Jejima’s Corner

A long trail of black ants marched in unison towards a single destination. One after another, they climbed the tiny round decorative brass plate and scraped a minuscule white crystal from the ‘mishri’ kept on it, with their tentacles. It is a type of sugar candy which is offered to God. They placed the crystal on their head and descended the plate, all the while maintaining a perfect balance. The only time they altered their direction was when the white and yellow flower petals or the brass tumblers filled with water came on their way. Water or flowers didn’t interest them. Their only goal was the delicacy on the plate, the mouth-watering ‘mishri’. After accomplishing their task, all were headed towards the tiny slit in the marbled wall, their secret hideout. 

I sat outside the small room in silence and watched with despair how my favourite ‘mishri‘ was being carried away by the most hardworking beings on earth. I wondered why Jejima never shooed away those ants.

My Jejima, a devout believer of Lord Jagannath, spent most of her time in this room. She sat cross-legged on the floor facing the idols of Jagannath, Subhadra and Balram surrounded by innumerable other Gods and counted her ‘rudraksha’ beads. She looked ethereal in her pristine white sarees with a thin black border. Her head was always covered with the edge of her saree, the ‘anchal’ and wisps of silvery grey hair peeped from the sides of her temples. 

One fine day, I couldn’t help but ask her this question while she counted the beads of the rudraksha necklace hanging from her fingertips. She half-opened her aged watery eyes behind gold rimmed spectacles and moved her head from side to side in denial. She bent and whispered in my ears.

“We don’t know who they are. They might be the Gods and Goddesses themselves in disguise as ants and eating the ‘prasad‘ offered to them! We should not shoo them away! After all God is everywhere and in every being. Do you understand my little one?”

She would then gesture both her hands high up in the air and mutter some mantras indecipherable to me.

There were a million questions popping in my mind after hearing her answer but I decided to keep them to myself. As a kid, my only hope was for this ‘avatar‘ of God to leave at least one piece of ‘mishri‘ intact for me. That’s it!

That small room with its cold off-white marble floor and numerous idols and photos of Gods and Goddesses sitting on a big marble pedestal was known to us kids as ‘Jejima’s corner’. It was the little temple of our house.

My Jejima used to spend a lot of her time in that room, hence the name. The time spent in that nook of hers, kept on increasing proportionately with the number of black hairs turning silver on her head.

Her day started with the first light of dawn hitting the earth. After taking a bath in cold water, she would bathe all her beloved idols in a big container of water, wipe them dry with a soft muslin cloth and make them wear colourful tiny satin clothes with intricate gold zari borders. She possessed a box full of them. She decorated her idols and the pooja ‘asan’ with fresh jasmine and marigold flowers which she herself plucked from her garden and then offered them a scrumptious breakfast of our favourite ‘mishri‘ in the brass plates. Her pooja ritual was a cacophony of mantras, the soaring sound of conch shells and the occasional ringing of brass bells. Her hands holding the incense sticks would move round and round making circles of scented fumes in the air. In the end, she would sit and sway from side to side with closed eyes, all the while humming a tune of some devotional song. All these rituals created a magical atmosphere which soothed the heart and cleared the mind.

I often compared my Jejima’s pooja rituals with her idols to my little sister’s playtime with her dolls. They feed them, care for them, talk to them and even sing songs to them! I had heard someone say that at a certain point of time in a person’s life, the age reverses. People start going back to their childhood. That’s why the behaviour and activities of small children and old people are quite similar. I don’t know if this hypothesis holds any truth, but I was able to see a glimpse of it in my Jejima’s childlike innocence.

As a kid, our visit to her corner was a desire to get ‘mishri‘. But as we grew up, the frequency of the visits increased with our wants in life. It started with the regular visits before exams, cricket matches and school competitions. Further down the line, the visits became mandatory before the job interviews, new business ventures, quest for a suitable bride/bridegroom, having babies, buying houses, buying cars. And the list went on and on. The ‘mishri‘ was transformed.

The corner also provided immense support during crisis situations in life. It was the only place that gave solace upon encountering failures, rejections, losses and sufferings. This list was also endless. 

Each person had a reason of their own to pay a visit to Jejima’s corner, an open or a secret desire. One thing I always wondered why Jejima spent so much of her time there? As far as I knew, she had no worldly desires left for anything nor was she in any kind of physical or emotional pain. She had seen and endured everything in her long life. I got my answer later.

The point worth noticing is that even when my Jejima was no more to create that perfect atmosphere with her tunes and scents, the place still provided relief. There was something magical about that room in the corner with its Gods and Goddesses on a pedestal, which made life look simpler and all the problems easier. If I asked my Jejima then I knew the answer she would give me.

“It’s the aura of Lord Jagannath…what else?” 

Almost each home has such a corner. That’s why when people leave their homes, they carry a piece of it with them and plant it wherever they go. It’s very common to see a small photo or idol of the God (whoever one follows) in office cubicles, hostel study tables, a Ganapati, a flying Hanuman or a Cross hanging above car dashboards, a counter complete with an idol, incense sticks and diyas in shops or some verse of Quran on the walls. There is a feel good factor associated with these things people do. They feel protected. When I moved to the United States, the first thing I searched for in my new house was a good place to put the photo of my Lord Jagannath!

I remember once when I was travelling in a plane, there was serious turbulence due to bad weather. The strong winds were throwing the plane up and down. It was scary as hell. Almost all the passengers around me went into a state of panic. They were praying hard for God to save them, few were even on the verge of crying. The situation was worrisome. In this chaotic moment, I realised that my purse with my God’s photo in it was kept high up on the shelf and I had no holy pendant or ring or anything to hold on to on my body. I felt too vulnerable. 

I clenched my fists and closed my eyes tight shut to escape from the surrounding mayhem. I took deep breaths and tried to calm my mind. It worked and I was transported back to my Jejima’s corner in my old house. The off-white marble floored room with its Gods and Goddesses floated before my eyes. The sweet aroma of jasmine and incense sticks wafted around me. I saw Jejima’s fingertips counting the beads, her lips muttering something inaudible. The plane kept on juggling mid-air, but that serene visualisation calmed my mind as the seconds passed by.

The situation was better in some time and all breathed a sigh of relief. But then a strong realisation hit me. 

What kept me sane and in control all the while in this roller coaster plane ride when everything around me was going berserk? 

Was it the God’s photo in my bag? 

Was it the pendant I missed wearing? 

Or was it my Jejima’s temple?

No. It was me. 

It was me who took control of my mind, fetched the memory from my brain which gave me strength ( my Jejima’s temple) and made me believe that it was going to be okay. I understood that it was not in my capacity to control the plane or the weather. But the least I could do was to control my mind to make things easier in this hour of crisis. And I did just that.

Everything turned alright. Most of the time it does.

Humans are imaginative creatures by nature. We like to keep our signs or imprints wherever we go. It’s not just a photo, idol or verse but our inner self kept in the office cubicle, written on the wall, sitting on a table or hanging above the car dashboard, a small part of us. We like to feel connected to it, to ourselves. When it’s absent we feel uneasy.

So, I concluded that this is what my Jejima was doing in her last years of life sitting in her corner. She was trying to connect to her inner self after all her responsibilities in life were over. 

But once we know this trick, we can start early. In adverse situations, we can try to connect with ourselves and derive strength from within. Although it is not that easy as it sounds, it is not unattainable. If we calm our mind, close our eyes and peep within us with a positive intent, we will find that it’s there. Our own corner, the Lord Jagannath residing within us.

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Published in URMI 2023, Annual magazine of Odisha Society of America.