Why I think the site of an old asylum shouldn't be home to Mamata's Durga idols
Can the troubled dead of an old lunatic asylum walk into discarded forms of the goddess?
Do these idols become the home of something else?
They say that madness leaves a dark stain. Like a terrible cry in the night, which goes on and on, unceasing, unrelenting. And those who are touched by it, become part of it.
As the season changes, take a walk by Rabindra Sarobar in Kolkata. There you will find a whitewashed shed, and a short pathway leading up to it. Walk closer, walk right in. The white tubelights will be on. The cemented floor will lie smooth before you. And yet, as you step in, you will cringe. For the first fingers of something cold will caress you and beckon you closer. And even as you walk in, you will unknowingly take a last longing look back at the doorway to the outside.
Cement alcoves line the large space. A wide glassed in window is open to the morning light. But the shadows - they are always there. Perhaps they have always been.
It was the time of WWII, and Calcutta was an important centre of what was called the China Burma India Theatre of war. At that time, the US Army built a hospital in this very area. It was called the '142nd General Hospital' and grew to be a 2,000 bed one. Records speak of a large wing of this hospital which was devoted to those whose minds were ravaged by the horrors of war and killing, and it was here that a large psychiatric ward was established. There were many inmates who died here, far from home and families. Traumatised, sick and alone. Strange happenings were spoken of and many a cry on a dark night was quickly hushed up.
In the winter of 2012, the newspapers suddenly announced that the chief minister of West Bengal, Mamata Banerjee, would set up and inaugurate a rather strange exhibition. The site was chosen. It was an old shed by the lakes. The site of the old hospital. A display of prize-winning idols from Durga Puja. People were rather startled. Uncomfortable rumblings started amongst the puja organisers.
"Was this right? Shouldn't the immersion be allowed?"
"The rituals would be incomplete without the old practice of immersion. The whole puja would be broken."
"Is this desecration?"
"Will it bring bad luck?"
Soon, the wheels of the state government machinery started rolling and the large space was painted and cleaned, and around nine idols of Durga were brought in and placed in the cemented alcoves.
A few days passed.
No one visited. No one stopped by.
The idols stood there, with the tremors of something sacred, disrupted and desecrated, rolling off them in waves.
Within a few weeks, cobwebs had gathered. The idols worshipped with fervent devotion a few weeks ago, started showing the first signs of neglect. The weapons of the goddess were missing. The hands of clay were broken. In some, dark holes had appeared obliterating an eye. Dust and mildew gathered.
There was agony and pain and as the days went, a dark smoke seemed to arise from the very land infusing anger and a strange awareness. Had something from the past walked into the broken and abandoned idols?
When I would go in there sometimes, dark forms would seem to flit behind the idols. Watching. Sometimes a shadowy head would lean out from behind, almost as if trying to get my attention.
One early morning walker claimed to have seen a very thin man in loose white hospital clothing, jerkily moving to stand before the wide window. Curious, when he went inside, the place was deserted as usual.
If you are a morning walker, or enjoy strolling by the Rabindra Sarobar lakes, you must visit this shed. Some say that even as they leave, they can hear a high pitched laugh in a young person's voice echo from the very end, where the last alcove stands.
I always wonder what drew chief minister Mamata Banerjee to this abandoned plot of land.