An Autumn of Faith and Festivity (DHR)
Autumn arrives in Bengal bearing the frail feathery kaash
when cerulean skies rinse off monsoon's parting pearls
when the shiuli blooms at dusk
its heady aroma heralding the arrival of Ma Durga .
Autumn in Bengal isn't a turn of the seasonal cycle
it is the pastiche of a hundred emotions woven into the fabric of life.
It is the lore passed on by grannies who knew when the gods walk the earth
when the neighbourhood reverberates with the rhythm of the dhaak
while the agarbatti burns into a fragrant grey-white ash and the dhunuchi smoke curls heavenwards.
Mahalaya marks the onset of Ma Durga’s earthly descent
when the goddess sits atop her lion steed and rides home to her mother's courtyard
where every bedecked doorway welcomes her with a conch, a hymn, a familiar tune
and suddenly, the season of mirthful madness is upon us!
Autumn tastes of steaming bhog, of spicy khichuri and labra sharing platter with
the tangy goodness of dates-and-pineapple chutney
of naru and sandesh changing hands, trading sweetness
for gossip among cousins laughing through the evening haze.
Autumn lives in the scent of crisp new clothes, in red-bordered white sarees, in sindoor and shankha
in the outpouring of a mother’s love
pushing back the lump in her throat on Nabami evening
in an ageing father’s wrinkled hands blessing his princess
as his eyes smart behind an unruffled face.
And on the tenth day comes Dashami, the inevitable bittersweet departure
when the Debi prepares to leave for her marital abode
when long embraces vie with lingering goodbyes
when “abar esho” or come again is mumbled in choked whispers
as tearful ululations rent the amber autumn sky.
Autumn susurrates old fables buried in every courtyard under timeworn bricks and creeper-twined eaves.
It echoes the lilting bhatiyali tune carried softly across the Ganga
when the earthly and the ordinary spin magic in the waning twilight
before the year draws its soft breath to a quiet end.
Autumn in Bengal gifts us this ancient wisdom: nothing stays, yet nothing truly ends.
Is this a cessation or a mere hiatus?
The weary earth seeking respite, reminding us to shed, to change, to let go
as the year flashes its last lovely smile, gifting us a bounty of mellow charm
and the promise of reflection, renewal and return.
Copyright © Urmi Chakravorty | Year Posted 2026
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