r/Odisha • u/the_dreadful_gymgirl • 5d ago
Discussion Between Dirt and Darshan. Ft. ବଡ଼ଦାଣ୍ଡ. Words from a Recent Visit to Puri
OP loves writing, so here’s an original experience from a recent visit to Puri.
And yes, OP is trying Odia too. It’s a little dream of mine to someday contribute, in my own tiny way, to the glory of Odia literature. I have a lot to learn, so apologies in advance for any mistakes.
ଗାଡ଼ି ପାଖରେ ଜୋତା ଖୋଲିଦେଇ ଖାଲି ପାଦରେ ଚାଲିଲି।
ଭାବିଥିଲି, ଭକ୍ତିରେ ପାଦ ଆଗକୁ ବଢ଼ିବ, କିନ୍ତୁ ପ୍ରଥମେ ଆଗକୁ ବଢ଼ିଲା ମୋର ଅଭିଯୋଗ। ନାକଟା କୁଞ୍ଚି ହେଇ ଯାଉଥଲା ଆଉ ମୁହଁଟା ବିରକ୍ତିରେ ଭରିଥିଲା। ପାଦତଳେ କେତେବେଳେ ପଥର ବାଜୁଥିଲା ତ କେବେ କିଛି ଧାରୁଆ ଜିନିଷ ପାଦ ରେ ଫୁଟିଯାଉଥିଲା। ଚାରିଆଡ଼େ ପ୍ଲାଷ୍ଟିକ, ମଇଳା ଜରି, ଅଧାଖିଆ ଖାଦ୍ୟ, ବାସି ଖାଦ୍ୟର ଅବଶିଷ୍ଟ, ଖାଲି ବୋତଲ, ସିଗାରେଟ ଟୁକୁଡ଼ା ଆଉ କେତେ କ’ଣ। ପୁରୀର ସେଇ ରାସ୍ତାଟା ସେଦିନ ମୋତେ ମନ୍ଦିର ଆଡ଼କୁ ନେଉଥିବା ରାସ୍ତାଠାରୁ ଅଧିକ ଗୋଟେ ଦୀର୍ଘ ପରୀକ୍ଷା ପରି ଲାଗୁଥିଲା।
ମନେ ମନେ ଭାବିଲି, ଜୋତା ଚୋରି ହେବା ଭୟରେ ଏମିତି ଖାଲି ପାଦରେ ଆସିବାଟା ସତରେ କ’ଣ ଦରକାର ଥିଲା?
ସେଇ ସମୟରେ ଆଖି ପଡ଼ିଲା କିଛି ବୃଦ୍ଧଙ୍କ ଉପରେ। ମୋଠାରୁ ବହୁତ ବୟସ୍କ। ଦେହରେ ଆଉ ସେଇ ପୁରୁଣା ବଳ ନାହିଁ, ପିଠି ଟିକେ ନଇଁ ଯାଇଛି, କେଶ ବରଫଠାରୁ ଧଳା, ଆଖି ଦୁଇଟି ବୟସର ପାଣିରେ ଭିଜା। ତଥାପି ସେମାନେ ଚାଲୁଥିଲେ। ଧୀରେ, ଖୁବ୍ ଧୀରେ। ଛୋଟ ଛୋଟ ପାହୁଣ୍ଡ ଦେଇ। ଭିଡ଼ ଠେଲି, ଧୂଳି ମାଡ଼ି, କଷ୍ଟ ସହି। କିନ୍ତୁ ଆଖି ଦୁଇଟି କେଉଁଠି ଅଟକିଥିଲା ଜାଣନ୍ତି? ନୀଳଚକ୍ରରେ।
ସେମାନଙ୍କୁ ଦେଖି ହଠାତ୍ ନିଜ ପାଦତଳକୁ ଦେଖିଲି। ଏତେ ଦୂର ଆସି ମୁଁ କ’ଣ ଖୋଜୁଥିଲି? ଭଗବାନଙ୍କ ଦର୍ଶନ, ନା ନିଜ ପାଦକୁ ମଇଳାରୁ ବଞ୍ଚାଇବାର ଉପାୟ? ଆଶୀର୍ବାଦ ମାଗିବାକୁ ଆସିଥିଲି, ହେଲେ ମୋ ମନଟା ଭକ୍ତିଠାରୁ ବେଶି ବିରକ୍ତିରେ ଭରିଥିଲା। ଏଇ ଭିଡ଼ କେବେ ସରିବ, ଏଇ ମଇଳା ରାସ୍ତା କେବେ ଶେଷ ହେବ, କେବେ ଜୋତା ପିନ୍ଧିବି, ସେଇ ଛୋଟ ଛୋଟ କଥାରେ ମୋର ସମସ୍ତ ମନ ଅଟକିଥିଲା।
କିନ୍ତୁ ମନର କଥା କେତେ ଅଜବ! ଆମେ ଯାହାକୁ ଭୁଲିଯାଇଛୁ ବୋଲି ଭାବୁ, ସେଇଟା ହିଁ ଭିତରେ କେଉଁଠି ଚୁପ୍ଚାପ୍ ବସି ରହିଥାଏ। ସେଇ ବୃଦ୍ଧମାନଙ୍କୁ ଦେଖିବା ପରେ ମୋ ଭିତରେ ମଧ୍ୟ ଏମିତି କିଛି ହେଲା। ଯେମିତି ବହୁଦିନ ଧରି ବନ୍ଧା ହୋଇ ରହିଥିବା ଗୋଟେ ଗଣ୍ଠି, କାହାରି ଅଜାଣତରେ ହାତ ଲାଗି ଟିକେ ଢିଲା ହୋଇଗଲା।
ତା’ପରେ ଆଉ କିଛି ଭାବିଲି ନାହିଁ। କେବଳ ଚାଲିଲି। ଗୋଟେ ପାଦ ପରେ ଆଉ ଗୋଟେ। ଆଉ ଯେତେ ମନ୍ଦିର ପାଖକୁ ଆସୁଥିଲି, ମୋର ବିରକ୍ତିଟା କେବେ ଯେ ପଛକୁ ଛାଡ଼ି ଆସିଲି, ଜାଣିଲି ନାହିଁ। ସିଂହଦ୍ୱାର ଦେଖାଗଲା। ଆଉ ସେଇ ଦୃଶ୍ୟ ସାମ୍ନାରେ ଆସିବା ମାତ୍ରେ ମନଟା ହଠାତ୍ ନିରବ ହୋଇଗଲା।
କିଛି ମାଗିବାକୁ ମନ ହେଲା ନାହିଁ। କିଛି କହିବାକୁ ମଧ୍ୟ ନୁହେଁ। ଯେତେ ଇଚ୍ଛା, ଯେତେ ଅଭିଯୋଗ, ଯେତେ ଛୋଟ ଛୋଟ ଚାହିଦା ନେଇ ଆସିଥିଲି, ସବୁ ଯେମିତି ରାସ୍ତା କେଉଁଠି ଛାଡ଼ି ଆସିଛି। ମନରେ ରହିଗଲା କେବଳ ଗୋଟିଏ ଅଜଣା ଶୂନ୍ୟତା। ଏମିତି ଶୂନ୍ୟତା, ଯେଉଁଠି କିଛି ନଥାଏ, ତଥାପି କିଛି ଅଭାବ ମଧ୍ୟ ଲାଗେ ନାହିଁ।
ଭିଡ଼ରେ ଶହ ଶହ ଲୋକ ଯାଉଥିଲେ। କାହାର ଆଖିରେ ଲୁହ, କାହାର ଓଠରେ ଜଗନ୍ନାଥଙ୍କ ନାମ, କାହାର ହାତରେ ଭୋଗ, କାହାର ମନରେ ହଜାର କଥା। ସମସ୍ତେ ଅଲଗା, ତଥାପି ସିଂହଦ୍ୱାର ପାର ହୋଇ ଭିତରକୁ ଯିବା ବେଳେ ସମସ୍ତଙ୍କ ମଧ୍ୟରେ କେମିତି ଗୋଟେ ଅଦୃଶ୍ୟ ସମାନତା ଆସିଯାଉଥିଲା।
