You know how irate Lakshmi is with this whole business of my going and visiting my Aunt while she was sleeping. She thinks it a sly thing...
I’m changing the narrative a little, this time.
You know how irate Lakshmi is with this whole business of my going and visiting my Aunt while she was sleeping. She thinks it a sly thing for me to do and ungrateful as well because of the untiring care and attention she lavished upon us when we siblings were unwell.
I mean, I needed a change after lying around in bed for that amount of time ; and she was sleeping so blissfully! — how could I awaken her. But she’d never see that side of it : the fact that I didn’t want to disturb her rest after a fortnight of relentless seva.
Now, I’m carrying sweetmeats and a sari and some jewellery to placate her. And, you know, she did chuck her ‘Moha Churna’(that potent powder laden with camphor and sandalwood and magic) at me and I did send her an ‘Agyan Mala’ when she came here to Gundicha, but she wanted to see me in person and spend time with me and I couldn’t and that got her even more irate and she left in a huff, and on her way out — would you believe it? — she broke off a part of my Nandighosha!, scraped a big chunk out of the pahi of the front wheel, paint and all.
Anyway, all that’s forgiven. I know how it is with Lakshmi ; she loves me too much yet still can hold a grudge, but hopefully not for long. It’s the one thing that worries me : What if she’s not easily appeased and doesn’t forgive what she perceives as my outright knavery? Will she even open the door to me and allow me home? Oh Lord! (and, mind you, I’m not appealing to myself here) Save me from the ire of my spouse in these oblique wars that married couples, however loving, always seem to get into.
Don’t laugh at me for this. I’m going to engage in that obscure ritual that a friend from Mohanpur taught me of air-writing three imaginary Bengali ‘B’s on my forehead and then striking them out with three equally imaginary lines before I face her. It’s a ‘totka’ (to neutralise wrath encountered) that’s supposedly never-failing, if there is such a thing. And then, as backup, I do have the rosogolla and sari and goyna.
Also, I’ve decided to don my finery and appear in my best Suna Besh which could make her see how important I feel her forgiveness is.
But — and this I’ve thought out fully — in case all this fails to impress upon Lakshmi my honest intentions of making up to her for my surreptitious staycation, and she refuses everything I offer in terms of apology and considers my efforts blatantly bathetic, I have nowhere to turn but to you, my ardent fans and followers (isn’t that what the digital world terms devotees?).
If locked out of home by my wife, I must resign to my chariot in my Suna Besh and hope for a home close to your heart. Thus I have reduced my Nandighosha, though with all its accoutrements, from its monumental proportions to one that may fit you as ornament. My red Trailokyamohini flies proudly on top of the ‘kalasa’ that’s placed over the ‘potala’ which is clad also in the traditional red and yellow ‘mandani’. The rest of my chariot remains in hues of pure gold. I have dispensed with my quartet of horses ; they’d be too much of a hindrance around your neck ; besides, I’m not going anywhere. Still, the wheels of my vehicle move — all of them. Symbolically, I have deconstructed their formal arrangement and also placed them around you so that when you play with any one of them, turning it round and round, it will be akin to turning the wheel of destiny, a power that will always be vested with you.
I, with my shankha and chakra, and with all my love, reside within. 'Keep me close' is all I ask. And make a home for me in the garbha-griha of your heart. I promise, even if all goes favourably, and Lakshmi relents and permits me entrance, I shall as well remain forever in the home of your heart which I feel to be less encumbered than my own. It is from this new abode of mine that I shall make true : Loka Samasta Sukhinau Bhavantu.