November Lights

Day 06 | Thursday, November 22, 2018

After a scrumptious lunch at Shalini akka’s place we dozed off for a nap, to rejuvenate our energy because we were to expect something luminous to night. After 6.00 PM we took a bus near the Old Dutch Office to a remote village in Nunavil, Chavakachcheri. The bus was as crowded as a bus in the capital, and moved as fast as a 154 winding through the far away villages in Jaffna, now retreating after a tedious sun-baked day! After about 30 minutes we got down in Nunavil and took a tuk to Priyan Anna’s home. We were told that today is the Hindu festival of Karthikei Deepam or November Lights. We all knew about Deepawali, also a Hindu festival of light, but I had never heard of this festival and didn’t know what to expect. Priyan anna’s parents warmly welcomed us at their cozy home. His father was a celebrated wicker craftsman with a gifted expertise despite being visually impaired and even at his old age he was training youth about wicker weaving attempting to sustain the traditional craft he adored.

Since the sun had already set by then with darkness creeping in, we started to light the lamps we bought in the morning. We lit lamps everywhere, in the threshold and in the garden until everything was illuminated against the obscurity of this November sky and beyond the gloom of my mind. We then went to the kovil nearby where Shalini akka told there was a large pyre build with coconut fronds which will be set fire ceremoniously after a special pooja. We took a peaceful walk to the kovil. Walking in the moonlight in this quiet neighbourhood far, far from the hustle of the city was one of the most tranquil moments that life could offer, one of the best therapies to a mind like mine.

In the kovil, although not extravagant as Nallur, there were things to see. I sat on the threshold observing the priests getting ready for the pooja lighting lamps, chanting prayers one after the other. Once the pooja was done, the head priest came to the pyre, said some more prayers, threw a variety of grains and some other holy ingredients to the pyre. We observed everything carefully. And then came the grand finale when the priest set fire to the pyre. Within a minute, it was ablaze penetrating the deep darkness of the night. In the next few minutes, the fronds burnt and fell to the ground like firework, its incandescent fibers scattering the ground like hundreds of fireflies. It was indeed a moment to remember seeing the pyre being engulfed by the fire and finally reduce to ash, from a scarlet joyous red to a passive and futile grey.

A perfect metaphor of life, and perhaps of love.

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Note: An excerpt from my travelogue or the ‘memory diary’ kept during my monitoring visit to Jaffna in November, 2018 with MediaCorps Fellows Indunil Usgodarachchi, Nirasha Piyawadani and Mohamed Hazil as they explored Jaffna community in search of stories of post-war revival and of marginalized communities with their hosting Fellow Shalini Charles. The visit was a part of the MediaCorps Fellowship Program implemented by the Sri Lanka Development Journalist Forum in partnership with International Research and Exchanges Board and USAID that I was working on from 2018 to 2020.