My uncle Debabrata Basu wrote a series of sketches, about his grandmother, his aunts and his mother. This is about his grandmother.
Chandramani
Really, my grandmother's
face was like the moon. We called her Chordidi. She came to our house
as a newly-wed at the tender age of nine. She spent a full eighty
years here, in this house. She never went to school; in those days,
that was not the done thing. She had studied a little bit at home,
but she has left behind a legacy of about a thousand poems, some
long, some short. Just hand her a pen, and whatever the theme, the
topic she chose, poetry would flow out unbidden, non-stop and
spontaneous. Sometimes, she has written from deep joy, and sometimes
from boundless grief.
When she came to this
house after her marriage as the younger daughter-in-law (Chotobou ),
the house was vibrant. Father-in-law, mother-in-law, her elder
brother-in-law, his wife, several sisters-in-law. In the midst of all
of them, she made her own place.
When her mother-in-law
passed away, the home was managed by her elder sister-in-law
(Bordidi). All the sisters-in-law had got married by then. Bordidi
was childless. Chordidi's children were her children. As long as she
lived, Bordidi held the reins of the house. Everyone loved her,
everyone feared her. At home, her word was law.
With such a strict elder
sister-in-law, even then, not even once in all those years did
Chordidi have a verbal spat, or even a mild disagreement. She was as
deeply respectful as can be.
When I was quite young, an
infant, Bordidi passed away. From my earliest memories, I remember
Chordidi ran the house. Chordidi was not dominant; she was very
sweet. So we grandchildren grew very close to her. Chordidi had seven
daughters and two sons. But her eldest daughter and her younger son
passed away at a very early age. So we saw our six aunts and my
father (Baba ).
Baba was rather moody and
stubborn. If something was not according to his liking, then he would
get angry, very angry, and he would not listen to his wife, his
mother or his father. We worried about his stubbornness and anger.
When after passing my
matriculate examination, I went to Presidency College for the first
time, I had to be accompanied by our manservant. That's how we went
to our nearby school, always accompanied in our walk to school by our
manservant. But after I objected, I was finally allowed to go to
college alone each day. Somehow, Baba accepted that.
But trouble broke out with
my younger brother. After he cleared his ISC, and he was admitted to
Jadavpur Engineering College, Baba started to take him to college
every day. Baba would spend the whole day at Jadavpur College and in
the late afternoon when classes ended, he would bring his young son
home. Naturally, my brother revolted. He told Ma, from now on, I
shall stay at the hostel. Ma and I agreed. Chordidi also agreed
instantly. Yet we all knew that when Baba would hear, there would be
chaos.
One day I went to Jadavpur
College to drop off my younger brother. When Baba returned home, he
heard the news and sulked. Then he packed his stuff and left home.
When he left he didn't say where he was going. But we knew that he
would be going to his friend Nitaibabu's house. Before leaving, when
Baba told Chordidi his decision to leave home, Chordidi said calmly,
“Chandicharan, you're going, go. But know that the person who gave
my younger grandson the permission to stay in the hostel was me.”
How much mental strength,
courage she must have had to say that. Her only son leaving home, but
Chordidi took the entire responsibility on her shoulders.
Sometimes Baba and Ma
would have a disagreement. Quite unnecessarily, many a time, my
mother bore the brunt of his anger. But my Chordidi always supported
my mother; she consoled her. It is rare to see such closeness between
the mother-in-law and the daughter-in-law.
Towards the end, Chordidi
could not get out of bed. That day was the last day of the Durga Puja
that year, the day of the immersion of the idol. On the street, the
idol was being carried; bronze bells pealed. Chordidi whispered,
“Khokon, can you take me to the window once? Ma is passing by,
shall I not watch?”
I picked up Chordidi, I
held her tightly close to my chest and took her to the window sill.
Her eyes were blurred; but oh! what unbounded joy on her face. She
said, “Long may you live my boy, be a man, a good human.”
In those days, we would
say: twelve months, thirteen festivals. And in these festivals, the
star, the pivot was Chordidi. She would do all the work for the puja
herself, even in her old age. She did her puja with faith, and a deep
sense of duty and devotion.
