My Experiences of Tara Pith Pilgrimage

Tara pith is a popular place of pilgrimage for Bengalis . Here, Maa Tara the motherly image of the Goddess Shakti is worshipped. There are several myths behind the piety of this place. One of them is ---- when Lord Shiva in his furious state of tandav was carrying the corpse of Devi Sati, Lord Naraya sent his Sudarshan Chakra in order to cut away the body parts of the dead devi so that Lord Shiva could be appeased. It is assumed that the eyeballs of  devi fell here. As eyes are also called tara in local language, the place got its name: Tara pith. Another oral legend states that Sage Vashishtha was practicing austerities in order to evoke Ma Shakti, but he was failing to do so. One day he got a vision where he was asked to visit the erstwhile Tibetan Buddha as he could be the only one to show him the right direction. In the mean while the Buddha himself got a vision. He saw Ma Shakti feeding breast milk to Lord Neel Kanth at Tara pith. Lord Shiva had got this name because he drank a pitcher full of poison that was churned out of sea when the surs and asurs were fighting over their claims during samudra manthan. Ma Tara took up the role of the mother, to sooth Shiva’s parched throat.

 When asked by the sage, the Buddha instructed him to go to Tara pith and worship the goddess through the practice of Vamachara(the left-hand attainment method). Only after the sage had chanted the Tara mantra 300,000 times, Maa Tara showed herself to him, in the same incarnation which was seen by the Buddha in Tibet. Then she turned into a stone image and remained in Tara pith forever. Since then, this place has become a land of divine attainments and birth place of eminent spiritual figures like Kali bhakt Bama Khyapa and Krishna Bhakt  Nitayananda.

We took Rampurhat Express from Howrah station on a Tuesday. It departed at 11:55AM. The a/c chair-car coaches were quite impressive as the air-conditioning worked properly and the push-back seats provided sufficient leg space. The crowd majorly comprised pilgrims to Tara pith, though few passengers got down at Shantiniketan. Our journey was entertained by motley hawkers selling indigenous products and food items like: varieties of mouth- fresheners, cotton towels, jhal-muri(puffed rice with mixture) etc. Also there was a musical minstrel who joined us in the last quarter of our journey. The sombre elegiac tone of this rustic Baul, singing in accompaniment of his ghunghru (anklet) and ektara had stolen our hearts. He was singing his heart out with a bare hope of earning a few pennies only if we were pleased and in the mood to part away with our wealth.  Thus the three and half hours journey came to an end in no time.

the Baul with the ektara

Look at his passion!

 We reached Rampurhat at 4:30 PM and were thrown into an ocean of tuk-tuks and auto-rickshaws. After a row of bidding and bargaining I saw myself in an auto-rickshaw. We were asked to keep our luggage at the back of the vehicle. Despite being utterly perplexed about the instruction, we followed him. It was only after he had vroomed his auto we realized the reason behind his statutory warning. Our rickety auto driver must have been a fan of John Abraham and had imagined his equally rickety auto to be Harley- Davidson. Moreover, the road was more like the surface of the moon. Nevertheless we thank him for giving us this out of the world experience. Somehow the driver took us intact to our hotel “ Sonar Bangla” within 25-30 minutes. We had booked it online. Since it is one of the oldest hotels in this area I would not rate it, but comment that the room was decent in terms of Tara pith standards and the food was pretty much okay. We dumped our bags, freshened up, ate some snacks and went out to take a stroll across the town. The first thing we noticed was that the mongrels in Tara pith get first- citizens’ status.

 The temple stands about 10 minutes walking distance from our hotel. On the right hand side of the road flows the River Dwarka --- a part of Aadi Ganga(the ancient course of the holy river Ganges). Adjacent to it, amidst the thick foliage of tropical trees occupies the famous as well as ill famous crematorium of Tarapith. Famous, because this was the place where Sage Vishishtha and Sadhak Bama Khyapa attained enlightment and envisioned the Goddess Tara. An ashram for the devotees of Bama Khyapa has been built here. It is ill famous because this is the haven for aghori and tantric sanyasis(sages) who do queer Tantric practices. The local people say that the primordial-stone of Maa Tara was originally kept in the cremation grounds. It was the Queen of Nator who constructed the present temple and shifted the stone to its holy sanctum, much after the death of Bama Khyapa .

