Jagadhatri yesterday was loud, vibrant, crowded, and chaotic. But as I walked home, the echo of the drums still vibrating in my chest, I realized it was also a prayer. Not just the one we recited, but the one we lived. And this morning, the silence feels heavy with its absence, waiting for the next time the goddess returns to remind us of who we are.
She was magnificent, as always. Seated on her lion, wielding the bow, arrow, chakra, and conch, her eyes were large and calm, holding a peace that the frantic crowd below could only aspire to. The chala (the ornate backdrop) behind her glittered under the halogen lights, a cascade of thermocol and foil sculpted into celestial arches. Artisans had spent months on this moment, and yesterday, their devotion paid off in the gasps of the faithful. jagadhatri yesterday
As the night deepened and the last of the prasad was distributed—sweet, crumbly narkel naru —a quiet settled. The crowds thinned. The lights didn’t dim, but their glare seemed softer. You could finally see the goddess clearly, not as a spectacle, but as a mother. Weary, perhaps, from a day of receiving the world’s burdens. Yet, still holding the universe steady. Jagadhatri yesterday was loud, vibrant, crowded, and chaotic