The Vrat Katha/Panchali/Story behind Shivratri

Its Shivratri tomorrow. Do you know the story behind it? Here’s for you the story of the hunter. 

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They say that many years ago, in Varanasi, lived a hunter. He hunted animals and birds every day. That was his way of life. One day, after having killed a few animals, he decided to head home. It was late and it grew dark soon. It was too dark to find his way out. So he decided to spend the night under a tree. As it became darker, he heard the fierce growls of dangerous animals around. Scared, he climbed up the tree and sat perched on one of its branches. Gradually, sleep overcame him and he dozed off. But a growl beneath the tree shook him off his slumber. He decided to stay up the night by plucking leaves and throwing them down. He did so the whole night. He also shed a few tears. 

The tree on which he sat was a Bilva/Bael tree. And there was a Shiva Lingam beneath the tree. The leaves that the hunter had dropped, had fallen on the Shiva Lingam. His tears had also fallen on the Lord. It was the night of Shiv Chaturdashi and unknowingly the hunter had offered his prayers to the Lord. The hunter had also gone without food. It was the perfect offering the Lord could have. 

The next morning, the hunter returned home. His wife had cooked a sumptuous meal for him. But just as he was about to sit down for food, a Brahmin turned up. The hunter gave his share of his food to the hungry Brahmin. Brahmin Bhojan (feeding the Brahmin) was thus, performed. 

After a few days the hunter died of an illness. Yama sent his messengers to carry the hunter to Yamlok. But, the Shivdoot (messengers from Shiva) had also arrived to take their Shiv bhakt (devotee) to Kailash. This led to a quarrel, followed by a fight between the two parties. The Yama Sena lost the fight and the hunter was taken to Kailash. 

Yama on hearing this story declared ‘Whoever worships Shiva/Vishnu, observes Shiv Chaturdashi and dies in Varanasi, can never belong to me’. 

This Vrat Katha/Pachali has to be read on Shivratri by all the devotees.

The lost art of Alpana

DRAWN FOR LAKSHMI PUJA

A beautiful woman in a ‘laal-perey’ (red bordered) sari, fresh and fragrant after a bath, her hair spread across her shoulders as she crouches on the ground drawing motifs. The white, slender fingers with traces of blue, have always been etched in my mind. Holding on to her ‘anchal’ is a little girl who follows her around. As she crawls, following the vision of white, she smudges the intricate patterns drawn on the ground. The woman looks back, but doesn’t scold her. There is so much love in those beautiful doe-eyes. She picks up the child into her lap; dusts the little ones bottom and deposits her on the cradle. She then goes back to her work. The alpana has to be done before the sun sets. Unable to climb out of the cradle, the child now follows her mother with her eyes. The mother turns around every now and then, coos at her and smiles. This is the vision which comes back to me when I think of alpana. This woman was a lady of the Zamindari household; I met during one of my trips to rural Bengal. 

THE FOOTPRINTS OF MA LAKSHMI IN THE ENTRANCE

 An alpana is a good omen: 

It’s customary to draw alpana during a Puja or a marriage. Any such occasion calls for the women folk to sit down and draw motifs. Elders believe that drawing an alpana fends off evil spirits and ushers in lot of goodness and prosperity for the family.

ANOTHER FLORAL MOTIF

It is a ritual: 

Yes it has always been a ritual, where the women spend days grinding rice and making rice flour or ‘chaalguri’ out of it. Cotton or strips from an old Dhoti would be used to apply the alpana. The collective activity was fun to participate in as the women of the household gathered after lunch, cracking jokes, sharing anecdotes and chewing ‘paan’ (beetle leaf). These days, packaged rice flour is readily available and therefore, the enjoyment and excitement of these sessions are lost to today’s women. Very few women today, know how to make a paste from the rice flour and use a cotton ball to apply it. Very few know how to draw an alpana. 

A TRADITIONAL ALPANA BY MY FRIENDS MOTHER

An art too:  

Alpana came naturally to women those days. The motifs could be floral. Some drew Madhubani motifs. Many were creative enough to make animal motifs. The symmetry would be accurate despite the fact that none were trained in Geometry or had the use of Geometrical tools let alone the use of a ruler. But they got their circles, straight lines, curves, hexagons and triangles perfect. Every occasion had a special alpana and the women came out with their best. Alpana for a Lakshmi Puja would be much different than a Satyanarayan Puja. While its mandatory to draw a Lotus and Ma Lakshmi’s footprints for a Lakshmi Puja, the alpana for a Narayan Pujo is markedly different.

