Asche bochhor aabar hobe

“The sun went down and so did I. Night came again. Why again those haunting thoughts, those shattered dreams, those midnight screams...”

A shrill cry of the hyena woke me up and reminded me of my loneliness. When my eyes opened, the stars glistened in a distant sky. Here, I lay under a banyan tree by the side of the holy Ganges, whose water just flowed by in the stillness of the night.

A blasphemous wave hit the rock, trying to breach the boundary; the same gurgling sound. Not a blemish on the rock.

“These ripples live only to die,” I thought, as memories of the day flooded back to me.

*********

It was the last day of the Pujas – the nine day ceremony of worshipping Goddess Durga. Magic floated in the air as Kolkata drunk itself with joy.

“No Raag, I can’t love you. You know I am married. Our society does not allow this.”

“Why not Sheetal? I love you, and I know you love me too. Why must the society decide what's right...”

The drums had begun and my words got lost in the loud beats that rose to a crescendo just then. Sheetal walked away and did not look back.

*********

“Ah, the same beats, the same drums.”

A crowd had gathered at some distance. They had come to immerse the Goddess. For nine days they had worshipped her, decorated her, celebrated her, and now they would sink her in the water, for her earthen body to simply melt away.

Loudly, they chanted – Asche bochor aabar hobe – Next year, again.

Another wave hit the rock; the same gurgling sound, again. Not a blemish on the rock, still.

“If only to die, these ripples must live,” I thought as I got up to go back home.