Reading Time: 4 minutes
Durga Puja brings joy and gaiety. Children and local artistes participate in plays, dance dramas and other cultural extravaganzas. Adrija, the protagonist, too was busy rehearsing a dance drama authored by Tagore. Amod Kaka’s (uncle) touches and lewd gaze disturb her. Here’s a short story by Sudeshna that’ll make you pause and think as part of the Durga Puja special feature, exclusively in Different Truths.
“Devi Durga Dus Bahu Dharini Daanav Daitya Dushtt Sanharini” (The ten-armed Goddess Durga Slayer of monsters, giants and evil)
Adrija, a precocious ten-year-old, loved playing with her friends. She burned all her energies into playing robust boisterous games. A spirited single child loved by her indulgent baba and groomed by her loving mother, Sati.
Sati, a working mother, spent quality time with Adrija inculcating in her the values handed down from generations. She often told mythological stories to her daughter, taking pains to explain their present-day relevance and symbolism. Adrija would listen with rapt attention. Theirs was a typical normal middle-class household.
With the onset of Sharad ritu, the autumn season, preparations for Durga Puja were in full swing. Shopping, cleaning, and visiting relatives with gifts left little time for anything else. Adrija was excited – getting up early in the morning to the lingering perfume of the ‘shiuli’ flowers and that typical azure sky so particular to this festive season. This year the children of their housing society were going to present ‘Bhanusingher Padaboli,’ a dance drama by Gurudev Rabindranath. They had been practising hard for almost a month. Hers was one of the central characters. One of her friend’s uncles Amod Kaka and his wife, the proficient Parboti, was directing the play. She wanted to give her best in front of the huge idol of Ma Durga atop a lion with her ‘Trishul’ (trident) piercing the evil ‘Mahisasur’ (a powerful demon disguised as a buffalo).
Every day, the children would gather at Amod Kaka’s sprawling marble floored drawing room and practice under his expert guidance. He would personally come and correct their stance with an eye for detail. A shadow seemed to cross over Adrija’s face whenever Amod Kaka touched her to correct her posture or stance. What clammy hands he had, always damp …eeks! She thought.
Celebrations started soon enough. Excitement peaked with the blowing of conch shells, ‘Dhakis’ (drummers) with beautiful feathers adorned the drums playing the rhythmic beats and dancing with tapping feet. Aartis amidst chanting of Sanskrit shlokas with ‘Dhunuchi naach’. Ma (mother) has descended from Kailash Parbat to rid the world of demons and dispel the gloom. Adrija felt a shiver of thrill run down her spine.
She loved offering ‘pushpanjali’ on Saptami, Ashtami and Navami on an empty stomach, wearing a new dress with matching accessories meticulously selected for each day, having ‘phal-prasad’ and then feasting on the hot delicious ‘khichudi, labda, beguni, papad, tomato chutney with paayesh and bonde’ thrown in good measure. Then there would be endless rounds of chatting and playing with friends. All the uncles and aunties would converge in the pandal to have endless rounds of talk to catch up for the rest of the year.
The evenings would be full of cultural programmes. Artistes from various fields of excellence and various corners of India would come to perform in front of an appreciative audience. Local talented children would showcase their tapped-untapped skills and abilities too.
Adrija’s performance was scheduled for Dashami after the immersion. In the morning, she had wanted to accompany her mother to the puja pandal for ‘darpan bishorjan’, yummy dadhi karma and sindoor utsav for the married ladies amidst much revelry and bonhomie. However, Amod uncle’s call had come for rehearsal, so she had to go, albeit grudgingly. When she reached, her uncle was already at the doorstep, smiling his welcome. She smiled back, politely asking about the others. Amod uncle assured her that soon all would arrive; in the meanwhile, they could practice. But where was Parboti aunty to sing the songs she questioned? Uncle switched on the music system telling her that nothing could stop aunty from applying sindoor on Ma Durga’s head.
Loud songs filled the air. Adrija requested her uncle to tone down the volume, but it seemed the uncle didn’t hear. So shrugging, she started to dance. Within seconds Amod was next to her and, on one pretext or other, started touching, fondling and groping her. Disgusted, she pushed him aside only to find herself overpowered. She kicked him in the shin with full force and ran, but he intercepted her. Quickly dodging him, she ran inside only to find herself in the dining room with the huge marble-topped dining table. Alive to the danger, her eyes took in everything before Amod uncle overpowered her and dragged her atop the dining table, placing his clammy hands on her lotus lips. Suffocated and totally out of breath, she drew in from her inner reserves of strength. In the distance, dhakis had started their drumrolls, beating in rhythm. Her flailing arms found what her eyes had noted. With one mighty heave, she plunged a fork between the lascivious eyes glazed with lust. One, two, three jabs she struck in quick succession with her puny hands. And she ran as she had never run before, heading full tilt into Parboti aunty and her mother, Sati, totally unrecognisable in their sindoor smeared faces.
Amod uncle tottered towards them, blood spilling in chilling streams down his face, proclaiming his innocence and blemishing Adrija’s character. Adrija’s hand still gripped the bloodied fork, her little Trishul. Calmly Parboti went towards her husband and hugged him, shouting to Sati and Adrija to quickly tie her husband up with curtain tassels while she pinned him down before calling the police.
On that day, another Durga was born!
