The Portrait of Kali and Divine Blessing

Kali is in the eye of the storm; a documentary filmmaker and a Trinamool Congress MP, Mahua Moitra, is facing censure. Dr Dhiraj tells us about his photography and painting the portrait of Kali with divine blessing – an exclusive for Different Truths.

I saw her through the corners of my half-open eyes. Yes, she was there in front of me, divinely beautiful. She was clad in a pink saree with beautiful gold ornaments and garlands. In her present avatar, she was a heavenly delight to look at. Pink saree? Was I hallucinating? About five minutes ago she was dressed in black! No, I wasn’t hallucinating! She changes her attire very frequently. Whatever attire she dons, her divine radiance always touches the soul!

Her celestial idol in pink saree had stirred the painter in me. Although I came here daily, the thought of painting her had never struck me. But now the thought had taken root in my heart. There was no way I could lay it to rest. I knew I would do it, and my painting would be different in its own unique way!

All this happened almost ten years ago. I started regularly going to the Goddess Kali temple at Patiala every evening. Going there around 8 pm and sitting before the idol till the temple closed became an inseparable part of my routine. Chanting mantras and meditating there with closed eyes was a blissful experience. At around 8.45 pm, the closing ceremonies would begin. The outer gates would be closed. I would stay there with a few other devotees. The Panditji would ritually dress the Goddess for the night. He would remove the garlands and flowers which he distributed to the devotees watching the ritual. Those seeking them would raise their hands while clogging near the altar. Finally, he would remove the bindi from Mother’s forehead. Women, both young and old, would approach the altar seeking the bindi. Only the luckiest among them chosen by Punditji would go home happy with that sacred bindi. Married women consider this bindi a lucky charm, a blessing from the Mother. After that, all the people were told to leave.

I have painted, now and then, many different avatars of Goddess Kali. A few traditional images and some abstract forms too. This time I wanted to paint only the face of the idol from the Patiala temple. It is unique, with big eyes, a golden nose ring, and a gilded tongue. Nowhere have I seen this kind of idol of the Goddess Kali. This unique idol was my motivation. 

I knew what I had to do. To paint the face of the Goddess, I needed a photograph. This would serve as a reference for my drawing. 

The next evening, I picked up my camera and went to the temple. A policeman with a paunch bulging from every seem of his khaki stopped me at the entrance. Two uniformed men and women also stood behind him.

‘Is this a camera?’ Seeing the camera, the policeman asked.

‘Yes, it is.’  I replied.

‘Does it click a photo?’ He said again.

‘Sure, it does.’

‘Then please, sir, click my photo.’ He made an immediate pose before the camera. I already had my camera at low light settings. So, I adjusted the lens to 35mm, seeing the distance between us and clicked the shutter release button. The camera’s LCD screen lit up, and he was pleased to see his thickset smiling face. It is different that he looked like an old Hindi movie villain to me! The four others also saw the image and smiled, an impish smile.

‘Sure, it is a camera! We do this to make sure. Who knows, it could be a weapon also? Hunh!’ But after this bit of apologetic justification, he continued, ‘Yes, this is a camera, of course. Even then, sir, I am sorry I can’t let you take it inside the temple. We have security issues.’ He told me now, even with a bigger grin.

‘But you have just checked; it is a camera!’ I tried to argue.

‘No, no, you don’t understand. We are not allowed to permit any electronic gadgets inside the sanctum. There is a perceived threat. Moreover, it looks expensive. For your own sake, leave the camera here with us or keep the camera in your car, but we can’t allow it inside.’ There was a certain finality about his tone. In those days, cell phones were not that smart to click a decent close-up of a face from a distance. My only hope was my camera for a close-up of the face. 

Then started a long waiting period for the ‘perceived threat’ to die and tight security to loosen a little bit. Every day I would carry the camera gear under the front left seat of my car. After almost two weeks, one day, I saw those security guys missing from the front gates. With my heart aflutter, I took my camera inside the temple.

By this hour, the rush thins down. It is easy to focus on the Goddess’s idol with fewer people near the altar. I took a deep breath and started focusing on the Mother’s face. Suddenly, a young man in his late 20s came aggressively toward me. He was dressed in plain mustard-coloured kurta pyjamas. A thick long red tilak adorned his forehead. You can see such people at almost every religious place, in different costumes as they go by in their religion, who think that the entire burden to ‘save religion’ is bestowed upon them. Protecting the purity of their faith, they believe, is their duty.

‘You cannot click a photo here!’ He commanded.

‘But why not?’ I asked patiently.

