Rohit let go of his mother's hand for just a second — long enough to admire the goddess Durga's ten long arms glinting under the fairy lights. As he turned back, she was gone.
It seemed that the pandal swallowed him whole. Drums thundered somewhere close. Dhakis were lost in a sea of saris and new kurtas. Incense, with thick sandalwood and marigold smell, curled through the air. Rohit pushed through the army of legs, calling "Ma! Ma!" but his voice was lost into the crowd's roar.
He found a corner near a stall selling phuchka and sat on an overturned crate, knees pulled to his chest. Someone’s silk dupatta brushed his face. Lights blurred through his tears — red, gold, electric blue tracing the outline of the goddess above him, fierce and calm at once.
An old man selling balloons noticed him first. "Ei chhele, tumi kar sathe eshecho?" *Who did you come with?*
Rohit could only hiccup out "Ma" between sobs.
The balloon-seller didn't scold or rush him. He simply took Rohit 's small hand in his own and led him toward the volunteer booth near the pandal's entrance, where a microphone waited for exactly this kind of night. Every few minutes, a crackling announcement interrupted the music — a lost child here, a lost grandmother there — the puja's quiet, ongoing ritual of finding people again.
"Ekta chhele paoa geche," the announcer said. *A boy has been found.* "He's wearing a blue panjabi, near the main gate."
Across the grounds, Rohit 's mother had been running in widening circles, her heart beating louder than any dhak. When she heard the announcement, she didn't wait for directions — she ran toward the voice.
She found him standing on a chair so he could be seen, cheeks streaked but eyes fixed on the entrance, searching.
When their eyes met, neither of them said anything for a moment. She just pulled him into her arms, right there under the goddess's painted gaze, while the crowd flowed around them like a river that had, for once, given something back.
Behind them, the dhak began again, and somewhere a conch shell sounded — as if even the puja itself was glad the boy was found.
By : Amitabha Datta
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