“Thakur thakbe kotokhhon? Thakur jaabe bisarjan” (How much longer will the Goddess stay? She will go for the immersion). This thought saddens most people on the last day of the Durga Puja celebrations. The Devi, or divine mother, is invoked through the ritual of bodhon on the sixth day, Shasti, of Sharad Navratri. Traditionally, the ritual of adhibas leads to the installation of her spirit in a wood apple, or bilva, tree. On the seventh day, Saptami, after nabapatrika snan, the ritualistic bath, the Goddess enters her mortal home, the mandap, for the duration of the puja. All the months of anticipation and preparation reach a crescendo for the next few days, which finally culminate with a bisarjan.
The words, “Aashchhe bochhor abaar hobe; Ma tumi abaar esho” (We will again gather for celebrations next year; O Mother, as you come back again), reverberate as the sendoff cry across puja pandals on Bijaya Dashami, as idols are taken out in jubilant procession for the immersion. That day, even bhadralok Bengalis—who pride themselves on propriety—shed their inhibitions to give in to rhythm and participate in the ‘bhashaner naach’. A school of dance in itself, it is a true exhibition of dance like no one is watching.
To those watching from the sidelines, this dance of joyous abandon can seem like a transgression of societal codes of morality, especially when women participate in it. However, beyond our acceptance of social propriety conditioned by strict Brahminical norms, dancing in immersion processions on Dashami is way more socially primordial to those from the eastern part of the sub-continent than we would assume it to be. And this reality is outlined in the Tantra texts that lay out the rituals of Durga puja.
As per the Kalika Purana (between 7th to 12th Century BC), there are two stories associated with Bijaya Dashami. According to one, after Durga slayed demon Mahishasura on Dashami, the Gods started celebrating along with the Savaras, the indigenous tribe of the Vindhya mountains. The second story narrated that when Rama killed Ravana, Lord Brahma and other gods took the idol of Durga for immersion on Dashami in a victory procession, along with the Savaras. What the text weighs in on is the connection of Dashami immersion with the celebrations of the Savara.
Writer, archaeologist and linguist, Acharya Jogesh Chandra Roy Bidyanidhi (1859-1956) reinforces the saying of the Kalika Puran. He writes that Sharad Navaratri has its genesis in the new year festivities of the Savara tribe, who at the end of a nine-day festival, would worship their tools and arms on the tenth day and take the ceremonial water-filled pot for immersion amidst a pompous procession. Savara men would express joy by indulging in playing with mud and dancing. Allusion to this practice is found in the Kalika Puran, which prescribes that Devi Durga has to be taken for bisarjan amidst playing of conch shells and drums, flying of colourful flags, throwing flowers and popped rice in the air, and games, comic performances and dancing that leaves a trail of dust and mud in its wake!
The relation between Durga Puja and rituals of dancing and singing in a manner considered far from ideal by prevalent modern sensibilities isn’t limited to bisarjan though. B C Mazumdar writes in Durga: Her Origin and History (1906) that indigenous communities in Sambalpur, Odisha celebrated an autumn festival to worship the virgin Goddess, Kumari, who was immersed on the tenth day amidst much singing and dancing. On the ninth night or Navami, young unmarried girls would gather to sing explicit songs, which are known as Dalkhai. Kumari Osa is still celebrated in Sambalpur will tribal priests presiding over rituals of sacrifice and singing.
A reflection of this custom was prevalent mostly in rural Bengal till 19th century and was famously called Navamir Kheid —singing of obscene songs and dancing on Navami night, after the completion of the Navami homa. In an increasingly urbane Brahminical led discourse of conduct and traditions, Navamir Kheid slowly came to be considered explicit and was censored from performances in public spaces. While the ritual of Navamir Kheid in Bengal slowly faded into oblivion, offshoots of it in forms of shonger gaan or comic acts, khemta dance, drunken revelry and explicit songs, were staged by zamindars and babus on Navami night during the colonial rule for the entertainment of their English guests, even in Kolkata.
Today Navamir Kheid isn’t just a lost practice, it is also lost from memory and common knowledge. But as much as the bhadralok Bengali might try to disassociate themselves from any cultural expression that is anything but refined urbane, the genetic imprints of Durga Puja rituals do not let them get away from flamboyant performance related to puja festivities. Thus, the loudest and most vibrant of songs and dances are reserved for the Navami nights in all pandals, paving the way to the absolute craziness of bashaner naach.
Afterall, in prescribing the correct rituals of immersion, the Kalika Puran says, “do not utter any decent words; speak crudely and sing obscenely. This is the ritual of bisarjan”. The text challenges our Brahminical, urbane, much anglicized and sanitized sensibilities that have also shaped our current understanding and acceptance of rituals. As if in anticipation of this social and mental resistance, and to keep reminding us of the evolution of Durga and Durga puja rituals, the text warns, “anybody who will cling on their façade of decency, anybody who expresses disdain towards unrefined language or crude words; Bhagawati’s (another name of Durga) wrath will befall such a person.”
Tanushree Bhowmik is a Delhi-based food historian and development professional