The temple comes on the left hand side of the crematorium only after a throng of shops selling Tara Maa’s feet and other souvenirs. But what caught our eyes was huge langchas (fried sweet meat dipped in sugar syrup) as if specially prepared to be served in elephants’ wedding!

those langchas

 We could also see many stalls that sell the ingredients needed to pay homage to Ma Tara. As we were considering the options: a dark skinned lithe bodied man of medium height wearing trousers in deep shade with a light coloured loose shirt appeared in front of us. He seemed to be in his thirties and introduced himself as Bangshi. He was the owner of one of such shops providing puja services. He somehow impressed us with his conviction. Therefore, we expressed our wishes for Ma’s darshan. And he did serve our requests promptly because that was his profession and he knew: customer service satisfaction is the secret of any successful business.

On that very evening he could squeeze us into the sanctum of Maa Tara during the evening aarti. We were so close that we could feel the heat of the lamps. I don’t know whether that made me purge my sins, but indeed it was a spectacle worth experiencing. We could see the adorning of the Goddess in details: first her silver face with large eyes and tongue protruding out, was cleaned with holy water and auspicious leaves, then her temple was decorated with turmeric and vermilion. The process of invocation of Devi was also awe inspiring. The beating of the drums and the bell metal disc synchronized with the bellows of conch shell and oral sounds produced by rolling of tongues, the smell of various forms of incense sticks and fanning of the Goddess with fans made from the manes of animals….. Almost took us into a trance. It continued for an hour. Although, I came out completely drenched in sweat, but the experience made my heart fuller and spirit lighter.

Ma Tara

Maa Tara's Aarti

The Adorning

After buying some souvenirs from an octogenarian shopkeeper who seemed to have us as his lone customers for the day (as he didn’t even have a change of even Rs.500), we walked down to Bangshi’s shop. He gave us two sweet meats as Prasad. We fixed an appointment at 3:30 AM, the next day in order to pay a personal homage to Maa Tara.

It was still dark when we started for the temple next morning.The ministers of good luck was favoring us that day because the moment we stepped out, we got an auto to the temple. Most of the shops were closed. But Bangshi was waiting for us at his shop. He handed us a big basket full of items to offer Maa. We were made to queue up behind a chain of around 20 people. The gate opened sharp at 4am. The queue moved in spiral lines into the sanctum. And what we saw inside was absolutely different from the avatar we had seen the previous day. This time we saw the primordial image of Maa Tara. It was an abstract set of curves on a black stone. This was indeed a mesmerizing sight. Ma Tara is bathed at that time of the day. And then that stone is worn the silver statue. Being a part of this ceremony gave us a divine feeling.

Bama Khypa's House

Since we had the entire day at hand, we decided to do a bit of sightseeing. Bangshi arranged a maruti van for us. First we went to the birthplace of Bama Khyapa at Atla gram, which is on one end of Tara pith. There we not only saw his photo taken by Abanindranath Tagore but also the relics of this great sage. Though he was a celibate, his brother’s descendants from his daughter’s side live in this area. After that, we went to Ekchakra gram which is around 20minutes drive from Atla through the rural topography of Bengal.

Bama Khyapa's Statue

 Apart from Nityananda’s birthplace, a majestic Krishna Temple by the Iscon society is the special attraction of this place.

His Relics

The beautiful Iscon Temple

That's me.... Motivated for Spiritual learning  

By then it was already afternoon. Bangshi was supposed to bring Ma’s vegetarian bhog to our hotel room. So we rushed to our hotel. Non-vegetarian bhog is also served by the temple since goat sacrifice is an integral part of Goddess Tara’s worship rituals. But trust me, even the sumptuous vegetarian bhog wouldn’t disappoint you.

