THE COW AT WORK

Not even a couple of hours ago a summer-day’s scourge of diabolic hot was at its worst letting loose more of a corporeal terror against all living entities. Only God best knows what a fatalistic pleasure the sun relishes out of observing the lives wriggling and wriggling to numbness under awful waves of sizzling temperature. Now it is at rest for the day leaving its preys to recuperate to life. Thanks God. The savage sun on its pilgrimage reaches the west morphing awfully lot, from one roguish to gentle, blazing to waxing, and devilish to solemn. All bountiful has it grown. Balmy gleams, pinkish, yellowish, reddish or the blended one, from the waxing yolk, floods the whole earth that has so far been laying in stupor with the blistering wounds, and is limping back to normal with the great lull. Sensuous beauty, heavenly serenity, and moistened carefreeness, the earth emerged rich with at the daybreak, were all mercilessly plundered by the blaze of the ruthless sun only to see living occupants charred from within and without. Incredibly though, the sun now stands dripping drenched with remorse, death wish brewing up to indemnify the colossal loss of the dawn with the affluence of the dusk. From nowhere, just to be true, come flying the breezes bringing in with them the soothing lull. Leaves that up till the moments earlier dangled drooping, bounce to rustling softly in the rhythm of the breezes. Noiseless birds now busy ruffling up their feathers with their brisk beaks, break into sudden cheeping quite in a nostalgic mood as though stirred by the reminiscence of their antemeridian feats. High above the patches of fleecy clouds, gleeful and extraordinarily conceited at being jazzy with the golden streaks of velvety sunshine, are fly floating care freely as if to overseer the atonement ceremony of the sun.

All the living souls that have grown droopy, are now getting immersed in the profuse golden gleams. Scorching sun truly played mischievous pranks with them draining out all vitals from them. Even the blades of the grasses over the small patch of meadow here stand downcast. But to everybody’s utter astonishment, a cow at work in the meadow has vehemently refused to get cowed down by the day’s thermal menace. If you have a close watch on it you sure can hardly find any kind of lightheadedness about it. With its long neck stooping diagonally reaching down the grasses, it poses all spunky and full at devoted work. Black tipped snout, with wrinkles playing on it, against the springy turf, goes chomping. Who tells it is a mere ruminant chewing cud under a shade of a tree or in its byre with droopy eyes? Every touch of professionalism is exhibited about it, shunning as though its bovine disposition. What it only knows is that the time is soon to be ended up and no single moment worthy to be misspent in the name of the titillation of the divinely twilight. Quite dexterous in mowing the green grass and transporting the mass into its rumen, the cow perfectly demonstrates every single thing for any one who wants to learn what undeterred devotion for a work is all about. There are of course, scores of irritants, gnats, flies, mosquitoes and the like who are out to vex this creature. But who cares? All inbuilt defensive instruments are pressed into service. It keeps its bushy tipped tail perennially busy swinging around and swashing against it body to shoo away these pestering flying elements. How master in selfprotection with profound delicacy is fully understandable when it plays ripples across muscles underneath the skin in order to thwart attack of these irksome flying objects. The pair of long ears never stops flapping. Then all on sudden emerges a stray mongrel just where its muzzle continues being at speedy work, may be with a silly desire to play prank with it, only to get an instantaneous head-butt from this timid creature, and breaks to running away whining. Thus, it employs its every possible limbs for its defense, that too without slightest stoppage of its main action. Silhouette of approaching evening and returning flights of birds back home tell the fast end of the day. Yet the cow shows no sign of receding its opportunistic harvest, rather it grows workaholic. But its master appears in its way. Now the noose around its neck orders it to cease its work. One or two obstinate and rebellious twist of its head was enough before it finally gives in to its master’s pressure, now getting it that it has to go. The cow, appearing fatigued, begins lumbering homeward, fully satiated with the catch. Wish it a happy nocturnal ruminating.