‘No, it is not allowed.’ He had no answer when I persisted about why I couldn’t do it. All this while he kept staring longingly at the huge barrel of the lens protruding out of the massive body of the camera. I immediately got the pulse of the problem. Obviously, he was impressed with the camera and that was creating a divide between us. I realised that the class divide has so many colours and shades.

‘Why can’t I click the photo?’ I said. His inability to provide any convincing answer revealed he had no authority to stop me. I was on solid footing. Apart from this, a few members of the temple organising committee were known to me.  

‘This is simply prohibited to click photos of Mata,’ was his standard refrain. Three other friends of his had also joined him. By now, it was quite a scene there. The people around us were silently watching to see who would finally win. Someone from the gathering suddenly said, ‘Why don’t you go and see the manager?’ I didn’t know there was a manager with his office in the temple compound. The self-appointed custodian of faith said, ‘Yes, let’s go to manager ji, he will tell himself. It is a policy matter, after all.’ I felt relieved. At least I had the chance to talk logically to someone in authority. We moved inside the manager’s office.

Sitting behind a big desk was a middle-aged man wearing a white kurta-pyjama. He was writing something in a diary. He peered first at us through his fat spectacles and then toward the crowd at the door. The angry young man pointed his finger toward me and complained, ‘This man was trying to click pictures of Mata.’  

The manager looked at me, saw the camera, and quickly judged me. I kept silent.

‘Then what?’, he snapped back at him. 

‘But sir, photography is against the rules!’

‘Who says? Live Darshana is telecast the whole day. People come for tonsure ceremonies, marriages, etc., with a videographer. What nonsense you are talking?’.

To me, he said, ‘Sir, ignore him; take as many photos as you like.’

Thanking him profusely, I came out of his office, went near the altar, and started clicking the pictures. Satisfied that I had good close-ups, I walked out of the temple. I started working on the painting at my home.

After laying the first layer of the paint, I thought of giving the painting a realistic look. I used artificial stones and some other materials for this purpose. In the centre of the Goddess’ forehead, just below the gold crown, was a place for a bindi. I thought of using an actual bindi instead of drawing one. But the problem with the actual bindi would be where to place it. If I drew it myself, I could draw it within the limited space on the canvas. I was in a dilemma.

Gradually, the painting was coming to its final shape. I used artificial stones in the crown and placed an artificial red coral in the middle of the crown. I just left one and a half inches long vertical space for the bindi. I just wasn’t sure what to do about the bindi! Only a long, vertical bindi would look good; that was clear. The painting was complete but for the bindi.

As what happens with other hobbies, it so happened with my pursuit of painting. I got busy with my other professional assignments as time went by. However, my routine of going to the temple in the late evenings continued. One evening when the Panditji removed the bindi from the Mother’s forehead, I instinctively approached the altar. There stood many ladies wanting the Mata’s bindi. I also raised my hands like them for the bindi. It was a very beautiful big round bindi. The Panditji looked at me in utter disbelief. It was taboo. How could a male ask for Mata’s bindi? He asked me, ‘What will you do with this bindi?’ I just kept mum. Then, he gazed at the female gathering and gave bindi to one young married female.

The painting of the Mother Goddess remained unfinished for months together. The only thing which was missing in it was the bindi. Then, due to my hectic work schedule, I stopped visiting the temple daily. I went there only on holiday or at the weekend. My painting was incomplete without the bindi.

One Saturday morning, I decided to complete the painting anyhow. I painted the vertical bindi with a V forming at the end of two vertical lines. It was okay sort. But it lacked the sparkle of a real bindi that the Mata wore on her forehead. I thought I would buy some shiny silver colour for this. The painting was otherwise complete now. But somewhere inside me, I was not satisfied.

Later that late evening, I went to Kali temple. Again, I happened to be there at the closing ceremony. It being Saturday, even at that late hour, the temple was crowded. Finally, the Punditji took off the bindi. He saw dozens of the raised arms. Far away, I was at the other end of the altar. Without any hope, I raised both my hands. Suddenly, the Panditji looked in my direction. Our eyes met; he thought for a moment and then walked towards me. To my utter delight, he gave that bindi to me. I took it with folded hands and bowed before the Mother. When I opened my palms to see, it was a vertical-shaped bindi with a V at the end. Exactly like the one I had drawn on my painting that morning. When I placed the bindi in its allotted space at home, it covered my handmade bindi completely. It was no less than a miracle. It was a gift from Mother Goddess Kali to make this painting unique!

Painting by the author