The Sumptuous Bhog 

After relishing this holy food and thanking and tipping Bangshi for being an excellent travel guide we headed towards the Rampurhat station in an auto to catch our return train to Howrah Station. The day was hectic. But staying awake in the train paid us well. Because we could please our rolling tongues with hot and fresh chops brought to the train by a hawker who got up from one of the stations. They were in three varieties: prawn, egg and veg.  And snacking on these we reached Kolkata……

 “Jai Mai Tara!”

     

 A

Tram line of My Fondest Memories

Though I am not exactly brought up in Kolkata, but this is the city where I learned to fly,learned to swim... in a way, learned to carry myself . Kolkata, much like her belles, has a captivating charm about herself. You can leave the city, but you can't get the city out of your mind. And you realize this, only after you have shifted to some other place.  Then all that you can do is, ride on the tram of your thought and take a detour of this "City of Joy". While I was doing so myself I ended up penning these lines which I feel like sharing with you. So I begin by dedicating these lines in longing memories of my home, Kolkata.

Tram Line of My Fondest Memories

Our sleeping city of lyrical dreams,

Awakened by the morning Azan;

Purged in the night’s rain

Like a baptised lass

Getting ready for the day:

Sari clad, a long plate

 A bindi on the forehead;

Drenched by a fresh splash,

  Smothered sari In mud and murk,

                                                     Like vibrant batik prints.

I miss the smell of you ,Kolkata:

Petrichor of my fondest dreams.

The mango smeared afternoons

Or hilsa foiled in banana leaves;

Resplendent riotous umbrellas

Saving all from the sun’s fury.

Green mango panna

Or shakes from Rallies.

Being kissed by your evening breeze

At Princep or at Outram  ghat

With a friend and   ghati- garam…….

I wish I could forever sweat

And feel soggy in your summer’s glory.

Adorned in jamdani,

Jewellery and perfumed peonies;

Welcoming Ma Durga and her family.

Your face glittering in the amber dusk,

Her face glowing in some ethereal gleam.

Our queueing up for Her one glance ,

At College Square, Ekdalia or Babubagan.

A zealous digression from mundane monotony:

Meeting old friends at Madox square,

Strumming the tunes of homecoming.

Oh Kolkata! How much I long to be

A part of this cacophony.

Sugar coated Park Street

Celebrating the birth of Christ;

Kindling lamps of joy and hope,

The mass at mid-night.

Singing hymns of universal peace,

In chorus we muse and frolic,

Time for plum cakes, wine and cherries.

Dear Santa! Could you bring me a gift?

The candies of my city’s serendipity!

Kolkata……

My heart shall always be with you,

The haunt of my fondest memories.

  

Hampi (A curious Juxtaposition of Historical Importance and Rustic Beauty)

Packed in three cars we started our road trip to Hampi on 1^st January,2016.Our basic objective was to unwind with family and friends in a new environment. What environment? We were yet to explore.

All that we learnt about Hampi from Wikipedia------ it is a U.N.E.S.C.O. world heritage site in the northern part of Karnataka popularly known as “ group of monuments in Hampi”. The monuments were mostly temples carved out of rocks which form an integral part of the topography of the place. The rest was ambiguous to us.

Brimming with anticipations we started from Hyderabad at 7 in the morning.  After a breakfast break, lunch break, chai break and bumpy ride we reached Hampi around 7pm. We had booked our hotel at Hospet which was another half an hour from there.

After reaching the hotel we realised that there was a huge influx of boarders. On one hand we were glad to have chosen a popular hotel, but on the other hand we were slightly disappointed with their crowd management skills. And we felt the brunt of it at the restaurant. The fatigued waiters were not able to make sitting arrangements-----behave courteously-------supply food on time. But the last nail on the coffin was serving Screwdriver in guava juice. Nevertheless, a good company compensated for all these negatives. Therefore, we had joy, we had fun and anxiously awaited for the next day to bring us a lot of seasons in the sun.

Day 2, was a bright sunny day which I started by buying hand painted t-shirts with a Hampi architecture imprinted on it.