To a little exaggeration, I still stand taken aback wondering, taking and taking me inside my analytical being, driven, of course, by my inquisitiveness, to sum up what the dumb creature has tutored me. It possesses the wisdom that suggests time is precious in our sojourn in the earth, plus that being hell bent to the maximum cashing in on it at every possible moment , is indispensable to stonewall the fatal grip of dog-eat-dog antagonism and other odds in life. It bothers me little if the excellence the cow has originates from its instincts. It matters that it exhibits. And more of its wisdom is on the display when its master pops up in a tearing hurry, tattered with the stress in his face, not being sensitive a bit to ponder if he now suits to apply his authority over it breaking such a determination. On the contrary, when the cow finally takes it is time to retire, it cuts its being serious, and in no time, goes happy- go-lucky. You sure can not spot out any presence of stress and worry about it. Here lies the quintessential lesson to learn.

-: E N D :-

an evening with Mother Durga

Pankaj Banerjee
oct.10,'06
A perfect synthesis of a sense of euphoria and that of devotion is still floating in the form micro bubbles in the air of sarat festival even as the sojourn of the goddess Durga down here with her devotees has its culmination. Gloomi-ness dangling high above with the sticky clouds shutting out the sky does not find its peer in this village. One or two spells of downpour at this noon is nothing more than creation the few puddles and muddy patches in the village paths.

The sun immediately following showers stood antagonizing all bids othe weather to go mucky,air around here standing morose-proof. The scurrying children and women with old uncles, aunts and grandparents sitting here and there around the pandal and enjoying themselves, bear the eloquent testimony.The atmosphere in the pandal, now calm in the dusk, was still vibrant with the Chanting of hymn the priest offered before the Mother in course of rituals. A kind of celestial fragrance given off by flowers and burning frankincense wafting in the air made this makeshift temple heavenly richer. Now with three days gone by unnoticed, there hung on intoxication-waxing and healing in nature, permeating every nook and cranny of the heart of one and all. Much-longed for Durga puja celebrated here with minute ritual details, had now reached the valedictory stage,spilling divine nectar and aroma all around.

Irrespective of age, sex and disposition, one remains a staunch devotee of the Mother. Hangover of wild ecstasy is still there. The devotees now gather in cluster before her-strong passion brewing up within to be lost in the rhythmic dance-Atari-a dance of beatitude, elevating all concerned to a sublime plane. Getting engrossed with the Mother exchanging pleasantries among themselves setting free from the bondage of worries are no doubt symbolic of the uplift of their spiritual quotient. Evening rolls in, more devotees pour in and the priest is all set for the arati. The priest plays the liaison officer inspiring the devotees with Vedic hymn. Everyone especially older ones, gets filled with veneration. Swells of smoke issuing out of the dunacha confirm it.

Rhythmic beats of the sacred drum cut loose the ecstatic frenzy of the devotees present here. Arati begins. Used yet to getting stooped to the nitty-gritty of mighty miseries and poverty, there are no stumbling-blocks for any one to be lost in the holy feats. Before long all get engrossed in stepping in divinely rhythm, hands upward, faces fixed at the Mother’s eyes, half-shut with reverential feelings. Arati goes on non stop, even though the divine exercise has caused the devotees to perspire profusely. Devotion to the beloved mother is infinite, all individuals getting, as it were, mingled into oneness regardless of who and what they are.

Theirs are, beyond doubt, the best language to convey their immense gratitude to the Mother for Her blessings. Theirs are the best, for they are now devoid of egoistic consciousness. They have become a single mass of divine oneness with the supra cosmic. They are in absolute bliss. They are fully engrossed in the Mother, their eyes fixed on the image, brimming with tears, their feet engaged in rhythmic steps. This is what the Mother is all about. She is the harbinger of happiness, annihilator of evil, who puts an end to miseries and mischief and wipes out sins. Her endless and cosmic benevolence brings forth lull to the diseased, fertility to barrenness, mercy for the foes, solace to the bereaved and salvation from both ignorance and catastrophe.
“all Hail to the Mother! Victory to the Mother”-hosanna fills the air.