The spring is at its highest in the Pooja season,
Melting cool in the air is exciting.
Exhorts, "Come O! youth! Let's go",
Cuts jokes with the old, "Come! Let's have a look."
The world is youthful, the caravan of Beauty has arrived,
Cupid with drawn bow is ruling.
Beauty descends on earth in the garb of Durga,
Even the old are singing in the warmth of scenes.
There's more brilliance at might than in the day,
Even stars are peeping to see from afar.
Pendals are decorated as if a new town has emerged,
Flocks of fairies roaming about wherever you see.
Knots of hairlocks are more knoty at places,
Dark clouds are no match for the flowing hairlocks.
Look! Lighting is stricking all around,
O God! Save the heart's haystack.
Lovers have descended in the lanes and streets of the city,
Rivals too have come to get heart's desire fulfilled.
The old and the young moving about in colourful garments,
How the weak are striding with puffed up bossom!
Wonderstruck lighting turned into idol having, seen Devi's silver body,
Moreover, wrapped in glistening clothes.
A portrait of splendor, eminence personified,
Matchless in grandeur, glory and greatness.
The Power rules but in peace,
Hand raised for protecting the weak.
Devotess crowding everywhere in the town,
All, small and the big are receiving blessings.
Paying a visit to Mother Durga bestows peace and solace,
Even those with bruised hearts are comforted.
Agree, she is hear for a few days, so what,
The man is somewhat relived of the poison of grief.
With the departure of Durga the inner light is gone,
All spectators of the bride are gone.
The city with a drawn face, is in sorrow,
But hopes that she will visit again.
The potter rears that hope for the whole year,
They fix hair and feather in the clay idol.
This idol making of their's is matchless,
They are Azars* of their time with perfections in their art.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------* Azar, father of Abraham, was a famous idol maker.
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