 Our day’s agenda was sight-seeing.  We decided to drive our vehicles from our hotel to the main auto stand by following Google Maps. But we got lost. Then we resorted to the good old method of asking people. It worked. As planned, we hired autos and explored the various monuments that were built around 16 century AD. The word Hampi means “ Champion”. And the

architecture does not udermine its name. It was the capital of Vijaynagar Empire. In 1500 AD it was said to be the world’s second largest and richest city.  With the passage of time, like all other ancient kingdoms, Hampi also lost its glory. Now all that is left , are these monolithic monuments jutting out in rural
background. That too has a rustic charm.

Our trip had yet another charm. The charm of travelling in a group. From this trip I learnt, how unique each person is could be best understood only when they are clustered together. For example:While one person preferred nature over architecture, the other liked otherwise. One of our group members had to take an online test. In spite of his love for travelling, he had to excuse himself in the middle. There were also some parents in our group who had to frantically chase their toddlers, whereas some enthusiastic senior citizen went haywire. Our group also had a passionate photographer who was engrossed in capturing the moments and a curious connoisseur who never missed a chance to admire the beautiful artefacts intricately etched out of marble rock displayed for sale . Thankfully, we as well had a couple of sane people in our group who believed in sticking together and making the most out of it. Anyway, even the rainbow has seven distinct colours. Still, all the colours stay together.  So much like us. Because of difference in personalities and obligations we might have got scattered here and there, but each time we got back, we got together, again and again like a rainbow, bringing joy not only to our hearts but in each other’s life as well.

Our day ended in one of our hotel rooms----- merry making, chit chatting, playing antakshari----- in another word, celebrating the new year, the way we wanted to.

Day3 was a Sunday. We had planned to start by afternoon in order to cope with the following Monday. But still we had some more spirit left in ourselves. Therefore, instead of considering it as a half day less, we decided to utilize it as a half day full. On the previous day we did not find time to visit VirupakshaTemple, one of the most important temples of  Vijaynagar Dynasty. So we decided to see it before we left Hampi.

It was indeed a sprawling campus with a wonderful exposition of the then architecture. After feeding bananas to monkeys and Lakshmi (the temple elephant) and taking blessings from the later in exchange of Rs.10, we headed towards the interior of the temple which was occupied by a man-made lake enclosed on all four sides by tiers of steps. Just beside it we noticed few giant size cane baskets.

After inquiry we came to know that they were coracles….local boats. The man who gave this information also added that few miles from the temple, flowed River Tungabhadra where there was a facility to ride coracle.  This idea triggered the desire for adventure in some of us, where as others decided to go back to the hotel and take rest.

The spot was 10 minutes by auto that was available in front of Virupaksha temple. This was followed by a mini trek of another 10 minutes.  The trek through the rocky terrain and dark caves made a great prelims to the experience we were about to have. On our way to the ghat, we also met a local sculptor, diligently carving forms out of granite and marble.

After reaching the ghat we boarded a coracle. There were eight of us. The water was deep and calm. The sky was clear and the weather was pleasant. There was some divine peace in the atmosphere. The  sailor took us past the cave temples that over looked us  on both sides of the river. The only way to enter these temples was by climbing stairs from the river face. Suddenly I saw a copper statue in one of the temples. I requested our sailor to sail us to that spot. After a little reluctance he directed the coracle to the temple stairs. We climbed up and found instead of copper, it was a stone statue

of the Sun god.  The sun rays that radiating on it gave it the copper hue. He also steered us to the center of the river and to our utter surprise started spinning the coracle. What a wonderful experience it was! It  will always remain in my heart  as one of the most memorable moments of my life. 

                                                                                                   

Our coracle ride was the cherry on the cake. Our trip would not have been as memorable if we had not gone out of our plan to take this coracle ride. We got late. But the disruption was worth it.

During our drive back home, we were ruminating on our trip. Suddenly a thought came in one of our minds: “ What if we took a coracle ride at night?”

What if you and I went on a Coracle ride:

On a temperate moon lit night?

