The Cradle’s Identity

 Ma Durga’s trident was still in Mahishasur’s (the demon King) chest. As he cried in pain, there was the sound of thunder in the sky, as if the the war bugle was declaring the victory of good over evil, light over darkness, truth over illusions. He could hardly move, making all effort to reach the waters of the holy river named Mukti. Ma Durga smiles from the mountain top, the sun is shining brightly behind her glowing face. Mahishasur’s head falls on the ground, a few meters apart from river Mukti. Ma Durga sits on her lion and rides elegantly as the wheel of time rolls, she rides as blood from Mahishasur’s chest is slowly reaching Mukti, she rides as her creations watch her in awe, she rides as the blood of Mahishasur finally mixes in Mukti and his heart stops beating.We all commit sins. If not from our own perspectives then from someone else’s perspective, we are all sinners. Sometimes intentionally , sometimes unintentionally, we commit them. If you think that our mortal bodies can actually travel on roads of redemption then you are probably right but have you ever wondered what makes you walk on the road of redemption? Who gives you that chance in the first place and who gives you all that divine force to keep walking? To answer that question we need to ask ourselves first, are we our sins or are we way beyond?

As the water of Mukti scintillates under the sun, petals of lilies and Hibiscuses flow gently over the surface spreading radiance in all the directions. That river has seen so much with the passage of time. Inside it lived a soul. Mind you, not the body, but a soul. The body was long gone and destroyed. It was the soul, the soul of the demon King Mahishasur, who did not seek Ma Durga’s trident this time, he seeked her feet, dreaming everyday when she shall arrive and wash her feet in the river water. Thus, he waited patiently for her arrival.

Years passed and a population inhabited the river banks. With time, many societies were created and many migrated , various cultures flourished and evolved. Mukti’s water was used for various purposes now, from drinking to irrigation of fields. The people were religious and so they constructed Ma Durga’s temple near the river banks. Mahishasur would watch through the water with a heavy heart how the Pooja was being performed in the temple daily. He loved those people because they loved Ma Durga, and Ma Durga…she loved everyone equally, for she was the goddess mother.

The villagers celebrated all the festivals enthusiastically. Though for them the most important of all was Navratri, the nine auspicious nights when Ma Durga was worshipped with all heart and devotion. The temple was decorated with beautiful flowers, illuminated with Diyas in all the corners. And at night when the illuminated temple building reflected on the water surface of Mukti which was already reflecting starlight, it appeared as if the temple floated in a galaxy full of stars. In those cold nights, Mahishasur felt warmth, warmth of motherhood.

The last day of Navratri finally arrived, also known as the “Navami”. The Poojas, Mantra uccharans (chanting of sacred mantras), religious offerings were being done with all energy. While in the temple the param Shakti Ma Durga was being worshipped, somewhere in the village, in a dark room someone planned evil, of destroying a new life, who was Shakti herself. Mahabali had given birth to a girl child, his regressive thought process made him think that only a male child could bring him fortunes and not a female child. In the darkness of the night, without informing his wife, he secretly took the newborn girl and set off to the river. Little did he know that Shakti never dies, it is infinite and eternal.

The Pooja had been finished successfully in the temple and all the people had left the temple including the Pujari (the priest who also happened to be the village chief). Mahabali arrived near the river, and in the most cruel way threw the little soul into the water and let her sink, he ran away quickly thinking his job was done. The doors of the temple were closed, but the doors to Ma’s light were always open. Mahishasur who was lost in contemplation, awaiting Ma’s feet, sensed something was wrong. He knew this was the time, the time had arrived, to understand his true nature, to answer the question-are we our sins or are we way beyond?

He gathered all the strength he had and surrendered himself to Ma Durga. When he was a mortal body he chose the path of evil, but now he chose the path of righteousness, of pure intentions, the path of Ma. Very slowly something mystical started taking form from the water of Mukti. A cradle. A cradle which was red in colour, the colour very similar to the drops of blood of Mahishasur which mixed with Mukti ages back. The red cradle had a fluorescence too, very similar to the fluorescence with which the temple shined presently. Inside the cradle was that little soul, which was abandoned by her father, moments after her birth, the same Shakti which had made the cradle, the same Shakti who was opening the temple door in the silence of the night and walking towards the river Mukti now.

Ma Durga reached the river in no time. She had been seeing the water since ages, and she knew very well that Mahishasur waited for her, but she is Ma, and she has her own ways. With a smile on her face she stepped inside Mukti, her right foot first and then her left. Her feet looked so beautiful in the water, the most beautiful thing in the whole cosmos, as if the feet were telling stories of creation and how they had travelled beyond time and space in Sadhana ( deep contemplation). The cradle glowed further now, as if smiling, yes smiling. Ma took a few steps and reached the cradle, and held it in her hands and brought it inside the temple. She held the newborn in her hands, healed  her using celestial powers of the night and then gently placed her in the cradle.

The cradle had been enchanted with all that had happened.The next morning Pujariji discovered the girl in the temple, he knew it was Mahabali’s wife who was the only pregnant woman in the whole village days back, and it was their child. Mahabali was caught and a harsh punishment was decided for the spiritless act. Mahabali’s wife Gauri decided to name her daughter “Shakti”. The river Mukti sparkled beneath the sun, there were floating petals, leaves, twigs, but no Mahishasur in the water now, he was Mukt (salvation). The cradle, the red cradle was the abode of Shakti, the same Shakti who was being worshipped in the temple, the same Shakti which was attempted to be killed, the same Shakti which knew how to protect itself from evil!