Our family god is
Shalgramshila, a stone, which we call Madhusudan. Shravan, Agrahn,
Chaitra – the first fifteen days of these three months was our
turn. For these days, Madhusudan stayed at our house. The rest of the
year, he stayed at our relatives' houses. On the first of Baisakh,
even though it was not our turn, on the first day of the new year,
Purohit Mahashay would come with Madhusudan to give us a darshan.
Only after the darshan of the family god Madhusudan, our new year
would begin.
Baisakh would begin with a
jhara. On the tulsi pot, on a tall bamboo frame, a large earthen pot
would be hung. There would be a small hole at the bottom of the
earthen pot, which would be full of water. All day all night, water
would slowly and steadily drip-drip on the roots of the tulsi plant.
But our real attraction were the jhara gifts our aunts would send.
Baisakh is the month of fruits. Aam, jamun, kathal and many other
fruits would be among the gifts. And there would be mishti, lots and
lots of mishti. When the jhara gifts would come, our greedy eyes
would fall on these.
In the month of Jyesth,
there was Jai Mangalbaar. Chordidi and Ma would listen to the stories
of Jai Mangalbaar and eat a platter of fruits. The remains of these
lovely fruit platters fell to our fate.
In the steady rains
of Ashaad came Rath and Ultorath. Decorated by flowers, leaves and
deeps – earthen lamps – we would step out in to the rain with our
little raths, and our little trumpets made of palm-leaves (talpatar
bhepu)
On
the first of Shravan would begin our turn of Madhusudan. Chordidi
would herself do all the puja work, clean the thakurghar. And in the
evening, we would be ready and waiting with our bronze plate bells,
for the arti.
The
main attraction of Bhadra was on the day of Sankranti – Vishwakarma
puja and kite flying. But in our home, we did not celebrate
Vishwakarma puja, we celebrated Manasa puja. And it was a no-cooking
day. On the previous day, many many dishes would be cooked and kept
covered with a thin muslin cloth – in preparation for the feast on
the next day. I remember clearly there would be four or five types of
dal. Ten types of fries, and the greatest of them all – Hilsa fish
fry. In East Bengal, the pairs of Hilsa fish arrive on Saraswati
Puja; in West Bengal, on Bhadra Sankranti.
For
this no-cooking feast, so many people would come home. No one was
invited. Everyone knew that a great feast was held at our home that
day. Chordidi would herself cook and would serve everyone.
In
Ashwin came Durga puja. At home we did not have Durga idols. We did a
pat puja, with a painting. On the eighth day, Ashtami, in front of
that pat, we would hold a prayer with flowers, a Pushpanjali. And on
Bijoya, the tenth and final day, at different houses, there would
mishti and siddhi sharbat.
And
there was Kojagari Lakshmi Puja. This wasn't the only Lakshmi puja in
our home, we would have the Dipannita Lakshmi puja on the day of Kali
puja. Throughout West Bengal, the more common Lakshmi puja is the
Dipannita, with its array of lights.
On
the day of Kalipuja, we would worship Lakshmi and Alakshmi. With
banana and chikoo, Chordidi and Ma would make Lakshmi, Narayan and
Kuber. 108 lamps would be lit. Before we would worship Lakshmi, we
would say goodbye to her sister, Alakshmi. Purohit mahashay would
arrive and first take Alakshmi out of the house, and we would follow
him, ringing the bronze bells. On one side of the road, after
worshipping Alakshmi, we would leave her there and return to the real
Lakshmi puja.
Earlier,
we used to have Lakshmi puja every month. But later, towards the end
of her life, thinking of how much work and trouble it was for her
daughter-in-law, Chordidi stopped most of the Lakshmi pujas. But she
kept the key ones: like the Lakshmi puja in the months of Bhadra,
Pous and Chaitra – and of course, Dipannita – the puja with the
lamps.
In
the month of Kartik, every evening, we would light the sky lamps. The
glass lanterns - filled with the light of the castor oil-wick - and
the bamboo frame around it would be lifted up with the machinery.