Like those aimless gloomy clouds

Meandering across the stony Temples

Etched on the rocky cliffs:

Mystic in the glimmering aura,

Of Twinkling fireflies;

Watching us like ancient guardians

Awaiting the sunshine.

While Our coracle floating

like a lotus leaf

on the sleepy Tungabhadra.

We, as drops of silent observers

In the divine aqua tune 

With dreamy eyes ,rolling on it,

Musing in trance of the sight:

Of silver silhouettes

Making dance poses 

And playing hide and seek 

With their images on the rippling streaks.

In quietness we would row our coracle

For quietness is all we want

And who would like to ping or speak?

When silence is so eloquent,

In Singing lullaby of eternal bliss.

Till we dose off 

To the land of lotus eaters....

Intoxicated by the sweet smell 

Of mud drenched water....

What if.....What if.....

Would it be as enigmatic......

Or even better?

                           Afterall: 

 " Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard

                         Are sweeter;”*

 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

* Ode on a Grecian Urn by John Keats

Picture courtesy Boudhaayan Paul

The Charismatic Krabi

As it was a Monday morning we could not avail the speed boat service that ferries passengers from Phuket to Krabi. That's why, we drove down. It was a three hours drive in a private luxury van on a silky smooth road, spent in indulgence on local fruits and local music played by our driver on his recorder. The sun was smiling joyfully and the smell of Andaman sea was calling us with open arms. In the beginning of this journey I was slightly upset as I wanted to sail down to Krabi. But all other ingredients were so skillfully assorted for me that when my mood changed from sulky to merry I can't remember. And by the time we reached Krabi, my heart was brimming with zealous exuberance. It was a picture perfect frame.

Now you must be wondering that I am readying your mind for some thrilling adventure or some spooky mystery. After all, stories can't be built without conflicts, preferably anti-climaxes!......On the contrary, in real life we wish for the exact opposite, especially when two strangers who have tied their  knot few days ago, bungee jump into a trip....that too to a foreign land. Yes, I am talking about my relationship. And by God's grace this trip actually worked as a catalyst to bring us into sync.

After dumping our our baggage in a prettily decorated honeymoon suit we rushed to the beach. Thus we discovered we have another "common liking".... The sea.

It was 4pm when Ao Nang beach showcased itself as a sprawling white beach gaudily studded with shells and corals. While my husband busied himself in clicking pictures, I engrossed myself in collecting shells.As my eyes fell on the sea,I saw few tourists wobbling down the long tail boats on an apparently mid-sea and swaying towards the beach with suitcases on their heads. On enquiring we found that they were coming from Phi Phi island. On  further enquiring we came to know: during high tides as the long tail boats leave passengers few miles away from the sea shore, they have to walk their way to the beach. Seeing this, I took a sigh of relief and congratulated my husband's decision on driving down for we were just not traveling light.

Gradually I realised that the sea was turning bewitching and I couldn't resist myself from walking towards it. As I was hurrahing in, I could feel someone hold my hand and lightly pull me back. I turned around and saw that it was him. He was feeling concerned about me. This made the butterfly in my heart flutter its wings with glee. I jumped and hopped and splashed water, while the waves kissed us as hard as they could.

It was around 5:30 pm when the sun had started winding up for the day, making the little world of Krabi sparkle in its Amber glow. The long tail boats were retreating..... It was the time for all to come back home.

We perched ourselves on Ao Nang's lap and watched in amazement God' s oil painting on Nature's canvas:

In our eyes we see each other,

In our minds we dream;

Our hands held together, 

Shadows have come closer,

As we are taking a walk 

Towards the eternity.

The frothy waves tickle our feet,

And the large ones try to push us away,

In love, with passion we cross the hurdles,

Until we are able to make our way.

At sunset: still holding hands,

We couch ourselves on the sand.

We set our eyes towards the horizon...

To see the dawn of our

New Life's New Day.

And when the night pulled its curtain we got up from the beach and ambled back to our hotel room sipping mojito from a bamboo shoot pitcher and munching on fried prawns freshly tossed at a road-side stall... Sharing and humming and looking forward to a tomorrow.

Cheers to Krabi !!!!!We thank you from the bottom of our heart.

