Pilgrim Shivam

Most of the time when I visit ancient temples, I explore darkness. Rarely, I found radiant glow or heavenly light, like at Khero Pahar. Except that one I always entered into a domain of darkness, whenever I visited old temples and found myself dissolved in those black-holes. The Kalyaneswari Temple of Lepodi is no exception. We decided to visit the temple, as soon as we heard about it. We knew about the Kalyaneswari temple of Mython. We visited the place, searched its history and concluded for the time. But we didn’t know that there are more in the chain. So we set our path towards Lepodi village. It was not too far from my hometown Purulia. We had to move towards the road to Maanbazar. As we had been to the Mython Kalyaneswari Temple, in sub-conscious we expected some resemblance. But when we finally visited, we were like, ‘huh ? ! ! !’. the Shadowy Temple It was really a typical Purulia day for all of us. The Sun was showing no mercy on us and in that mid-monsoon da

Y ou have been to Digha, right? Do you remember that white colored Shiva temple named Chandaneswara? It is not exactly Digha, little outskirts. But still, have you been there? Do you remember it? A big temple complex with various Hindu deities, right? I visited the place too. But what I have found there made me amazed, silent. Care for a guided tour to the definition of Belief?  The Entrance It was the time of Gajan Fair. People of Bengal are well aware of what craziness one gets to experience in those fairs. One could see people with insatiable desire to showcase their desperate devotion to Lord Shiva in those fairs. People hurt themselves brutally, to engage their minds to the Lord of the beings. We arrived at Chandaneswara Temple at that very peak time of the Gajan fair.   We were ready to see the people with devout scars on their bodies. But when we reached we saw something different. We expected a thunder storm and got a gentle rain, which made our minds drenched and f

-- “ke janto maa Durga r kathamo r upekkhito chheleti r eto mahatmyo?”(who knew, the most neglected boy of Durga-kathamo has such magnanimity?)         Thank you, dada. These words of yours set my path to another horizon. And I got out of me in search of Skanda. Kumar Kartikeya, the warlord of the Gods, a General with an invincible army of Gods, a face of bravery, an epitome of beauty. But what do we know about Him? Who is He? The son of Lord Shiva and brother of Lord Ganesha! Just another demi-god in the list of Indian mythology! Or He is too good to hide Himself deep within the unknown!         In this search we have nothing with us. We don’t know, where to or how to find Him. This journey runs with a heart full of love and questions at the same time. Who can describe or define Him better than himself? So we started our search. From the deepest forests to the pages of hidden ancient scriptures, we searched. Asked the wise, when we lost our trails. Fought hard ag

We know what an epic is right? Like --- The hero is outstanding. ... The setting is large. ... The action is made of deeds of great valour or requiring superhuman courage. Supernatural forces—gods, angels, demons—insert themselves in the action. It is written in a very special style. The poet tries to remain objective. . . . . and ajsg$%$%$%#% . . . .(what?)  The poet is considered to be great, the creations are considered to be even greater. With such explanations we think of our Ramayana as the same -- a great epic from India. Valmiki was the poet. Is that it? Do you actually believe that? If yes then why? If no, question remains the same. Isn't it over-simplification of the truth? Except the hard-core non-believers, who by force remain ignorant though life and nature continue to surprise them every now and then, we all must admit that the world that is sensible through our senses is not the only one. Sometimes we feel, but ignore what always happen around

 THE LEGEND   O nce a man on a coffee shop told me, "India is not just a country, my friend. It is a cave, which hides the secrets to reveal the mysteries of the universe inside it". It looked like he is trying to stop himself from telling me all these but couldn't. "Thousands of guardians with their heavenly illusions guarding the cave", he continued,"Their illusions are of mane names. Some come in the form of scientific explanations, some as ignorance, and so many others you can't even imagine". More I visit the old temples around me, more I realize the truth of his words. Older the temple is, more hidden the truth will be. Every one of them are vibrant with energy and well guarded. In some of the places once in the history the mystery was unveiled for a time and then got covered again. Such a place is Asansol's Maa Ghagar Buri temple, where God unveiled himself in front of a poor priest named Kangalicharan Chakravarthy. The Temple

Anisha is my childhood friend. When I was in KG, we used to sat on the same bench, shared our lunch-boxes. Three days after I came back from Murguma, she called me. She and her friends of her college were organizing a picnic at Murguma. I still don't know why she invited me, because in that group I was just an outsider, a stranger from nowhere. I promptly agreed to join them, without even knowing anyone in the group except Anisha. Thus the great Hill called me again. In spite of being with a group of college students, I was alone, just as I wished it to be. Damn God! I don't wanna think about that picnic for a single moment. From the very beginning of the journey, it was horrible. Late arrival of our rented cab, too many people with all their picnic arrangements inside the car, their gossips and all created a real mess. So normal of that. One of the coldest and most misty morning it was. My another pilgrimage started after an hour of wait along the roadside. This time I was

"Symphony of breeze", my last feeling that I expressed in that hill. After that I felt much but could express a little. Because I lost there my words, my thoughts, my time, my pride of past, my worry of future. My senses were inert and I was just watching Him. More Subho da rode up more I amazed. I had never seen anything more beautiful before. Finally we reached the top of the hill. I wanted to bow down to that great hill, but my knees were far too weak. I wanted to scream out His glory, but my voice was chocked. Around me there He was. A yogi in His trance. A watchful guardian, a father watching the deeds of His children, a deity to pay homage. From that hill top one can see the complete Ayodhya hill range. More I watched the peaks around me, more they seemed to be some giant Shiva-lingas and the trees were like bloomed flowers, decorating the deity. The winter sun started to set and the darkness started to cover up the hill, in Her veil of Darkness. We came down

"Listen to the mountain wind, brother.", said Subho da, "Isn't it melodious"? "The Symphony of Breeze . . .!", I said. "Perfect wordings.", said Subho da, climbing on that hill top on his motorcycle. Subho da lives at Begunkodor, which is not so far away from Murguma. Well though Begunkodor is well known for its ghost stories, it has also a legacy of the Raas Mancha which contains 108 doors in total. Subho da, my elder brother was like my guide on my way to Murguma. In fact he was the one to introduce me to that abode of pristine Mother Nature. It was a Sunday. May be one of the craziest Sundays I have ever come across. I was sitting on my system at my home, trying to make a proper PPT Presentation for my group project in College. Within that storm of boredom Subho da's call rang on my phone like a iris of hope. He asked what the heck was I doing then. As I replied he said, "Drop those bullshits, take your camera, catch a bus for Be