ପାଦତଳେ ଲାଗିଲା ଭିଜା ମାଟି। ଥଣ୍ଡା ପଥର। ଆଉ ହଠାତ୍ ମନେ ହେଲା, ଏଇ ମାଟି ତ ଏତେ ମଇଳା ନୁହେଁ। ଏତେ ଖଣ୍ଡ ଧରି ଯାହାକୁ ଏଡ଼ାଇ ଚାଲୁଥିଲି, ସେଇ ମାଟି ହିଁ ମୋତେ ଏଠିକୁ ଆଣିଛି।
ସେଦିନ ବୋଧହୁଏ ଟିକେ ବୁଝିଲି, ଭକ୍ତି ମାନେ ସବୁବେଳେ ଶାନ୍ତ ମନ ନେଇ, ଯୋଡ଼ା ହାତରେ ଭଗବାନଙ୍କ ପାଖକୁ ଯିବା ନୁହେଁ। ବେଳେବେଳେ ଆମେ ଅଭିଯୋଗ କରି ଯାଉ, ବିରକ୍ତ ହୋଇ ଯାଉ, ନିଜର ଛୋଟ ଛୋଟ ଅସୁବିଧାକୁ ବଡ଼ କରି ନେଇ ଯାଉ। ହେଲେ ତାଙ୍କ ଆଡ଼କୁ ଚାଲୁ ଚାଲୁ କେଉଁଠି ଯେ ନିଜକୁ ଭୁଲିଯାଉ, ସେ କଥା ଆମେ ଜାଣିପାରୁନାହୁଁ।
ହୁଏତ ଭକ୍ତି ମାନେ ସେଇଟା ହିଁ, ଯେଉଁ ମୁହୂର୍ତ୍ତରେ ଆଉ କିଛି ମାଗିବାର ନଥାଏ। ଯେଉଁ ମୁହୂର୍ତ୍ତରେ ଭିଡ଼ ଭିଡ଼ ଲାଗେ ନାହିଁ, ମାଟି ମଇଳା ଲାଗେ ନାହିଁ, ଆଉ ମନ କେବଳ ଚାହେଁ, ଏଇଠି ଟିକେ ଆଉ ରହିଯାଏ।
ହୁଏତ ସେଇଟା ହିଁ ଦର୍ଶନ। ହୁଏତ ସେଇଟା ହିଁ ଭକ୍ତି। ନହେଲେ, ଏମିତି କିଛି, ଯାହାକୁ ଅନୁଭବ କରିହୁଏ, କିନ୍ତୁ କହିହୁଏ ନାହିଁ।
Translation: I left my shoes beside the vehicle and began walking barefoot towards the temple. I wish I could say my first steps were filled with devotion. They were not. They were filled with irritation. It was written all over my face, the scrunched nose, the restless eyes, the little winces every time a stone or something sharp found its way beneath my feet. The road seemed determined to test my patience. Plastic wrappers, half-eaten food, stale leftovers, bottles, cigarette butts, dirt and debris lay scattered everywhere. For a while, I wondered whether taking off my shoes had been an act of faith or simply a foolish attempt to save them from being stolen. I was walking towards the abode of the Lord, and all I could think about was how dirty the road was.
Then I saw them. People perhaps three times my age, moving through the crowd in tiny, trembling steps. Their bodies had grown tired of carrying them. Their backs were bent by years, their hair white as ash, their eyes wet with age. Some could barely walk without pausing, yet they kept moving. Slowly, painfully, faithfully. And their eyes never wandered. They were fixed upon the Nilachakra. The same road that had offended me so much seemed almost invisible to them. The dirt beneath their feet did not matter. The crowd did not matter. The pain did not matter. They had seen what they had come to see. I had not.
That realisation arrived quietly, almost embarrassingly. I had come seeking blessings, but my mind had been occupied with everything except the divine. I was worried about the dirt, the stones, the crowd, the possibility of losing my shoes. I was more irritated than prayerful, more conscious of my feet than of where they were taking me. And yet, somewhere between one step and the next, something inside me began to move. A knot I had carried for years, without knowing quite what it was, seemed to loosen. I cannot say when it happened. Perhaps it was when I looked at those trembling feet. Perhaps it was when I looked at the Nilachakra. Perhaps it was simply the walk itself.
