Shubho Bijoya: it’s very Hard to say goodbye to maa Durga

The Divine Mother comes to her mother’s house from Kailasha, and leaves us for the abode of our dear Jamai Babu Shiva, the Auspicious One. Really, this is very painful to say goodbye to Mother Goddess, to whom we are so emotionally, devotionally attached. The pang of separation is so real. We can literally see Maa crying. Her eyes get watery as she leaves her mother’s home.

The air is heavy with the fragrance of dhuno and the lingering echo of dhak drums. The festive lights that danced so brilliantly just yesterday now seem to flicker with melancholy. Bijoya Dashami has arrived—the day we must bid farewell to our beloved Ma Durga. The same idol that we awakened with such joy, that we adorned with our prayers and offerings, that we celebrated with every fiber of our being, must now return to her celestial abode.

How cruel time seems in these moments. Just five days—five precious days—we had with our Mother. We dressed her in the finest silks, offered her bhog with trembling hands of devotion, danced before her with abandon, and poured our hearts out in prayer. We became children again in her presence, forgetting our worldly worries, our adult pretenses, our carefully constructed facades. Before Maa, we were simply her children, coming home.

And now she must leave.

The Pangs of Separation

Watch the faces around the pandals on Bijoya. See how the women touch Maa’s feet one last time, their fingers lingering as if trying to hold onto something that cannot be held. Notice the men, trying to be stoic, yet their eyes betray the moisture within. The children, confused by the sorrow around them, sensing that something precious is slipping away. The priests chanting the final mantras, their voices thick with emotion they’ve felt countless times yet never grow accustomed to.

This is not mere ritual. This is not superstition. This is the power of devotion that transforms clay into the Divine Mother herself. We did not worship mud and straw—we worshipped the very essence of Shakti, the primordial energy that creates and destroys, that nurtures and protects. For five days, she was not a mere idol; she was Maa, as real as our heartbeat, as present as our breath.

The Procession called visarjan

The visarjan procession begins. The streets fill with devotees crying “Bolo Durga Maai Ki Jai!” but now the victory chant carries an undertone of farewell. We accompany her to the river, to the ghat where earth must return to water, where form must dissolve back into formlessness. We know this is the cycle—she comes, she blesses, she departs, only to come again next year. Yet knowing this doesn’t ease the ache in our hearts.

As Maa slowly submerges into the sacred waters, something shifts within us. We feel the separation acutely, painfully. Some weep openly. Others stand in stunned silence. But in this moment of deepest sorrow, there is also a profound truth unfolding: Maa never truly leaves. She resides in the devotion we carry, in the love we shared, in the transformation we underwent during these sacred days.

Waiting for her arrival Next Year

The power of feeling—that same force that turned clay into Goddess—now reminds us that devotion transcends physical form. Maa’s spirit remains in every act of courage we perform, every injustice we fight, every moment we choose truth over falsehood. She lives in the strength we gather to face another year, in the hope we carry forward, in the faith that she will return when we call.

Shubho Bijoya is thus both an ending and a beginning. Yes, we bid farewell with tears streaming down our faces, with hearts heavy with longing. But we also embrace each other—friends, family, strangers bound by shared devotion—and say “Shubho Bijoya.” May this victory be auspicious. May Maa’s blessings remain with us. May we carry her light until she returns to us once more.

Until then, Maa, we hold you in our hearts. We see You in every girl, every woman, every man, every elderly person, every disabled person—in every soul that walks this earth. Not in clay, not in straw, but in the undying flame of devotion that you yourself kindled within us. Asche bochor abar hobe—next year, it will happen again. This is our promise to you, and yours to us.

Shubho Bijoya to all. May Ma Durga bless us always.