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"An Encounter of Realization," by Lina Ghosh

"Why do we have to be here?" Amar said to himself in a regretful growl. He sluggishly made his way through the energized crowd that met in the tiny gym of Presido County High School. His family was just ahead of him, pushing its way to the immense statue that stood just a little distance away. His mother was a devout Hindu and wanted her family to behold the grandeur of the might goddess Durga that day. No one was about to block her family's view of the all-powerful deity. His father was being tugged along, not quite as devoted as his mother yet he had converted to become a meatless Hindu. Amarís sister Shivani walked along in innocent awe. Being seven years old, she took these pujas to be fabulous celebrations where she was given money for no reason and could meet up with all her Hindi friends. All around him, Amar smelled the tangy spices of South Indian mosala dosas, Bengali chop, and Madhuri vindaloo. People swelled in every direction, some anxious to start the festivities, some languidly conversing with others, and still others who were impatiently grumbling for food. The dancers had already begun their continual sway to the mystic music faltering through inadequate speakers up on the dingy walls of the gymnasium. The hips of the girls were in lazy tune to the dangling chords of the sitar, as their arms gave graceful movement to the warbling octave of the singer. Amar was entranced by the girls' gyrations, and was almost plowed down as he glanced over to check them out.

   "What is the rush? Not like there's a fire," Amar mumbled indifferently. He couldnít understand what was the big deal about a statue in the middle of the grimy floor, among some dried flowers and smelly incense. Years of coming to these supposed dens of pleasurable worship left him devoid of any real spiritual feeling. He simply came because of duty and to clue into hot Indian girls at times when he could find one. Duty was one subject his mother was fond of talking to him about. Unfortunately, women never came up. His mother often related to him about the glory of mother Durga. When her puja came around, it was only the duty of a true Hindi to celebrate extensively and come together as a community. She, along with her consort Shiva, was responsible for all of creation to exist and that by itself should be enough to bring a mere human to their knees in supplication. Durga was everything, and everywhere to be had. She could be called on to help the child, comfort the old and crippled, and berate the wicked of this world. An all-purpose cleanser, Amarís mother would say as an attempted joke copied off the American commercials she frequently viewed. Amar was an expert at tuning his mother out effectively while not getting in trouble. His views were simply that all this religion talk wasnít stimulating to him. Now there were things at Durga pujas that definitely did stimulate him, and he loved to watch those things dance.

   But Amar couldn't deny that the tangible excitement at pujas was also something he enjoyed. In the air, the puja radiates the fact of enthusiastic people ready to express their joy to the wonderful Durga. A happy feeling is always communicated at a puja; nothing can release a person from the anticipation of good times to come. A puja isnít just a celebration, it becomes a chance for people to rid of inhibitions acquired through their hectic life and be deliciously free. Laughter cannot be curbed, words are recklessly unleashed, and bliss is determined to be achieved by all. Amar, in all his days of restlessly searching, could never find a party anywhere that had that same atmosphere which he admittedly relished at the puja.

   Amar can't help but look at the solemn Brahmins that congregate in a separate corner from all the zealous people making merry and bantering loudly. Amar wonders at how, in these circumstances, these guys don't join in and have some fun with all the rest. He couldnít stand there looking disapproving like these men in dresses always seemed to. These wise sages knew the truth that these gatherings were meant to be festive; in fact they upheld the tradition for all the Hindus. Yet Amar got the impression that the men themselves could never let go and joke humorously and dance wildly or embarrass themselves in such a good-natured manner. Brahmins just came in and led the actual prayer, talked quietly to the main organizers of the shindig, and made their exit to pray or whatever. Once in his naÔve years, he even asked his father why the men in the long robes didn't like to have fun. His father replied in a ridiculously serious tone that they did enjoy the amusement on the inside. Amar could only guess at the reasoning of the Brahmins and pitied the Stoics in a careless way.

   Subsequently the entire family was standing directly in front of the Durga marble. Amar's mother had succeeded in ramming her entourage into the throng and coming out with a full view of the goddess in all her finery. The ten arms jutted out to distract passers-by. At least Amar felt that to be true. Those crazy appendages bugged him whenever he came upon such a statue. "How could a woman actually possess so many arms and stay upright?" he asked in his mind. It didnít seem to him to be the most logical assets to own if a woman was divine. Shivani was beside him, gossiping with her little friends about how incredibly cool the whole affair was. She was also detailing the great characteristics of one Sanjay Datta in her art class. Little girls were so annoyingly cute, yet that attractiveness usually left him overlooked. That was one thing Shivani was good for.

