Puja without Durga

An SUV is not exactly a very common sight in the village so within minutes of arriving,a crowd gathers around the vehicle. It’s four in the afternoon so the sun is already on its westward journey. This village is practically in the middle of nowhere and a friend has inherited land here and so we have come to inspect.

There is no electricity though it is hardly some 20 kilometers from Bagdogra, the nearest airport and the tourist gateway to the Himalayas in West Bengal. An irrigation canal flows by though from the looks of things around, agriculture isn’t exactly prospering.

A lanky man in his 30s, caretaker of the purchased land, shows us around. The group of curious onlookers follows. There are mostly children amongst them. All the while I am rather uncomfortably aware of a stark difference. It is Durga Puja, the biggest Bengali festival, when gifting new clothes is a custom and these kids barely have any on them.

An old woman comes out from one of the mud thatched houses and offers us lunch to which we politely decline. She insists that we have tea and arranges for it. She has no furniture save one wooden chair so she brings out her cot for us to sit on it. She is a widow and lives with her daughter in-law, who is a widow as well. The two women barely earn their living from weaving baskets. They have practically nothing and hardly know us, yet they offer us genuine hospitality - something rarely found even in the big hotels of a city.

The children are still gathered around us. As the sun begins to set and sounds of the dhak come from a far off Puja Pandal, a sudden brilliance catches my eye. Peeping from behind the fields and the trees are the majestic Himalayas and the snow capped peak of Mount Kanchendzonga shining a dazzling gold.

It is almost surreal that this seemingly nondescript village witnesses such beauty every day. I begin to think that there should actually be a resort here. The villagers could have better and more ways of earning. It could be fantastic getaway in the foothills of the Himalayas. People could walk, cycle or simply hang around and watch the sun set over the third highest peak in the world. But how naïve of me, where is the infrastructure? The road is not motorable and there is no electricity. In fact there may be so many more villages with a similar view around. So is this place destined to remain like this forever?

As the time to leave arrives and the small pairs of eyes continue to follow our every movement, I feel a distinct urge to give the children something. It is Durga Puja, it may not make the slightest difference in their lives but I feel the need to keep alive the tradition of gifting. I desperately rummage my bag for toffees, peppermints, biscuits, anything......and there is nothing. I try to look around for a shop and there is none.

With a strange guilt in my heart I take leave of a village in the foothills of North Bengal, that I will remember for a while to come.