Durga Puja - The Glory of Bengal

By Ayushi Routh

Divine rage brimming in her fierce eyes,
Her features sharp, her form formidable,
Her unbound hair billowing around her like a curtain of darkness.
Her red saree as radiant as flames,
As if to signify her birth from the heavenly fires.

Endowed with celestial weapons of the gods,
She descends to the Chamundi Hills
To slay the demon Mahishasura.
She is invincible, she is courage, she is strength, she is compassion,
She is mercy, she is love, she is our mother, she is our protector.
She is Maa Durga.

Her trident, the boon from Lord Shiva—the conductor of death—
Impales the demon Mahishasura in the chest,
Piercing his vile heart, thus ending his reign of terror.
Her victory symbolizes the triumph of mankind.
Her victory, to be celebrated for centuries
As the great festival of Durga Puja.

Sculptures, with careful hands, frame her godly form with mud and thatch,
With artistic strokes they paint her beauty and her fierceness,
And with their skills and prayers, they try to capture her divineness.
Black kajal framing the fire in her eyes,
Her golden skin adored with pure white jewelry.

Her idols become the very embodiment of power—
Her ten arms burdened with weapons for our protection,
Her fierce mount flourishes his golden mane,
Just as becoming as his rider.

Her devotees adorn themselves in new clothes,
And with hearts filled with joy, love, and admiration,
They pay tribute to their divine mother.
Families unite under the strength of their devotion, and as one,
They pray for happiness and welfare.

Beautiful bright pandals created in the glory of this festival
Bring brilliant vividness that dazzles until dawn.
The streets thrum with the excitement of the pulsing crowds,
A different vibrancy that overcomes every aspect of life.

Shiuli flowers leave behind their delicate fragrance,
Mingling with the sweetness of freshly rubbed chandan.
The fumes of the coconut husks in dhunuchi purify our souls.
Voices of men and women mingle in melodious songs
In the praise of our mother goddess.

Adorned in red and white, the devotees dance to the beats of the dhak.
The auspicious ritual of sindoor khela celebrates womanhood.
And finally, the time of departure draws near...

Hearts overwhelmed with sorrow and joy,
And feelings of bitter nostalgia marring our joyous thoughts,
The divine mother goddess is rested to the flowing rivers.
Her form melts, her ornaments scatter,
Her sarees create strips of blood red over the holy waters.

But her divinity permeates the air and brings peace to her devotees.
And with watery eyes and wistful smiles, we pledge:
“Asche Bochor Abar Hobe”