol does its magic to the upset stomach, isn’t it?

Hope all of you must have celebrated dashain and had masu this way or another. Put rato/seto tika in your forehead with jamara or totala. But, all of you must have loved the tangy taste of “Gundruk ko Jhol”, after an upset stomach, so for the sake of “Gundruk ko Jhol” please come together united for a cause this Dashain! after all, you all must have been born in the hills of the “Gundruk ko Jhol”, Sikkim – Darjeeling.

*No Animals were killed or hurt while writing or Posting this Article – “Happy Dashain”

Writes: Diwas Chettri

The post DASHAIN SPECIAL: Tale of the Masu, Gundruk ko Jhol and Dashai appeared first on The Darjeeling Chronicle.

Sadly with modernization, plastic crèches/cots have replaced the simple organic Kokroo and with it so has the practice of placing the two deadly weapons forgotten.

In the Hindu-Buddhist, shamanistic ritual system, roughly consisting of Jhakri, Dhamis, “Mata Utreko” and many others, Sishnu was the ultimate weapon to defeat the evil spirit.

Both the possessed and the Shaman would chant and shake vigorously, on the rhythmic beats of the dhyangro (drum) and bells, while the room filled with the unbreathable smoke coming out of the burning juniper. Achheta (rice grains)would be blessed by the shaman and thrown at the possessed.

“Apuuii”!! still the evil spirit didn’t leave the innocent, “tesko bajey ko ta” “lu khaa” out came the ultimate weapon: “Sishnu-Pani ko chutai”. With the treatment of the Nettle-Water combo, the evil spirit would take the route of “taap-singh”(run away) and never bother the innocent natives.

Sishnu was the Brahmos Missile, and more powerful than the Iron Dome of Israel that could combat and control spirits, ghosts, and witches.

I don’t mean to keep up the superstitious customs, nor am I demeaning the shamanistic cultures (anthropological) but just want the readers to travel back in time when life was more simpler and pure like the Kokroo and hill folks merrier!

Ahh! Let’s change the topic, it’s getting too complicated, let’s walk down memory lane now. Going to swim in the khola (rivulet) would be the best pastime during our childhood and plucking ripe oranges, guavas, aruchas or any seasonal fruit from the orchards of others would be the accompanying ritual. Now doing this meant trouble as sooner or later one would definitely encounter a brush with the sishnu and screams of pain “aatha polyoo” would be heard loud and clear. The only thing that would undermine/heal the pain and the “damra” of the sishnu “poling” would be the ultimate winter medicine: Signan(snot)flowing naturally due to the sting. If the one who got stung, didn’t have the required dose of the Signan there would be a perennial Signaney friend in the group whose waterfall never stopped cascading from his red nostrils, his medication would come in handy for everyone. Such were the times folks!

Old-timers would say the flower of the Sishnu “sishno Ko daal” was very helpful in controlling high BP and studies on the common Himalayan nettle prove them to be true, also, from a nutritional standpoint that Sishnu has more calcium than a glass of milk, they say!

Sishnu and the culture of our hills and its people are so much intertwined, we too are similar to the Sishnu as a community, sturdy and brave protecting our country from invading enemies we sting when it’s needed. We people of the hills are too emotional and the modern-day countless jhusuley’s attack us every season, eating our leaves, yet we as a community are sturdy as the nettle, remain here.

By the way, if the politicians are fooling us now and again show them the part from this article where the evil spirit runs away at the sight of the sishnu-pani Ko chutai! Especially those who might fool us again in the name of Tripartite Talks!! Hopefully, they won’t hai!!

Happy Dasain Folks!!

Writes: Diwas Chettri

The post Memories, Sishnu Culture, and Politics of the Hills appeared first on The Darjeeling Chronicle.

All her garments and ornaments are also white. She has four arms. Her vehicle is a bullock. Her right upper hand is in the pose of allaying fear and right lower hand holds a trident in it. The left upper hand holds a Damaru and the lower one is in the pose of granting boon. Her appearance is very calm and serene.

In her Parvati form she practiced severest possible penance with a desire to have Lord Siva as her divine consort. She took a vow.

Due to the severe penances her body became black. Lord Siva was pleased in the end. He himself washed her body with the holy water of Ganga. Then her complexion was changed into a shining one like a lightning flash. Since then she was known as Mahagauri.

The worship of Mahagauri is recommended for the eighth day of Navaratra Puja. Her power is unfailing and instantly fruitful. All sins of devotees are washed away with the result of her worship. Even accumulated sins get destroyed and in future no sins or sufferings come to him. He gets purified in all respects and becomes fit for inexhaustible virtues.

