The light through the crack* by Susmita Paul

 ***October 11 is International Day of the Girl Child*** 

In India and across the world, the Bengali community tries to get together every autumn to celebrate the festival of the Mother goddess Durga and what is believed to be her family. For five continuous days (Shashti, Saptami, Ashtami, Nabami and Dashami) their worship engages the community. Outside India, the celebration is often limited to a weekend. 

Many autumns ago, on Ashtami mornings I used to sit with my sister at the foot of the stairs. We wore our mothers' sarees, tugged deep into our bodies. On those mornings, the air used to be heavy with the scent of ghee smouldered burnt cotton balls. It was like Saptami and Nabami, with the exception of this particular ritual. 

Our grandmother would sit on the floor in spite of her rheumatism. She would take the cloth wrapped stick , dip it in some red liquid (called alta) and comment on how thin the consistency has become, in comparison to last year's alta . Then, she would hold our little feet in the wide palm of her hands, trembling with neurological disturbance. The lines of the alta wobbled all over our feet as we giggled and laughed. Wiping her hands, she would reach for her small purse. New notes of 10 rupees peeped out. We hustled and demanded a raise from the last year. Our grandmother stuck to 10 rupees per grandchild kumari puja allowance. 

feet decorated with alta

When I reached puberty, my kumari puja stopped. My sister, who was four years younger, continued to enjoy  kumari puja. I did not understand her privilege till Ma explained. A young girl, who has not attained puberty, is worshipped as the vessel of the divine feminine power. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it did not feel right. There is a slip of logic involved in rituals like kumari puja. If one is celebrating the feminine divine energy in the cosmos, why does the juncture of puberty complicate the issue? 

In linguistics, juncture is the manner of moving between two successive syllables in speech. By an important type of juncture, two otherwise identical sequence of sounds are identified to have different meanings. In the narrative of kumari puja, pre-puberty and post-puberty feminine selves are same and yet different. The idea that the pre-puberty female is pure is abhorring. The onus of being pure becomes a burden. It takes away the uninhibited joy of innocence. This is factually true for the kumaris worshipped ritualistically in Nepal.  They are not allowed to touch the ground or interact with others freely. 

The post-puberty female is technically different from the former since puberty usually implies the prospect of motherhood. Any spititual power, according to me, is both innocent and infinitely mature. The ripeness of wisdom and the purity of innocence are not mutually exclusive. They are two sides of the same coin. It is this dual self of the feminine entity that is not understood when one expresses blind adherence to rituals. It is then that the whole is cracked open. 

One is reminded of William Blake's Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience. Each poem of Innocence has a corresponding poem in Experience.  They are often with the same theme, but the essence of the poem is different. Blake put these two sets of poems together in one book. He believed that these are but different states of maturity in life that engages the perspective of the being differently with the various aspects of its surroundings and self. 

I look at my feet with cracked heels and dark shadows below the nails. I remember that my mother had a friend who said she could read an individual’s feet. She said she could tell an individual's age that way. I always wanted to meet her. I wished to learn how to read feet. I still do. I hope that someday, I will read visibility, equality, and absence of divinity in each pair of girl’s feet I see. 

* I still like to believe: "There is a crack in everything/ That's how the light gets in" ( Anthem, Leonard Cohen).