It is getting dark now, time to get him
ready. The priest wearing top to
toe white, burns a small wick in a
small pot. Ganesh sits on this
throne proud, happy with all this attention among fresh red rose petals. There
is another smaller version of him placed on the altar too, getting his fair
share of love. First grandfathers,
uncles, grand mothers, big sisters, big brothers, every body in the house one
by one come and hold the tray with fire giving prayers to him. One after
another everybody goes and takes their turn in front of him. This is serious
stuff, ‘Ganpati babba mor ya’ Ganpati
baba come early next year’ repeated constantly, the tray changes hands, little faint clouds of smoke rise
from the little wick. When Ganpati saw us all, the elders of
the family carefully, gracefully cradle him in their arms and start visiting
the rooms of the house. There are two drummers by the door and by deafening drumbeat
he is transported to each and every room starting from the temple room, kitchen,
upstairs, downstairs. We wait for him in the living room to come back. When he
is seen again the drums beat even louder. He is draped in a new red shawl,
glistening with his every movement with the drumbeat he goes down to his
chariot.
Zeus the god of
gods did not have a chariot like this himself! There are 7 stallions with head
decorations, ready to full throttle, ready to take him home. The whole chariot is
covered with saffron coloured marigolds on strings and with every breeze of this
late September evening they shiver. He is placed on his chariot, under the parasol; there are more
drummers ready by the street.
Cymbals with long yellow tassels, small drums, big drums, a man hitting
a metal disk with a hammer, which hits a note right in my head between my ears
and behind my eyes, have been waiting for him, everybody starts dancing,
cheering, two little boys do the best twisting, moving their every single joint
in their bodies, not missing a single beat of the drums and cymbals.
Lovingly, with great care they place him on the chariot; He sits
there in full glory, with a calm smile, very happy, a bit embarrassed with the
attention he is receiving, his heavy lashes shadow his eyes. We move slowly.
First the cymbals, then small drums and big drums, the man with the bell, then
us, children, mothers, aunties, sisters, the men of the house in crispy white long
tunics, walk in small steps, dance, raise arms, chant, slowly form a big crowd
in front of the chariot and flow like a big noisy, cacophonous, roaring wave towards
Juhu Beach. Grandparents and babies follow us in cars decorated more lavishly
than wedding cars. We meander slowly for two hours. Firecrackers, fire works accompany us with drizzling rain.
Near the beach the roads are full with
people. This congregation is thick,
and condensed. It is more crowded any very crowded place you have ever seen. If
you have been to Hyde Park on New Year’s Eve, it is more crowded than that. If
you have taken part in a demonstration, in a big concert, in any crowded place
where there is a flow of people from everywhere, when it is so occupied with
human beings, with bodies of men, women, children of every age, shape and
colour that they become a
living mass. The end of the world would be like this.
There is the roundest of the full moons
with Krishna blue skies, the crowd shadow the moon, people move in silhouettes.
We go down the sandy beach
and find our area to make a little well, light a small fire, place Ganesh in
front of it and do the final aarti. The air is balmy; it smells of fire, kafuru,
millions of burning incense, salty sea, and wet sand and excited people. The tide comes in, touches our ankles
and reaches Ganpati’s feet. The Arabian Sea is warm, moves in filling the sandy
beach. The tray of fire is passed through us, we chant ‘come back early’ with
tired voices and the men of the house carry their Lord towards the sea. There
are other fathers, other brothers, uncles, and grandfathers carrying their
gigantic, modest, ambitious Ganpaties to water. Everybody is busy with their
own devotion, people in the mass do not cross other peoples paths. They carry
the idol with hope, with confidence, with blessings to the latest point they
can carry him , leave him into the water and come back from the dark, water
dripping from their hems and their hair, salt glistening in the moonlight. They walk with the pride of people who
are content and happy with themselves. There are
hundreds of men around us going
into the darkness, coming back wet, people dancing in knee deep sea, little fires here and there,
small groups chanting, gathered in this big mass to offer their prayers.
It is over for us now.
He was a guest in the house for ten days, gave everybody his blessings,
his protection, his cheeky wisdom to over come difficulties. He has gone to
meet his mother. We go home too. I reach home after midnight. The sounds
from the street go on until very early hours in the morning.
Tomorrow, the houses need to be cleaned,
rose petals, marigold, lilies, sweet smelling jasmines will need to be swept
away until Durga – the Goddess comes. Girls will wear long round skirts, put
Radha make up, decorate their hair, henna their palms and their soles, they
will have the biggest nose rings, ear rings, toe rings, finger rings and
bangles which will tinkle with every dance movement. I am ready for that
celebration too.
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