ONLY YOU

                Episode 5- Three Goddesses

 

Yellowish-orange leaves blanketed the streets, and the trees stood half-bare, awaiting their new clothes . The air was crisp, carrying the sweet fragrance of kadam flowers. It was September 21, 1960, and Navratri had begun.

Near my home, the local market buzzed with stalls selling red chunaris, camphor, and coconuts. Since childhood, this time of year filled me with ecstasy. The vibrant energy of pandals, stalls, and bhog brought me inner joy and satisfaction. For the first six days of Navratri, I went to work as usual, as there were no holidays.

On the sixth day, while returning from the bank, I saw the grand idol of Mata arriving at the pandal, as it did every year. Like a child, I felt a surge of excitement to see her divine face and seek her blessings. Being part of the Pujo had become a cherished tradition, and I loved serving her.

Amid the street’s festivities and positive energy, a part of my heart still yearned for Asha. Our brief meetings over the past two months felt surreal. I never imagined someone could have such a profound influence on my life.

It was September 27, 1960—a day off from work and a day to visit Maa. 

My mother woke me at 7:00 a.m., holding a plate with burning camphor. “Rajesh, beta, wake up!” she said, her voice warm but the smoke stinging my eyes. Rubbing them, I saw her face—adorned with kumkum between her brows, draped in a yellow saree, looking nothing less than a goddess herself.

(Present day)

Now, old enough to reflect on the chapter “Me and My Asha,” I can’t complete it without mentioning the most important lesson my mother taught me.

 As the only child of a single mother in the 1960s, I faced pressure from everyone to marry. But my mother always said, “Marriage shouldn’t be your goal. Finding true love—love free from lust—should be your aim.”

She had supported me at every stage of my life. 

(Back to story)

I completed my morning routine—bathing, chanting, and eating breakfast prepared by my mother. Instead of heading to work, I went to the pandal. On the way, I called my chuckaboo, Manmohan, to join me. Though he had chores at home, he accompanied me, as always. As we entered the pandal, a wave of people surged past us. Nervous, I grabbed Manmohan’s hand, only to realize they were exiting the grounds.

Manmohan laughed. “You’re still a child, my friend!”

With an embarrassed smile, I replied, “No, no, I’m fine, it’s not like that.”

As I approached the idol, I marveled at its craftsmanship. Mata’s face felt surreal, almost otherworldly. I joined my hands, closed my eyes, and prayed. The first thing I asked for was Asha. “You’ve given me everything—my mother, job, friends, and health. I’m endlessly grateful. Today, I ask for one thing: please let Asha and me be together.”

I opened my eyes, stepped forward to take prasad from Pandit Ji, as I overturned there, like an answer to my prayers,stood Asha—my hopes and patience rewarded. She was a little far off in the crowd, eyes closed in prayer, her eyelids nearly brushing her flushed cheeks. Draped in a white saree with a red border, styled in the Bengali way, she looked like a third goddess that day.

“Let’s go, Rajesh,” Manmohan said.

“You go ahead, Manmohan. I have some work nearby. I’ll come home on my own,” I replied impatiently. Lying to my friend wasn’t my intention, but the moment demanded it. Manmohan gave me a suspicious look but left without a word, clearly annoyed.

I wove through the crowd and stood near Asha until her prayers finished. As I watched her, I noticed 'she was smiling'- which confused me. I straightened up, trying to look composed. The pandal’s atmosphere, the dhol beats, and Asha’s presence felt like a miracle. Then, she leaned in and whispered, “I knew I would meet you.”

Before I could process her words, she took my hand and said, “Let’s go somewhere, Rajesh.”

And we went...

Dear readers, now do you think their story will turn out to be in favour of Rajesh or not ?