LAST PART.5 year old’s rendezvous with Maa Durga (PART3)

Fortunately, all the girls turn in the same direction. We move our feet in the same way and step down into the green room one by one, being careful with our sarees as we hear the classical Bengali song stop. We hear a huge round of applause followed by the comparer’s voice complimenting us. I see my mother and aunt coming into the green room. I immediately apologize to everybody and ask if I just did a big blunder.  All the girls and I look towards our aunt, who taught us the whole dance, hoping a negative reply. Our aunt looks carefully into our tiny eyes, which have coated magic powder and liners all over, and gives a bright smile. She laughs joyfully in a way that her deep dimples cover half of her bubbly cheeks. We are now told that we looked like angels as we swayed our arms, with red coating towards the fingers, on the stage. Now the aunt comes to me, she keeps her hand, embellished with a thick red bangle, on my shoulder tenderly.  She happily tells me something, which makes me feel very good. 
“Child, it doesn’t matter at all from where you led the line off stage. What matters is how you did it. And I am glad that I am getting the chance to be the first one to tell you that you did your job flawlessly, may be beyond that.” 
I feel butterflies in my stomach. I know the adrenaline just overflowed into my body. A wide smile spreads through my face and I run to my mother. This time, I almost trip over due to my excitement but my mom grabs me by the left hand and I am saved. I tell her about the complement I have just received enthusiastically. And so, I get a sound sleep at night.
It is about eight in the morning and the sun shines bright, touching the skin faintly. A cool wind blows, making the weather pleasant and the air pure to breathe in.  But as I proceed towards the Pandal, I find no Pandal. All the set up is taken off. The murti still stands there, as charming as it has always been. All women take rounds around it and worship our Deity. They make Ma Durga eat sweets and apply maroon tika on her forehead. We all once again tap our feet together on the beats of dhaki. I know that this is the last time in this year that I am getting this joy. So I dance with everyone energetically, feeling joy, both bitter and sweet. About fifteen to eighteen minutes later, all the women come down from the murti stage with thalis in their hands filled with sweets, some leaf, sindoor and many more things. They begin to apply orange- red colored sindoor on each other’s faces. They smear the dry sindoor with their hands on each other’s neck, arms, forehead, etc. I highly confuse this moment with holi. I ask everyone quickly if today is holi too. As I do so, one of the aunts brushes a long path of sindoor starting from my nose to my forehead. She stuffs a big, white sweet into my mouth forcefully and everyone laughs. Once again, I get to face everyone’s amusement. Everyone tells me that this whole thing is called ‘sindoor khela’ which literally means playing with sindoor. I accept it to be like holi, the difference is that it’s just played among married women and only sindoor can be used. I ask my aunt why she applied it on my face. She laughs again, and as she does, the sindoor on her face falls on her saree a little, making it red too. She squeezes my cheeks, coloring them as well, and says that it is a way of blessing me. I find it very interesting and go to every aunt and my mom too, and wait for them to bless me. Eventually, as I see my reflection, I find myself totally colored in red. I am glad to find that I am unrecognizable (if someone ignores my size). We all are exceedingly spirited and delighted. Everyone clicks pictures in which I smile continuously, making my cheeks hurt. Soon, trucks and buses arrive. All the murtis are kept on trucks but the point when my heart actually pinches is the moment when Ma Durga’s murti is picked up and taken to the truck. People shout out joyfully that next year ma will come again. I join them and yell at the top of my voice. The dhaki is played at its best. I ask someone if it is necessary for Ma Durga to leave every year. The person replies, “If she doesn’t leave, then how will she come the next year?”
I find the answer perfect.
So we all come together to say good-bye to our Goddess only to wait for her to come back next year.
“­­­Ashche Bochhor Aabaar Hobe”