|
I
Chhath songs ring the nostalgic chord,
I turn into a small child of eight,
Dating five decades back,
Holding the fingers of my father,
Donned in the military uniform,
Taking the round of Allier’s Tank,
People gathered at the Tank,
On the Chhath day, gazing at me,
Making me proud of my dress.
II
Every nook and corner of the Tank,
Stands filled with people,
With devotees with both hands folded,
In supplication to the Chhath Mata or the sun god,
Looking at the sun god,
Standing waist deep in water,
Seeking the blessings of sons,
For the barren wombs,
Cure for those afflicted with disease,
Jobs for those unemployed.
III
Few years later, I am in a college,
Moving in a group of friends,
At the Allier’s Tank,
To stealthily steal the glances of our college beauties,
Smitten by their bewitching look,
I crave for more and more of the
Meeting of my eyes with those of the sirens that
Had put me in their thraldom,
The more I drink their beauty,
The thirstier I become.
IV
Few years thereafter, I turn a father,
Moving with my children,
At the Allier’s Tank,
I relish buying flying balloons for them,
And leaving them to touch the ceilings,
I see my childhood days recreated in their sport.
I used to cry for a flying balloon and a ride,
On the wooden horse swirling.
V
The pond water has turned polluted,
The plastic bags are floating,
The pond has changed,
There is less of water,
Its slopes have also been robbed of their soil,
By its own people.
I am searching for the wooden horse ride,
Alas! It is nowhere seen.
I realize times have changed,
Modern-day kids perhaps find,
The wooden horse ride primitive,
As they find motorized swings,
More entertaining!
But the modern kids have the founts
Of their faith in gods fully dried up.
VI
I have learnt that religion divides.
Lo and behold!
The Hindus, the Muslims and the Sikhs,
All clad in yellow colour dhotis,
Standing together waist-deep in water,
With eyes towards the sun god,
Tearing to shreds the prevalent myth that religion divides.
Chhath Mata does not a discrimination make,
And opens flood-gates of blessings that all take,
In immeasurable measures.
But only those get blessed,
That have a faith unflinching in Her prowess. |