The meditation or remembrance or worship of Mahagauri is benedictory for the devotees in every respect. We should always meditate upon her. Divine Siddhis are obtained from her grace. A devotee should always meditate on her lotus-feet single-mindedly. She definitely removes the pains of her devotee. As a result of her worship the afflicted devotees get even impossible done possible. So, everybody should try by all means to get shelter under her feet. The Puranas are replete with the narrations glorifying her. She channels the thought waves of the devotees towards the path of the virtue and destroys Asat.

Jai Maa Mahagauri!! Jai Nau Durge Bhawani Mata!! Jai Sinchel ko Singha Devi Maa!!

The post On Asthami – The 8th day of Durga Puja – We Pray to Maa Mahagauri appeared first on The Darjeeling Chronicle.

Her bodily complexion is that of thick darkness and black. She has disheveled hair. A necklace flashing like lightning adorns her neck. She has three eyes, which are circular in the form like cosmic egg, which always eject rays shining like lightning. Terrible flames appear when she inhales or exhales air through her nostrils. Her vehicle is a donkey.

Her raised right hand always seems to grant boons to all and sundry. Her right lower hand is in the pose of allaying fears. Her left upper hand holds a thorn-like weapon made of iron and in the lower left hand there is a dagger.

A form of mother Goddess Durga, Kalratri is extremely frightening to look at but she is always auspicious in effect. This is why she is otherwise known as Subhankari (doing good). So the devotees need not feel any fear from her.

According to a legend, Goddess Kalratri demolished the demon Raktabeej. It is believed that it is only Goddess Kalratri who could slay the extreme torment of devil Raktabeej. No one was able to kill Raktabeej as even one drop of his scattered blood used to form another embodiment of Raktabeej and the scattered blood produced other billions of Raktabeej.

In order to rid the earth of Raktabeej, Maa Durga incarnated herself in the form of Kalaratri and she killed the demon. She would lick the blood drops before they fell on the ground, and kept a Patra (vessel) to keep and imbibe entire blood of Raktabeej. In this form she got rid of the demon Raktabeek.

But Maa Kalratri was not the one to be tamed, and even after killing Raktabeej she went wild and ate all the demons she came across, stringing their heads on a chain which she wore around her neck.

It seemed impossible to calm Kali’s bloody attacks, which now extended to any wrongdoers, and both people and gods were at a loss what to do. Fortunately, the mighty Shiva stopped Kali’s destructive rampage by lying down in her path, and when the goddess realised just who she was standing on, she finally calmed down.

Thus the Kalratri form of the Goddess is said to destroy all demonic entities, and obstacles from one’s life.

On the seventh day of Navaratra the worship of Kalratri form is prescribed by the scriptures. The mother, Kalratri destroys the wicked.

Danava, Daitya, Raksasa, Bhuta, Preta and all other evil spirits are terrified and run away as soon as the devotee remembers Kalratri. She is also the remover of planetary evil effects. Her worshipper has no fear from fire, water, wild beings, enemy or night. By her grace he always remains unmindful of any fear.

By keeping her form in the heart and meditating on her the devotee must worship her single-mindedly. He should observe all Yamas, Niyamas and Samyamas (all rules and regulations). Purification of mind, words and body is essential in her worship. She is Subhankari. The auspicious effects emanating from her worship are innumerable.

Jai Maa Kalratri!! Jai Maa Durgey!! Jai Sinchel ko Singha Devi Maa!!

The post On the 7th day of Durga Puja – We Pray to Maa Kalratri appeared first on The Darjeeling Chronicle.

There was a great sage named Kata. His son was Katya. In his lineage Katyayana became a sage of worldwide repute. He practiced austere penance for several years in order to get the mother goddess propitiated. He cherished a keen desire in his heart to have the goddess in the form of his daughter. The mother was pleased to accede to his request.

After sometime when high-handedness of Mahisasura, the demon, crossed every limit, the trinity of Gods-Brahma, Visnu and Siva, got infuriated and they created a goddess by apportioning some part of their splendor, in order to destroy the demon. The sage Katyayana had the first privilege to worship her, so she was called Katyayani.

Another story tells that she did take birth as his daughter. She was born on the 14th dark of the month Asvina. Accepted the worship of Katyayana for three days-e.g. on 7th, 8th and 9th of the bright fortnight in the same month and killed the demon on Vijayadasami.

She is ever unfailing in granting the wishes of the devotees. The Braja damsels worshipped this very goddess with a desire to have Sri Krsna as their husband. She is an established presiding deity of Braja area. Her form is extremely divine and radiant. Her complexion is golden bright and radiant. She has to use arms. Her right upper hand is in a pose of allaying all fears and the lower one is in a pose of granting boon. In her left upper hand she holds a sword and a lotus flower adorns her lower left hand. Her vehicle is lion.

On sixth day of Navaratra it is her Katyayani form that is worshipped. That day the mind of the striver stays in Ajna Cakra. In the Yogic discipline Ajna Cakra is of greatest importance. His mind staying in Ajna Cakra the striver makes a complete surrender and offers himself to the goddess and then such a devotee very easily gets the direct vision of the mother Katyayani.

