Durga Puja: Every autumn, Durga returns not just as a warrior goddess but as Uma, the beloved daughter visiting her mother’s home. This tender folk belief transforms a cosmic battle into a deeply human tale of reunion, longing, and farewell
Every Autumn, as the city experiences the first mild wintry dryness amid Bengal’s usual humid air, the streets start bustling with the rhythm that makes the heart of every Bengali skip a beat. the sound of dhaak, the smell of shiuli (Night Jasmine) fills the air with sweet aroma and the impending grand festival of Durga Puja.
Durga Puja is not only the celebration of the Goddess’ victory over the buffalo demon Mahisasura. The story is sweetly women into a grand myth that humanizes the fearsome ‘Shakti’, the 10 armed goddess who defeated the apparently invincible demon. She is not only the warrior Goddess but is also ‘Uma’, the daughter who returns once a year to her parent’s house.
According to this story, Goddess ‘Uma’ leaves her celestial abode of Kailash, the home of her husband ‘Shiva’ and visits her paternal home with her 4 children, Ganesha, Saraswati, Lakshmi and Kartikeya.
Over centuries, this story has become one of the defining features of Durga Puja and Bengali culture. It humanizes the divinity and cosmic drama of the Shashtras and gives it a sweet domestic intimacy. The deity who is worshipped in the pandals is also imagined as the beloved daughter who returns only for a brief stay every year before she departs again.
This is what makes Vijaya Dashami all the more sad and heartbreaking for every Bengali. When the rest of the country enjoys Dusshera to celebrate the victory of Lord Ram over demon king ‘Ravana’, Bengali’s shed tears as their daughter ‘Uma’ prepares her journey to her husband’s house.
The very next day, Bengali’s start calculating the days left for the next Durga Puja when the daughter of the house will return again.
The duality is striking; the same goddess who slays demons is simultaneously imagined as a young woman arriving home with her children, her maternal visit celebrated with music, feasting, and collective joy.
Uma in Literature and Song
The literary tradition of Bengal embraced this more intimate version of Durga with fervour. The 18th and 19th centuries saw the rise of Agamani and Vijaya songs—poignant verses sung in anticipation of the goddess’s arrival and in sorrow at her departure. These songs often portray Menaka’s yearning for her daughter, the mother lamenting that Uma’s husband, Shiva, keeps her too far away in the cold mountains. The language is tender, almost unbearably human.
Rabindranath Tagore, too, wove the theme into his writings. His play Chandalika and poems in Gitanjali reflect the motif of the divine entering the human, the infinite softened into the finite. For Tagore, Durga as Uma symbolised the eternal cycle of arrival and departure, joy and sorrow—echoes of human existence itself.
The Humanisation of the Goddess
Why did this shift in perception—from invincible warrior to affectionate daughter—take root so deeply in Bengal? Cultural historians point to the social framework of joint families and the deep bonds of kinship that shaped rural life. In a patriarchal society where daughters were often married away to distant homes, their visits back to their natal families were rare and precious. The goddess’s return became an allegory for every daughter’s homecoming, a collective catharsis for mothers and families who longed for their absent children.
Thus, Durga Puja became not only a religious ritual but also an emotional festival. The deity was not kept aloof on a pedestal; she was invited home like one’s own child. Her temporary presence was celebrated with the same joy, and her departure—Vijaya Dashami, when the idols are immersed in rivers—was mourned with tears, as though a beloved daughter were leaving again for her in-laws.
This emotional arc, unique in its intensity, explains why Durga Puja transcends its religious origins to become a cultural phenomenon. It is at once about the triumph of good over evil and about the eternal rhythm of family, separation, and reunion.
Rituals that Reflect the Daughter’s Visit
The rituals of the festival mirror this folk narrative. The bodhon, or invocation of the goddess on Mahalaya, symbolises her descent to earth. For Bengalis, the radio broadcast of Birendra Krishna Bhadra’s sonorous recitation of the Chandi Path at dawn has become synonymous with the goddess’s arrival, filling homes with anticipation of her stay.
During the days of the Puja, the idol is treated as a living guest. Offerings of food—bhog—are prepared with familial warmth. The goddess is adorned, not just worshipped. Married women smear vermillion on her image during Sindoor Khela, a gesture that blurs the boundary between divine and domestic, reinforcing her identity as a married daughter.
Finally comes the farewell. On Dashami, when the idol is carried to the river for immersion, the atmosphere turns poignant. Women bid her goodbye with sweets and vermillion, whispering entreaties to “return again next year.” The river itself becomes symbolic: just as daughters leave by boat or carriage, the goddess departs on water, returning to her husband’s abode in the Himalayas.
Ma Durga: A daughter and a warrior
Feminist readings of the myth highlight how Durga as Uma challenges traditional binaries. She is not reduced to daughter or mother alone; she is simultaneously warrior, protector, and nurturer. The festival allows women to see themselves reflected in multiple roles, not confined to domestic spaces but equally central to cosmic battles.
The Eternal Return
Durga’s annual journey home is thus more than a story of divine visitation. It is a metaphor for the rhythms of human life—our longing for belonging, our joys of reunion, our sorrows of parting. In the goddess’s story, communities see their own. Every autumn, as the dhaak beats grow louder and the pandals light up the night, the people of Bengal are not merely celebrating a mythic battle fought long ago. They are preparing to welcome their daughter, knowing full well that she must soon depart, yet rejoicing in the brief sweetness of her stay.
It is this unique fusion of cosmic and domestic, of grandeur and intimacy, that gives Durga Puja its extraordinary emotional power. The goddess may be universal, but she is also deeply personal. She is Mahishasuramardini, yes, but she is also Uma, the child of the household. Her return each year is not just a religious event; it is a reminder that even the divine longs for home.
And so, when the idols are finally immersed and the chants of “Bolo Durga Mai ki—joy!” fade into the night, there is sadness, but never despair. For the people believe, with the certainty of the turning seasons, that she will come again.