   The newly burning incense was the signal for everyone to be quiet and to assemble. For an interminable time, Amar had to listen to droning voices mixing in with the final twangs of the scratchy music. His flowers were delicate and flaky when placed in his hand, and then he prayed with everyone else, his mutterings in synch with everyone else's. Amar also managed to singe his hand when passing over the offered flame, which brought out chuckles from his father watching a foot away. "Just great," whined Amar under his breath as he agonized over his hand.

   Now his mother was rushing to the parking lot, practically taking all the family by the hand and dragging. She staunchly disliked having to wait to get home and driving in crowds. Amar lethargically paces himself, having seen quite a vision of loveliness in the moments after his burn. He wonders how he could meet up with her, and stops to purposely walk into her. Yet she sidesteps past and glides on through the exit. Amar, feeling the fool, now tries to reclaim his blur of a mom and the rest of his group but no one is in sight. Thinking he would soon see them, he turns and turns in circles to see their faces or familiar clothes. Yet he sees only the tired eyes and exhausted expressions on strangersí faces as they relentlessly push by him. Instant after instant flies as he searches futilely for the family. As if programmed to do so, the hall lights go out and hamper his efforts. Amar is also having trouble finding the once obvious exit in the darkness, and has to go to the other end of the hallway.

   "Man, the door's locked?! This door can't be locked now," Amar rustles with the door bar and finding it securely closed, looks around him helplessly. In the silence that follows the bustle and noise of the gaily-entertaining puja, the darkness descends onto the statue of Durga perched above her childrenís statuettes. Usually the marble figurines are the first thing cleared away at the end. Amar finds it odd that the pieces have not been moved and then perceives an eerie calm in the slightly menacing shadows of the gym. The pallor of the faint light that penetrates the black gives Durga a yellowed tinge. Amar sits and waits, while expecting his family to bust through the door at any moment. Yet the intimidating look of Durga in an empty room with virtually no escape gives him uncertainty and a twinge of fear.

   Suddenly without any warning, a waft of smoke rises off the floor section where Amar's family had been standing just minutes ago. Amar peers at the smoke, briefly ruling out fire on the hard court. But the smoke becomes a screen before him, a wall of impervious grayish matter that would not be removed no matter how many times he swatted at it. Amar could not figure out this phenomenon, unless he was crazily creating the illusion in his mind. He flailed his arms, trying to clear the unwavering spew of thick haze. Out of nowhere, Durga is standing and facing Amar amid the cloud of seemingly endless smoke. "She can not be standing right in front of me!" whispers Amar, his thoughts madly trying to make sense of the situation.

   "Yes, O foolish one, it is I. Do not doubt the senses that I gave you," the goddess assures Amar in a cavernous voice that resounds in the gym. Durga is arrayed in the purest of gold, shimmering in the pale flicker of day that finds its way in. The gown she wears swishes as she walks toward him, clinging to her sculptured frame. Her arms are haughtily at her hips; her body language a preview for the scolding of an unfaithful servant. Amar is heartily glad to see no supernatural weapons with her, although the actual sight of her is boring into his human eyeballs with an almost painful force. Yet he can not tear his pupils away from her spiritual vista.

   "Your family will arrive shortly, I want to show you a sample of my power. Unbelievers must always have a showing," the goddess explains with a sad smile. Durga then with a flash of intense light from her fifth right hand, opens a portal of sorts on the wall. The cloak of smoke vanishes in the blink of an eye. The dumbfounded Amar looks at the wall, stunned that such a thing was happening. In the portal, he was viewing his own birth from the birth canal! He recognizes his mother and father as he shoves his head through the opening. Yet it is Durga who holds him as he takes his first breath in the world.

   "Yes, my disloyal offspring, I am your mother as I am everyone's mother. I created you, and watched over you at the moment you came out of the womb. Just as I watch over you now, my son. This is something I never want for you to forget, the love I have for you."

   Amar dazedly watches as Durga fades from his sight in her pose of choice, the hands extended for one and all to hold. Then Amar hears a rustling from the door, as if someone was trying to get in. It is his family, with his father frantically wedging part of the door free along with Shivaniís help. Soon the exit is forced open, with his mother clutching Amar to her chest. Amar then realizes what he should say to calm her down.

   "Mom, I'm fine. Mother Durga took care of me, and she wouldn't let any of us down. You were right. I see that now," he says to soothe her as he gently frees himself from her grasp.

   What brought this on, Amar?? his mother inquires quizzically.

   "Let's say I met someone who made me realize the truth," Amar replies with a sheepish grin as he walks out the door.