All the four objects-Dharma, Artha, Kama and Moksa are in easy reach of a Sadhaka who worships mother Katyayani with devotion and faith. Even though living on a mundane plane the devotee is equipped with an unearthly splendor and influence. S/he becomes immune from all diseases, sorrows and fears etc.

There is no better and easier way than the worship of mother Katyayani for the destruction of sins accumulated in the previous lives. Her worshipper always remains in close company and becomes fit for the supreme abode.

Jai Maa Katyayani!! Jai Nau Durge Bhawani Maa!! Jai Sinchel ko Singha Devi Maa!!

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Legend says that once a great demon Tarkasur did extreme penance. He pleased Brahmaji with his devotion. When Lord Bhrama appeared – he asked for a boon to become immortal. Brahmaji told him that no one can escape death as it is already destined for everyone who takes birth on this earth.

Tarkasur, being clever, thought Lord Shiva will never get married and asked for the death by the son of Lord Shiva. The boon was granted. Considering himself to be invincible, he started tormenting the people on the earth. All the devtas went before Lord Shiva and requested him to get married.

Shiva agreed to get married to Goddess Parvati. Parvati then gave birth to Lord Kartikeya or Skand Kumar after marriage who demolished Tarkasur. Skandmata laid the foundation of mother son relationship. The devotees get immense love and affection from the goddess who devotes her in this manifestation.

Thus being the mother of Skanda she is Skandamata. She is particularly worshipped on the fifth day of Navaratra. This day striver’s mind reaches Visuddha Cakra and stays therein. In her image the Lord Skanda in his infant form is always found. She holds him in her lap.

This Mother Goddess has four arms. She holds Lord Skanda in her right upper arm and a lotus flower in her right lower hand, which is slightly raised upward. The left upper arm is in a pose to grant boon and in left lower hand, which is raised, she again holds lotus. The hue of her body is very bright. She is seated on lotus flower so she is called Padmasana.

The scriptures are very eloquent in glorifying the fifth day of Navaratra period. As the mind of the aspirant, on this day, is in the Visuddha Cakra. So all his actions internal as well as external completely stop and the mind bereft of all thought-waves, is calm like a wave less ocean. It would be advancing towards the state of pure consciousness. It is completely submerged in the meditation of Mother Padmasana, quite devoid of worldly thoughts or coats of Maya. It is time when the aspirant should be most careful and cautious on the path of his Sadhana.

By worshipping the goddess in the form of Skandamata, the devotee gets all his desires fulfilled. He starts tasting the Supreme joy even in this very mortal world. The gateway for salvation to him is spontaneously opened. Her worship automatically includes the worship of Lord Skanda in his child form. Only she has got this pride of place. So the striver should particularly be attentive to her worship. Being the presiding deity of sun god, she bestows an uncommon luster and radiance on her devotee. S/he is always surrounded by an invisible divine halo, which always maintains his ‘Yoga-Ksema’.

Jai Skandamata!! Jai Nau Durge Bhawani Mata!! Jai Sinchel ko Singha Devi Mata!!

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When there was only a void full of darkness, at that time, when even time was not there, the mother Kusmanda created the universe with her Sankalpa as a mental projection. Before her advent there was neither Sat nor Asat.

She has her abode in the inner portion of Surya-Loka. Only she could live there and no one else. The hue and luster of her body also is just like that of the Sun glowing and effulgent, incomparable with any other god or goddess-herself being her own match. All the ten quarters are illuminated with her effulgence. Whatever brilliance is observed in the world-in living beings or objects is simply a reflection of her splendor.

She has eight arms. So Astbhuja the name. In her seven hands she holds Kamandalu, bow, arrow, lotus, a jar of nectar, discus, mace, respectively. In her eighth hand there is rosary capable of giving eight Siddhis and nine Nidhis. Her vehicle is lion. Kusmanda in Sanskrit stands for pumpkin, which she likes most as a sacrificial offer. So also she is Kusmanda.

On the fourth day of Navratra, Kusmanda is worshipped. This day the mind of the striver enters and stays in Anahata Cakra. So the striver is required to meditate on this aspect of the Mother with a steady mind and worship her single-mindedly. As a result of her worship the devotees get rid of all ailments and sorrows. The life span, name, strength and health are on the increase. The mother Kusmanda is easy to propitiate. If some body surrenders before her guilelessly, he is sure to reach her Supreme abode.

We should worship her in befitting manner prescribed in the Sastras and be a true devotee of her. Later on the striver has unearthly perceptions and he feels her grace. This miserable world transforms for him into a divine place. Her worship is the best and easiest means to cross the mire of the world. So an aspirant should worship her for his mundane as well as spiritual success.

Jai Maa Durgaaaaa!!

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