CREATIVE IDEAS

A form of décor: 

Not just Pujo, alpana is still a daily ritual amongst most traditional households. In Rourkela, I find women waking up very early in the morning, washing the courtyard and then making intricate patterns near the entrance and the Tulsi Mandap. It surely adds to the beauty of the house. It speaks for a house which has struck some balance between tradition and modernity. It also highlights the artistic skills of the woman of the house, her creativity and taste in décor. Every house in my neighborhood has a distinct taste and knack in alpana. Some women add a dash of colour by mixing Alpana and Rangoli, thus making it a beautiful art of its own. 

INSPIRED BY A GAME OF CARDS?

THE PLATFORM MEANT FOR THE GODDESS

The Tribal alpana: 

The alpana, I feel, is the best amongst the tribals. Beautiful animal and flower motifs are common. The walls are colored and have huge alpanas on them. Their alpana also has a tale to tell as every scene they draw is the continuation of a story. The alpana amongst them is like a story telling session. You have to follow it regularly and with an eye for detail.

TRIBAL ART; AS SEEN ON THE WALLS

I have tried my hand at alpana but I am nowhere near to what my mother or my grandmothers can do. No matter how much we learn from our drawing teachers, this art remains unrivalled. It is usually passed down from one generation to another. But it’s becoming a lost art as young girls have no interest in it. Very few claim to know and draw one. It has been termed archaic and a skill harbored by ‘housewives’ only. Pradyot Kumar Maity terms this art in his book ‘Folk-rituals of Eastern India’ a ‘domestic and feminine art’. 

Sad isn’t it?

Ushering in Baby Kartik

When we were kids, our favorite stories were of the times when we were born. Ma would tell us stories about what happened that day, how we looked, what people had to say about the new born baby and the tension that would grip the house that day. It would be like a story unfolding from some Bengali movie. As we grew older and had our kids, Ma gave us more details about her pregnancy and the ordeal she had to endure for giving birth to three girls. 

Ma got married at the age of eighteen and had her first child when she was twenty one. While expecting her first born, i.e. my elder sister, everyday there would be an argument in the house between the elderly women and the younger lot. While the elderly women would wish that ‘Maii’ should have a boy who would continue the ‘line’, the younger women fervently prayed for a girl. Their logic was simple. The girl would be as pretty as my mother and they would all have a great time decking her up. The older women would then tell them to shut up their ‘alukkhuney katha’ (unlucky conversation) as producing a boy was deemed lucky. The mother would be considered blessed and fertile.

My little Kartik

Well, the mystery was unraveled soon. My sister arrived. The younger women celebrated. They gathered around her collectively sighing at her beauty. The older were disappointed, but they did not lose their hope.

After six years, Ma was pregnant with her second child. Yes, that’s me! So you know the outcome but not the theatrics before that! This time, the elderly women in the family, tried everything to ensure that the child would be a boy. They put herbs in her food so that she produced a male heir. They made her sleep facing away from the moon. They made her fast on certain ‘tithis’. They applied a special paste made from holy basil leaves, methi, turmeric and cucumber. And then they brought home Kartik. 

Kartik Pujo is celebrated amongst households which have newly married couples or couples wishing for a son. But unlike other Pujo, Kartik Pujo is markedly different. One can’t just bring the deity home and start worshipping it. The elders of the house have to get the deity and drop it off before day break outside the household’s door. It remains strictly confidential and the prospective couple should have no inkling about it. It’s also customary that the couple who wish/plan to have a child should be the first to find the deity and carry him inside. They have to carry the Lord just the way one scoops up a little baby in their arms. The Lord has to be installed by the lady who wishes to conceive. She then has to take a bath, offer him sweets and fruits and worship him. 

Boron daala for Kaatu baba

Kartik Pujo happens in the evening. No Pandit or Purohit is required for the Pujo. The couple has to offer their prayers jointly to the deity. The next morning is followed by Dadhikarma where the Lord is offered a mix made of Dahi, chirey, gur and bananas. Kartik symbolizes an infant and is not supposed to be immersed. After the Puja, the deity is usually left under the shade of a tree. The household has to celebrate Kartik Pujo for three consecutive years. The third year, its customary to invite people and organize a grand feast for them. But the Pujo has to be performed by a Purohit.

Well, in the case of my mother, the Lord was worshiped twice but the much-awaited male heir never arrived and the elders had to be happy with three girls. 

I was fortunate enough to have witnessed this ritual. My husband’s cousin had been married for long and was not able to produce a child. The elders in the family called for an emergency meeting last October. ‘Kartik chara r goti nei’ (Kartik is the last resort), is what they decided. The responsibility fell upon me. Well, by all standards I had lived up to their expectation. I am the ‘boro bou’ of the family. I conceived my child in the third year of my marriage. I had an uneventful pregnancy and I delivered a healthy baby boy.  So by all standards, I was the blessed one and therefore, I was the perfect candidate to bring the Lord home. But everything had to be done in utter secrecy. The elders kept on reminding me about the customs and the rituals associated with Kartik Pujo.

