From Darkness unto Light
my Deepawali musings
Venturing out on the rooftop terrace early in the dew-laden morning has an idyllic charm of its own. The sky is still a dark canvas only, but slowly and slowly, a bashful glow has started appearing on it. The entire landscape is getting soaked in myriads of shades of crimson, golden, and blue all around me. These colours take turns to emerge and blend on the canvas. The process has an uninterrupted, sustained and imperceptibly smooth continuity. I get reminded of the ocean waves arising one after the other. Aren’t these colours too just a display of waves of colourful strokes by some invisible master artiste? Merely gazing at this spectacle is enough to send someone into a trance. Who had been holding the palette while it was pitch dark, mixing colours and for whom? The canvas in this painting is the only immutable and visible facet in this scenario. Colours are the only other thing visible, and even they are changing. There is a precise consistency in the mystifying pattern of change in this enchanting medley of colours. I find myself wondering about the artiste, the aisle and the palette? None is visible, and yet there it is. Isn’t his work the proof of his existence? Isn’t it amazing?
It is all tranquil and placid. Yet, so many questions have surfaced on the mental horizon. Where to go searching for answers? I have often seen them accompanying the questions like their shadows. The two of them are constant companions. Looking for the words appropriate to script them, I must hurry and dive into this tranquillity before the winged minstrels arrive. They are sprightly musicians who are prompt in singing their songs. I have often tried deciphering their lyrics, but each time it is the singing that carries me away. Who is conducting the orchestra? Before their music casts another spell on me, I must gather words hidden in the mysterious recesses of this quietude.
Thundering, dark monsoon clouds have retreated and yielded their space in the clear blue sky to a few wanderers of their ilk. Are these just aimless drifters at a loose end? How can it be? There must be a purpose behind their stay in the sky. There is always a purpose behind all that we come to see, know and experience. Since they do not bring rains, what brings them to the sky? Have they come to announce the arrival of dawn? Are they mere onlookers, or are they also trying to locate the unseen artiste? “They are just partaking happiness of the earth. It is getting dressed in green and bright colours of winter flowers as it gets ready to receive the dawn.” It was the breeze whispering in my ears.
There is a nip in the air. The extreme cold of North Indian winter has yet to set in. Deepawali was the day before yesterday only. We had lit many oil-filled earthen lamps one by one to welcome the God of good health, Goddess of wealth and celebrate the annihilation of demons. Lighting each lamp would reveal some bit of the darkness of the new moon night coming to wrap itself around the lamp’s base. What was it seeking? The following day, I remember seeing some of the cotton wicks had soaked up all the oil while the glowing tips of some others were still aglow. But where had all the darkness gone? I can recall having seen it lying cuddled under the lamps as I lit them one by one. I also vividly remember having left a large, oil-filled lamp at the threshold of the shrine and the entire entrance coming gradually into view as I had started retracing my steps.
What do we do when we light a lamp?
Don’t we offer light to darkness, and soon after that, it manifests itself as the womb of innumerable, celestial potentialities. It makes it possible for us to savour that effulgence by granting a bit of its own space to the light from the lamp so that its glow may get revealed to us. Darkness has a glimmer of its own. Light and darkness share a unique relationship. Light consecrates darkness, and the two enable us to savour the work of the invisible artiste. The scene had a very familiar aura around it. I have seen it happen almost every day. Someone places a lamp at the horizon to usher another dawn, and the entire creation starts shaping up. This happens within just a moment that extends an irresistible invitation to step out and take a bow at the threshold. This moment is the seed of perpetuity that wraps up and unwraps the eternity from within itself. It vanishes almost as soon as it arrives.
Dew has started shining on the grass blades, leaves and petals. It is a reminder to return to the mundane. It looks as if I shall have to wait for another dawn to step out onto the other side of the threshold to discover the essence of the relationship between one moment and infinity and between light and darkness.
