Durga - The Knowing Of

Picture sourced from internet  - an exhibit at a museum in Spain. 

Negotiating the Fabric 

Her enigmatic attire reveals itself! Clay has been awakened and ripples like the silken fabric of the universe that it originally was. Durga’s saree is “shompoorno mati”(entirely clay/mud). I had my  Eureka moment when I saw the beautiful naked power of Team Durga in the sculpture I use here as my cover picture. She made me move a weary limb or two so I could get a brief taste of Shashthi evening, such was her magnetic energy. 

The trek was fraught with some success and some disappointment. The hand has been hurting but if it stays dry I am blessed. The walk on the rough-and-stumble of our roads, brought back my uneasy body ache and I’m hoping I last the season of good cheer. I am back after the pesky evening chores at home. It is nearly 10:30. And I am back to contemplating the silken clay from the beds of sacred rivers. I wonder which waters the clay of her beautiful twin aanchal (pallu) traversed before it threw itself up on the shoulders of the Hooghly for the craftsmen to lovingly shape and texture with their hands. Whoever made this Durga gave her divinely perfect hands.

Lotus hands- they seem least interested in weapons. They are like magical diyas waiting for one touch of light to illuminate them like the 108 lamps of Sandhi Puja.

I like to picture his weathered rough hands giving life to hers. Lotus like, soft and supple yet firm with their deep red centers like the inner petals that hold the yellow pollen in close embrace. Her hands are trusting and open. The lotus has unfurled.

The usually banal Facebook greeted me this morning with a picture I thought of as I remembered bathos and the need to reverse it. The morning’s theme - here it is.

Durga actually awakened Facebook - there is hope!

The hands meeting in the central embrace of Namaste connected me with the artist and his muse, hand to hand. Her hand in his, a clay sculptor in embrace with his beloved creation, bringing them both alive as one. I contemplate the twin aanchal. It is like a shawl of honor, the kind you drape on an artist or writer lauding their contribution in lifting you to a higher plane. Yaa Devi – is this a Lajja Roop*? Is the artist’s shawl of honor into which he retreats gracefully as it is drapes his shoulders, also a reminder of humility?

I need to get back to the pandal. With zoom lens in hand. It will be tough tomorrow capturing the folds of her clay garments hiding beneath her garlands. But one can try. Back in 1985 there was a Shampoorna Matir Pratima – even the white “shola” work was fashioned out of clay. She came alive so solid, with a mere suggestion of the ethereal, tremendous power in her red and white. A powerful, minimalist depiction of what she stood for. If only I’d had a camera with me. She was different. She was young and full of fire. The deity I beheld today,  has been a mother for far too long. She is mellow.

Dinner awaits. Writing pages and its ancillary posts relieves pain. I just wish I could take on a ten day writing challenge and do nothing besides. There would be no demons left – just a wonderful release of energy. A personal Vijaya Dashami! 

To that day, in hope!


*see 16.1 of link

This post was created on 7/10/2016 and being shared today for the first time