What the objective was, I am not sure, but I guess the lights were
raised high above our heads to attract and distract the evening's
glow-worms, the shyama poka. As long
as Chordidi was there, we lit the sky lamps. Now of course, these
have been stopped.
After Kartik, Agrahn, the
month of Itu thakur, the month of the sun god. Every Sunday and at
Sankranti, we would have puja for Itu thakur, the god Itu. Chordidi
would sit in the puja ghar with my mother and sisters to listen to
the stories of Itu thakur. Chordidi would say her rhyme:
After
Kartik, comes Agrahn.
Itu
thakur sat down to meditate.
Five
sky maidens came down to earth.
They
bathed in the lake, they did.
They
wore starched clothes, they did.
Gave
blood from their breasts, they did.
Cut
their hair and swung their fly-whisks, they did.
With
incense and joss, they prayed.
With
great care, they worshipped Itu.
Itu
thakur was greatly pleased.
“All
ye maidens, I grant thee boons.”
“What
boons do we know? What boons do we ask for?”
“What
boons ye know, ask for those boons”
“May
my husband be the king of kings,
May
my children be immortal,
May
my son-in-law be the light of the sabha,
May
my son be the light of the durbar-hall,
May
my daughter be beautiful,
May
my daughter-in-law be full of goodness.
With
my sindoor and my shakha,
May I
step into heaven.”
I loved hearing the
rhymes; perhaps, that's why I remember it even today. I would think
these maidens said “What boons do we know? What boons do we ask
for?”, but they chose their boons carefully. Beauty for their
daughters so that it would be easier to marry them off well. But when
it came to their daughters-in-law, they were attracted by goodness
rather than beauty.
In Agrahn, Madhusudan
would again visit our home. With fresh rice, fresh jaggery, we would
have a new meal, a nabanna. The taste of that still lingers on my
tongue.
Pous would come with pithe
puli. And then Chordidi would make pithe of so many types, some
sweet, some salty. What I loved the most was the poira gurer shoru
chakli, the thin threads of melted jaggery.
In the month of Magh, the
bani bandana. This was the only puja with an idol. An earthen
inkwell, a khanki pen, and a pen of duck feathers. For many years, I
used to write Bengali with a khanki pen and English with a feather
pen.
The day after Sripanchami
is Shital Shasthi. That day, Chordidi and my mother had basi panta
bhat - stale watery rice. And whole boiled vegetables. Even though
many of the Lakshmi pujas were stopped, none of the shasthis were.
Jamai shashthi to Durga shasthi, Chapda shasthi, Neel shasthi, Ashok
shasthi to shital shasthi – not one of these were stopped. In those
days, what mattered to mothers was less of money, more of their
children's welfare. Now, how many mothers keep the fast for shasthi?
In Phalgun came Dol
purnima and Shivratri. On the day of Shivbratri, before the
night-long vigil, Chordidi would fast, and not even drink a drop of
water. And we would eat as usual before staying up the night.
In Chaitra were Neel and
Annapurna and Charak pujas.
I started with the saying:
earlier, twelve months, thirteen festivals. But I guess we had not
thirteen, but twenty-six. In most of these festivals, Chordidi would
either fast, or eat a platter of fruits. But definitely she enjoyed
making this physical effort. Why she liked it is difficult to
understand with today's mindset. But she did not want to force others
to follow the same path, the same physical strain; so thinking of the
difficulties of the next generation, she stopped many of the pujas.
Our pishimas/aunts loved
Chordidi deeply, this kind of love for a mother is rare. Towards the
end of her life, Chordidi was sick and bedridden for months. Ma was
always beside her. Pishimas came every day. Towards the end, when
Chordidi was almost unconscious, my aunt NauPishima asked, “Ma,
what is your pain? Tell us? Will you drink some water?”, “Ma, can
you recognise me.”
In an unclear voice,
Chordidi said, “Bina, give me a sip of water.” Towards the end,
she would say only that name, Bina, Bina. This kind of love between a
mother-in-law and daughter in law I have never seen.
When she was almost
ninety, Chordidi closed her eyes for the last time, leaving all of us
in tears.
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