“Manima, Manima . . . !” the Pratihari calls urgently, his voice echoing into the still-dark sky and hanging upon the incense-scented air with such sweet determination that the heavens sigh dawn in...
“Manima, Manima . . . !” the Pratihari calls urgently, his voice echoing into the still-dark sky and hanging upon the incense-scented air with such sweet determination that the heavens sigh dawn into birth. The Lord of the Universe awakens; the temple doors, willing and waiting, are cast open; and later, much later, after the deities' daily ablutions are through, and the drowsy siblings have changed from their nightwear into suitably formal clothing, a homage is offered to the Sun in His own temple, in time with His overlong pandiculation.
We welcome the Lord among us, within us. It’s all there in this hand-crafted pendant-set, wrought in sinless guinea-gold specially for Mrs. Jhumur Banerjee (and who very kindly lent it to us for the occasion): in the articulation of the rites and rituals that ornament the one who, in the consciousness of our minds and in the practice of His daily living, is a “Jianta Thakura”. The twenty-one wicks and flames of the Mangal Arati lamp are shown in the cloissoné red and black bands as granulated triangles and chiselled studs. Count them. You’ll find one short. It’s the one we’ve left for you to light.
The sun, symbolised by the cone-and-ball rays, ring the deity. And in His benevolent, beatific smile we see His siblings, His devotees, His equipoise and playfulness and power. Look closely and you’ll know that in all our incompleteness and imperfection, we can still find true divinity in the garbha-griha of our heart.