Growing up in a colony near a coal mine, days seemed endless and years flew by. The houses were identical, but the people who lived in them created a vibrant tapestry of diversity. Festivals and parades marked the passage of time, each one a celebration of our unique community. Dasara, in particular, holds a special place in my heart. The Ramayana would be performed on stage in our colony, and the tales of Charan Das Chor (Charan Das the thief) drama would echo through the labor colony in the Chhattisgarhi dialect. I later discovered this story through a Doordarshan film. The local Bengali community, with their proud traditions, dominated the Durga Puja festival, turning the colony into a microcosm of Bengal. The prasadam distributed by our Bengali neighbors was mouth-watering. This festive spirit went on for weeks, as we had 25 days of school holidays that usually ended after Deepavali. My own little story intertwines with the Ravana. We, a group of boys and girls, decided to have our own Dasara celebration. We formed a team and pooled our pocket money to make our own Ravana effigy. However, our budget was too small for a 10-headed Ravana, so we settled for a one-headed effigy instead. We assembled the framework for the effigy using bamboo or wooden sticks and crafted a small effigy in the street where we lived. One of the girls on our team had a talent for sketching, and she helped us make Ravana complete with a smiling face. On the other side of the Ramleela ground, the official Ravana effigy was still incomplete until afternoon that day. The process of making it had hit a snag from the beginning. Only Rama could tell how such a large structure could be made horizontally on the floor. The usual size of a Ravana effigy was about 30 feet, and it required a large quantity of dry paddy stuffed into the bamboo-made body structure, making the entire structure very heavy. A mechanical crane was used to pull it up and make it stand vertically. As if disaster was waiting to happen, the giant Ravana effigy collapsed. The wires used to make it stand straight snapped and could not withstand the one-sided weight, leaving the organizers in a panic as the actors of Ramleela were about to perform the final act without their adversary. This news spread fast and reached the actor playing Hanuman first. I saw him, confused and wandering around near the place where Ravana had fallen flat even before getting burnt. I was amused to see the actor playing Ravana laughing all the way to see the fate of his own effigy. In a twist of fate, our little Ravana became the unlikely hero as the committee pleaded with us to use it to save the Ramleela and their reputation. This led to a dramatic negotiation with us, the creators. Reluctantly, we surrendered our beloved Ravana. Overwhelmed with a sense of loss, I hugged the effigy before letting it go to fulfill its destiny in the Ram Leela. After the effigy was burned, I collected a pinch of its ashes in a matchbox, a tangible piece of my childhood that I held onto for months, a symbol of my cherished memories. Now, whenever Dasara arrives, I am transported back to that day, smiling at the memory of our little Ravana and the joy it brought to my childhood.