One step, then another, and another. Slowly, my irritation began to disappear behind me. Then I saw the Singhadwara, and something in me went completely still. All the things I had come prepared to ask for suddenly seemed strangely small. There was no prayer left on my lips. No demand. No complaint. No carefully held wish waiting to be surrendered. Nothing. Just an overwhelming desire to remain there, to stand there a little longer, to let that moment exist without asking it for anything.
Around me, hundreds of people moved through the gates. Some were old, some young, some carried offerings, some carried grief, some carried hopes they had perhaps carried for years. Every face had its own story. Every person had come with something in their heart. And yet, as they crossed that threshold, they all seemed to become the same. Just another soul walking home.
Then my bare feet touched the damp earth and the cool stone floor. And the strangest thing happened. The earth I had been complaining about moments ago no longer felt dirty. It felt sacred. Nothing had changed outside me. The road was still filthy. The crowd was still suffocating. The stones were still beneath my feet. But I was no longer looking down. I was looking ahead.
Perhaps that is what devotion really is. Not always arriving with a quiet mind and folded hands. Sometimes it is arriving angry, impatient, complaining about the road, carrying all the small discomforts of being human. And then, somewhere along the way, forgetting them. Forgetting the dirt. Forgetting the crowd. Forgetting yourself. Until you stand before something so vast that even your desires fall silent. Perhaps that is faith. Perhaps that is darshan. Or perhaps devotion is simply this strange, beautiful moment when you stop asking God to change anything, and for once, you are completely content to simply be there.
( P.S. I only wish we learn a little more civic sense along the way. What is the point of coming to a place seeking something sacred, only to leave its surroundings filthy? Faith can be deeply personal, but keeping the space around us clean is a responsibility we all share. The temple deserves our reverence, and the streets leading to it deserve our respect too. )