......................photo courtesy Boudhaayan Paul.

My Journey by Namkhana Local

 Silent Cry

It was a hot summer afternoon and the sun was smiling with utmost pleasure. My colleague and I were deputed to go to our Council’s main office at Wellington. Like always, we decided to travel by local train. As we were getting late, we hastily bought tickets for ourselves and jumped on to the first train that arrived on the platform. Considering the crowd, I guessed, it was Namkhana Local. In spite of all its squalor, we customarily rode on to the ladies compartment, made our way through the crowd and luckily managed two seats for ourselves.

While I was squeezing in, I noticed a lady in her 20s, wearing a cheap but flashy sari, sitting in front of me. She was carrying one child on her lap. Another was sitting beside her while the third  one was hanging on the window beam. From their conversation it was clear that these were her children. Though they were not triplets, they could not be graded above the age-range of toddlers. When I was making myself comfortable  I felt  a bag  beneath my seat. This was common in local trains. So I didn’t pay much heed . The children were creating such ruckus that my entire attention got diverted towards them. And I must not forget to  mention: everyone was feeling irritated!   

As the train whistled in to Jadavpur, the lady wiggled up. She started pulling out bags and baggage not only from the bunkers, but also from the hollows under the seats. Even I was asked to raise my legs. And guess what came out???? Three live roosters  , all tied up together and shoved inside a nylon bag!!!! At that point of time I exactly felt what most of you are feeling now....exasperated!!!

This lady, along with her children and her baggage and three roosters had to get down at Ballygunge, which was two stations following Jadavpore.  The sight was unnerving! The girl that was sitting on her lap refused to get down. She was desperately clinging on to her mother, while the second daughter was hopping about ready to get down at any station. Whereas,  the eldest one, also a girl, was simply perplexed. This mayhem was enough to antagonize all her co-passengers.  After all, nobody wanted to look like war victims even before they reached their destinations.

 In exchange of  the scorn that she was receiving, all that she could reciprocate  was a prayer to tolerate her for two more stoppage. When few ladies exclaimed and cursed her for travelling alone with unmanageable children,  she promptly confirmed with a smile of conviction that  her husband would come to receive her at the Ballygunge station.

Saying that, she resumed her business. I could see that she desperately  needed help. And after a point of time I couldn’t help myself from lending my hand. My friend along with some other passengers discouraged me, fearing her to be a pickpocket of some sort, but I chose to follow my heart.  She seemed to me a meek victim of her situation and not the victimizer.  I asked my colleague to hold my bag as I got up .

At first the lady was reluctant to take my help. Then her better judgment accepted it. I carried two of her travelling bags along with that nylon one occupied by roosters. Surprisingly, those were not making me feel disgusted anymore. We nudged and pushed and maneuvered our way through the crowd, to the door and found a vantage point for ourselves. She would get down from the train with her daughters while I would hand-over the luggage to her husband.

The train reached platform. She got down with her children. Then she stretched her hands towards me asking for the luggage. I was looking for her husband and his absence startled me . I inquired, “ Where is your husband?” Her response was a smile. This time a plaintive one, as if she knew that her husband would not be coming. Before I could question any further , the train whistled out of the station.

I stood at the gate and saw her struggle with those luggage and children. Gradually she faded away from my sight. I hope she has found someone to help her. She needed it.

With a sigh I budged my way through the passengers and reclined to my seat... wondering what difference can a “ Girl Child’s day”, a “ Woman’s Day” or a “ Mother’s Day” make where the basic scenario is like this ?                   

       

God Business

 This year 22^nd  of May was the twelfth marriage anniversary of my uncle and auntie. They decided to celebrate it along with their two boys at Jaganath Dham , aka Puri. They  took a flight to Bhuwaneshwar, the capital city of Odisha and reached their destination on that very day.