The evening before Kartik Pujo, we stepped out searching for the right size which I can carry in my ‘jhola’ and drop off in secrecy. We did find the right size and carried it back. I set the alarm at 5am and retired early knowing very well how the next day would turn out to be. By 5am we were ready with our little Kartik and set out early for our cousin’s house, which is a block away. We dropped our ‘kaatu baba’ (my four- year old has nicknames for every God and Goddess) at my cousin’s doorstep, returned home and crawled back to bed. The mobile rang sharp at 6am and it was my cousin calling. I knew that she must have found the idol and had rung me up for advice. 

Kartik Pujo in swing

I explained to her the significance of Kartik Puja and advised her to usher in the Lord. Thereafter the morning was spent in arranging for the Pujo. The Pujo went off well and the next evening we left our ‘kaatu baba’ under the shade of a tree overlooking the huge lake. Next month she called us up to give us the ‘good news’. This year on November 16, she celebrated Kartik Pujo with great fanfare. A proud mother, she has decided to celebrate Kartik pujo every year.

So for all those couples out there…there is no harm in doing a Kartik Pujo! Right?

Memories of a Bhoot Choturdashi

My first Kali Pujo at my in-laws - I will probably remember forever! I will live to recount my experience to my grandchildren. 

I was newly married and was trying hard to be the shy, demure ‘bouma’ one is expected to be. It was Bhoot Choturdoshi, the night before Kali Pujo. This is the day when our ancestors descend to earth and remain in close proximity with us. It’s customary for every household to shine ‘choddo baati’ or fourteen diya as a sign of respect and remembrance of our ancestors. I have seen my grandmother and mother doing this for many years. 

I had been told the night before, that I should wake up early, take a bath and step out in a saree. I did wake up early, but the idea of taking a bath at six in the morning proved to be difficult. The water was cold and my sleep- deprived eyes craved for a cup of tea. But in a house full of elders, I did not have the nerve to step out in nightwear and demand a cup of tea.

Finally dressed in a sari, I stepped out to find the women in full swing. They were all carrying mud in their ‘pallu’. I was promptly ordered to get some from the backyard. Clueless I stepped out to get some. Unsure of the quantity, I managed a moderate- sized lump.

Ma-in-law headed the pack of women, while the elderly widows sat at a vantage position dictating the rules and customs. I managed to understand that we were to make diyas out of the mud we had gathered. I looked around, confused and bewildered. The tradition amongst my in-laws is to light the fourteen diyas but the diyas can’t be bought. They have to be made at home by the women. So that was the ritual I was supposed to participate in. While the women set upon their task, I looked pitifully at my muddied silk sari and my manicured fingers tainted with mud and slime! 

A nudge from my ‘nanad’ (sister-in-law) brought me back to reality. I looked around to find everyone busy and Antu ma, the matriarch, looking down at me with disdain. I knew she despised me for my ‘shohurey’ (urban) ways. 

Celebration of Bhoot Choturdashi

I cursed myself for not having taken pottery classes instead of Batik during my college days at Shantiniketan. Well, if only had I known that pottery would come to much use later on. I tried hard to copy, but this was something that did not come easily to one. While I prayed for divine blessings, Antu Ma kept looking at me. I knew she was enjoying my plight.

The God above heard my fervent prayers. There was a sudden commotion outside. A group of keertaniyas had arrived. The elders got busy with them, while Pishi (my husband’s aunt) replaced my lump of mud with her ‘diyas’. She then got busy with the lump she had taken from me. 

I will never forget the old woman’s expression. Antu ma was disappointed to find me ready with my set of prodeep. She tried to quiz me about the way I had made them, but ma-in-law whisked me away from there.

This was an experience I will never forget. That was Antu Ma’s last Bhoot Choturdashi with us. A bout of pneumonia took her away the next Pujo. But this particular day always reminds me of her and how she would terrorize us. 

The diyas that we made were allowed to toast in the sun the whole day. By evening they had dried up and were ready to be lit. Ghee was put into each of these diyas, ‘sholte’ made out of old dhuti and lit. 

The first diya has to be placed beneath the Tulsi plant. It’s the holiest of all and deserves it due respect.  It is followed by the Ponchoprodeep (the five-sholte diya) which occupies the centre of the household. Usually it’s placed in the middle of the courtyard. The rest are then placed near the door of every room. On Kali Pujo morning, it’s customary to make some more diyas and light them in the evening. 

Kali Pujo in Assam

Very few households today are aware of this custom. But not everyone can make such diyas. With my Ma-in-law this custom will probably end in our family. This year I did not throw away the diyas that she made. But have kept them carefully. They are priceless treasures which require proper safekeeping.