I spent Christmas in Kolkata. True, it was only October, but that's the best analogy I could think of for Durga Puja, a religious festival especially important to Bengalis. Families get together, traveling if necessary, presents, often of new clothes, are exchanged, government offices close -- for four days in Kolkata (known to the British as Calcutta).
The story, according to a Bengali tour guide, is that the demon Mahisha was making life miserable for humans and gods alike, and he could not be killed by anyone born normally. So, the gods got together and created Durga, each giving her a piece of his power -- she has ten arms, each hand holding a symbol of the power received from one of the gods. The festival is a celebration of Durga's victory over the demon. Another version has it that it represents a visit by Durga and her husband to her own family -- a significant event in a country where the wife moves in with the husband's family. Either way, she is usually shown with her four children, Ganesh, Lakshmi, Saraswati and Kartikeya, each associated with one of the four main castes.
The West Bengal Tourist Office offers a "heritage puja" tour, that visits families that have been celebrating the festival for generations -- some from the founding of Kolkata in the early 1700s. The houses are big, built around a central courtyard, at one end of which is a tableau showing the goddess killing the demon, with her children in attendance. Some of the families have obviously fallen on hard times, but still host the festival. Brahmins chant in front of the statues, which are elaborately decorated.
This is actually Christmas crossed with Mardi Gras. All across Kolkata, and Bengal, and northern India, committees come together to raise money and create their own Durga pandals -- temporary temples holding the statues. (In fact, my jeep was held up in a village soon after the Bhutanese border by a group of young men demanding contributions for Durga Puja.) All the pandals are different. The prize winner in Kolkata in 2001 was entirely constructed from little earthenware teacups -- it was huge and impressive. One was reached down a side-street lined with Shiva lingams, with a huge lingam in front of the pandal. Others were fronted by displays of colored lights -- all Kolkata came out at night to travel round and admire each others efforts. One up-to-date display showed the destruction of the World Trade Center on one panel, with the plane flying into the towers, and then the collapse. The next panel showed the recent suicide attack on the Jammu and Kashmir assembly. The juxtaposition was a neat commentary on India's belief that the attacks in Kashmir, where fighting has killed over 30,000 people, are also terrorism that the world should be concerned about. Political commentary is supposedly frowned on during Durga Puja, though -- an article in "India Today" (India's "Time" magazine), mentioned that the West Bengal police had banned "controversial" portrayals -- no bin Laden demons.
Kolkata truly became a "City of Joy" during Durga Puja -- everyone seemed to be smiling. Even the end of the festival, when the statues were given to the Hooghly River, was a happy time. (This was part of the cycle of life, death and rebirth -- in order for there to be new creation (next year's Durgas) there must be destruction (the immersion of this year's)). The crowd roared, the drums rattled, the cameras flashed, the rope men held the statue poised for one last look, and suddenly, splash, she was floating away on the waters -- at least she was floating away if the tide was right. At 7:30 p.m., one of the judges at the main immersion ghat said that he had already seen 400 immersions and there were 300 to go -- plus more the next night.
One group not celebrating Durga Puja were the street people, for whom life went on as normal: begging or working during the day, sleeping under tarpaulins at night. I stayed in backpacker country on Sudder Street, beside the Indian Museum, and there were several family groups who "owned" a piece of the street. The tarps were rolled up during the day, and stand pipes along the street provided water for drinking and washing. Sudder St. also had a fair-sized population of taxi drivers and rickshaw pullers (not cyclists) clamoring for custom. My first sight of a foot-powered rickshaw was of a thin elderly man pulling a fat, smug-looking schoolboy, but I wound up taking one a couple of times myself -- if the runners don't work they don't eat. (But the rickshaws are really too small for two westerners.)
I stayed at the Fairlawn, another relic of the Raj, but not in the same class as the Windamere. I think my room had once been a verandah, and the food was barely adequate. The plant-bedecked courtyard was, however, a good place for a beer (especially on Kolkata's "dry" days), and I met some interesting fellow guests. I went sight-seeing with Antonia, an Englishwoman who lived in Paris and worked as a tour guide. We mostly used Mr. Singh's taxi -- Mr. Singh, a Sikh, told us that he and his taxi had appeared in the movie "The Great Trunk Road". He took us on a nighttime tour of the illuminations, and guided us round the Botanical Gardens and the Marble Palace -- he certainly knew his stuff.
One benefit of visiting Kolkata during Durga Puja was a dramatic reduction in the amount of traffic during the festival -- except when touring the illuminations. Kolkata's streets have no lane markings -- the number of lanes changes constantly. While there are a few traffic lights and policemen, crossing the street can be a dangerous undertaking. I tried to keep a local between me and the oncoming traffic.
I stayed in Kolkata long enough to start feeling at home. I had a sense of where things were, I had a couple of favorite restaurants, I knew the faces of the beggars on Sudder St., I bought water and used the 'net at the same places, I even knew where to get my sandals cleaned after getting my feet particularly dirty at the Kali temple. I also got a red cord round my left wrist at the Kali temple (although the cord is for Shiva). It joined the Buddha bracelet I bought in Dunhuang and my western watch -- a nice ecumenical collection. I even felt a little sad that it was time to move on, but maybe that was due to having to deal with Howrah station again. At least I didn't have to spend any time in its totally unwelcoming waiting room, and on Mr. Singh's advice I avoided the rapacious porters by carrying my bag myself.
I wrote earlier that I would review my travel plans in Kolkata, but I forgot about it. True, "India Today" was suggesting that America's invasion of Afghanistan could be paralleled by an Indian invasion of Pakistan, but it seemed unlikely at the time. Although I had taken to wearing my money belt again, I really felt quite safe in India. A walking profit center, certainly, but safe. (Kolkata gave me a great deal of practice at ignoring touts and saying "no".)
Sent from Jaipur, Rajasthan, India on Nov. 5 about Kolkata (Calcutta), West Bengal, India Oct. 22 - 27
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