2015 or 1422 (as per Indian calendar) also happens to  be the year for the celebrations of the Nava- Kalevera ceremony. It is an auspicious event where the hearts of Sri Jaganath, his brother Balaram and his sister Subhadra  are replaced from one idol to another. Coincidentally my uncle and his family’s stay coincided with the phase of Daru (wood) change . On such auspicious occasions the temple remains closed in order to maintain sanctity. But luckily, my uncle and auntie got a chance to do a special Darshan as the temple had opened just for one hour early in the morning. The rest of their Odisha trip went smoothly. The children enjoyed the sea, my auntie satisfied her shopping spree and my uncle satiated his appetite for good food.

 They landed in Kolkata on 25^th  of May and came to our place for the evening tea. While binging on gaaja, a special sweet from Puri, they started sharing their travel experiences.

Gradually the conversation drifted to the Pandas(God men) of Puri. As the discussion became more intense my mother suddenly pointed towards me and asked, “Remember that incident where we visited Puri temple with grandma. “ Oh yes! How could I forget that?” I answered . “ It was not just a hilarious episode but an eye-opener too.” “Really !” blurted my uncle.  I saw even my auntie was looking at me with round curious eyes. It meant I was expected to narrate the story. Therefore, in rumination I began:

Have you heard the contemporary Bengali song? “ Ma dekha de noi taka de” (Holy mother, either reveal yourself to us, or show some money to us. ). Our pilgrimage to Puri’s Jaganath temple compelled me to believe that, unless you monetarily satisfy the medium (guru),you won’t be able to commune or even see “dekha” the Goddess i.e. “ Ma”.

Hearing this my auntie exclaimed, “You are so true! What a lucrative business they have made out of it!” I smirked,  and continued.

We paid Rs.150 per head for a near view of the idols. Charges for the sacred food, personal  Panda(the priest who would guide us inside the temple) and auto fair were to be kept aside. Not only that, on touching the feet of individual deities each member of our family paid a homage of Rs.10. To this my uncle added, “ Now it’s Rs. 20. But the Pandas of the temple will bless you only if you pay Rs. 50 or more.” “Really!” we unanimously exclaimed and raised our eye brows. Then I was requested to resume.

After paying the sum we were asked to follow our hired Panda and repeat the holy enchantments which he uttered while revolving around the Gods. On completing the parikrama on the slimy floor, my Grandma touched Sri Jaganath’s feet ones again and donated another Rs. 10 note at his feet. According to the temple-panda that sum was just not adequate and he wasted no time to be vehemently vociferous about it.  My Grandma stood flummoxed while my father, being how he is, obstinately stuck to his stand----- either Rs. 10 or no money. The verbal dual went on for quite a few minutes . God knows where it would have led to if our Panda had not intervened as a mediator. He too had his own interest.  After all, other clients were waiting for him! But his efforts served no ends because this infuriated the resident panda furthermore .Moreover, all the resident pandas stationed near the idols ganged up against us and started using abuses and slang.

It turned into a cacophony worth public attention. While everybody directly or indirectly participated in this mayhem, my eyes fell on Subhadra’s idol.  She looked somewhat different. As I scanned on, I could spot a cockroach crawling up and down her nose. Poor she! Couldn’t even scream or throw away that irksome, creepy insect. All that she could do was to wait patiently for the resident panda to finish the monetary dispute. Then with the help of some divine providence turn to see her face.

  Being a woman myself, I couldn’t bear the sight anymore. Come on! I can’t imagine a cockroach crawling on my face. I had to do something about it and I did.

  I shook those money- monger pandas out of the dispute by shouting and pointing the cockroach on the Goddess's face. At first they didn’t even pay any heed. Only after a few moments when one of them noticed that the devotees were laughing at them, he looked at her and realised his mistake.

Thus the dispute came to an end. My father reminded them that their primary duty was to serve the Gods and not hackle over money. Saying that, all of us left the temple. This embarrassed the pandas and provided humour to the people around, but brought me face to face with a stark reality of life: Money is more coveted than Nirvana.

“And you are right indeed.”,said my uncle with a sigh. “Now a days you are not even eligible for bhog (holy food) if you don’t pay a homage of a minimum of Rs. 2000. It seems even God’s blessings are only meant for the wealthy ones.”