The emissary rushed to
the valley. Although it was a short distance he was panting from the speed and
exertion;
Orders from the Swami
Maharaj he shouted ‘Everyone has to be at the Temple tomorrow night, ‘a Maha
Puja is going to be performed’.
A ‘Maha Puja’ what’s
this all about, this was the end of May, there were no auspicious days, no
Festivals, these would come much later at the end of the Monsoon when the
valley resembled a green cup, when the teak trees flowered, when there was rice
and fruit in abundance; what could be the occasion? A ‘Maha Puja’ was a rare
occurrence, they wondered.
And everyone?
Yes everyone bellowed
the emissary
The women looked at
one another, everyone? They echoed in a whisper, even the unclean?
Yes everyone, the
unclean women, the low castes and yes even the Widows. They looked at one another
in utter stupefaction; the Widows, they were never called for any occasion at
the temple, they were banned at all ceremonies, they brought terrible luck. But
here they were ordered to come; and no one dared disobey the Swami Maharaj, his
temper was fearsome. Silently and in their hearts the Widows gave thanks to
their Goddess, at last they could get a glimpse of Her Beloved Face.
Preparations were at full
swing, everyone dressed in their best, women with the Goddesses favourite
flowers ‘pitkolim’ in their hair, colourful saris, men in clean white dhotis. Lot
of laughter, lot of jostling, babies crying mothers consoling them, toddlers
chuckling as they made their way up the steep slope to their temple perched on
their father’s shoulders. The widows in a tight little group determined to make
their best of this most unexpected wonderful occasion. The untouchables in
their own group some paces behind. Yes everyone was there; no one dared disobey
the Swami Maharaj.
Oh what a wondrous
sight awaited them. The entire temple complex lit with hundreds of torches. The
torch light reflected on the temple lake, so beautiful, oh so beautiful. The
smell of flowers, hundreds of garlands all around, the smell of coconut oil,
flowers and incense was overpowering and yet so dear to all of them. Despite
their joy, their voices dropped down, even the babies sensed that this was not
a moment for bawling….
And amidst all this splendour was their Goddess,
their most beautiful Goddess, decked in her finery, her ear rings sparkled, her
nose ring winked at them. How the gold ornaments glittered and shone in the
torchlight
Oh Goddess Mahalsa
they whispered, how beautiful you are they prayed in reverence. Oh Goddess
Mahalsa whispered the widows in their hearts a glimpse of your beloved Face has healed us. Thank
you Goddess Mahalsa, whispered the untouchables, Thank you for permitting us to
come so close to You. And Goddess Mahalsa smiled at each and every one of
them.
The Swami Maharaj began
his prayers, chanting the slokas engulfed in waves of incense, but why did he look so
immensely grief stricken, why was there an edge of desperation to his prayers.
Oh, you know how these priests are; always an air of boredom, always an air of
superiority, these Brahmans, nothing satisfies them, always those long
faces. And so they enjoyed, what
magnificent food, such lovely dessert. The swamis went round urging people to
eat. They relaxed and enjoyed themselves; it was a rare occasion that the
Temple threw such a feast. Nobody bothered that the untouchables ate with them,
nobody even paid attention to the group of widows, for here were the Swamis
themselves mingling with everyone.
But although they were
enjoying themselves, a question hung in the air. What were they celebrating? The
Swami Maharaj never mentioned what the occasion signified. At the very end just
when everyone was about to leave for their homes, tired but very happy, the
Assistant Swami said ‘The Goddess blesses each and every one of you’ The Swami
Maharaj should have intoned this, but he stood silent, tears rolling down his
face.
But as we know, these
Brahmans are strange creatures……..
After everyone had
left, quiet and peace settled on his beloved Temple, torches doused, the Swami
Maharaj knelt before his Beloved Goddess Mahalsa and begged her to forgive him,
for what he was about to do was sacrilege. He was sending her far away, sending
her away from her Home, her Home that had stood there for a thousand years.
Slowly he removed her
precious jewels, very delicately and with a soft touch he undid her beautiful
silk sari, he and the swamis bathed her and all the while the Swami Maharaj
wept, sobs wracked his chest, Oh Goddess forgive me, forgive me he shouted in
his broken heart. With infinite care they brought the Goddess down, Swami
Maharaj had a thought, You will feel cold on Your long and terrible journey oh
my Goddess Mahalsa, so he wrapped her in a beautifully embroidered silk coverlet,
warm and cosy.
It was time to leave,
hurry, hurry said Swami Maharaj, and yet he could not let her go. He had been
her servant and she his solace for more than five decades. Oh Goddess forgive
me, forgive me cried his pitifully broken heart and then the able bodied, young
swamis lifted her tenderly, cradled her as befits a Goddess whose home had been
there for a thousand years and now she had lost her home, the young swamis left
in that terrible darkness.
In that moment, Swami
Maharaj heard Her voice in his heart, Balambhat , oh she had used his name, the
name that he was called as a young child when he came to her Temple so many
years ago, Balambhat, nothing will ever be the same again….. but you must go on
in my name, I will be here always in the evenings, watching over my valley and
my people……
And the Swami Maharaj
did go on; with precise and sure movements he and his swamis installed a simple
stone idol with the features of their beloved Goddess and prepared for the hard
days that were sure to come…..
They did not have to
wait for many days, soon a messenger came to them, the Goddess across the river
had been desecrated, terrible and wicked hands had smashed her….
And then they came,
tall men of fair skin and golden hair, men speaking a strange language, men
demanding gold, swearing and cursing. Men screaming that their beloved Goddess
of a thousand years was nothing but a stone image. Men forcing them at sword
point to convert to their religion, the religion of the one true God….
Swami Maharaj did not
flinch, he continued his pooja, bedecking the idol with silver, the leader of
fair men came forward pulled off the silver, pocketed it and brought his ugly,
flat foot on the head of the idol. It was crushed into a thousand pieces…….See yelled
the fair man in his loud uncouth voice, nothing has happened to me I am alive,
hale and hearty…..
At that moment all the
people from the village rushed, women weeping loudly, screaming at the top of
their voices, our beloved Goddess Mahalsa save her, men tried to stop the fair
soldiers but they were brutally shouldered aside, many were killed, many more
injured, they were powerless.
Slowly and
systematically their beloved temple was pulled down, the beautiful timber from
the roof used for a noblemen’s house. Only
the magnificent holy lake remained.
Nothing was ever the
same again, much as the Goddess had told her faithful Balambhat so many
centuries ago….
But sometimes in the
evening, when the sun is about to set, the lake is struck with a golden light, it
is at this time when some people see a young lady dressed in a beautiful nine
yards sari, a brass ‘chimbu’ in her hand heading towards the lake for a bath,
she never shows her face but everybody knows her.
And all of us say with
great pride and swelling of our hearts there goes our Goddess Mahalsa…..
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