I know nothing of that. Although I can still hear (two days later) the remnants of far-off firecrackers bursting into the night, they are no louder than the frogs making their whimpering calls outside my door, and far quieter than the crickets drumming their legs together in the forest across the road. Here at Mojo Plantation, our Diwali was instead marked by cooking, a campfire, and communal song.
The day started off with Maya and me making candles and diyas (small potted oil lamps) out of a year’s worth of spent candle wax. We melted white and red and sparkly blue wax in a tin over an open fire. We twisted fresh wicks from good cotton thread. We cleaned out small clay pots to fill with the hot wax, removing sticky ash from previous years. When the fire had turned the multi-colored mass into a fresh, runny, and unmistakably brown concoction, we poured it gingerly (and a bit messily) into our ready candle-pots.
Later on, Sujata taught me how to make a jam tart. It helped that I had whipped up an apple tart some weeks previous, but this time we went at it recipe-less, tossing flour and sugar and fresh cream from the cow’s milk into the dough. Passionfruit jam from last year’s harvest filled the browned pastry shell, and then more cream went on top. We put it aside for dinner.
As dusk began to fall, Matt and I left our room to help cook dinner in the kitchen. Aside from the candles and the baking, the day had felt like any other, with chores and research and this and that. So when we walked up the stairs to the main house, we were surprised to see a string of lights blinking red and white, and a row of candles lit up along the outer bench.
Although festivals in India seem to have many various meanings, from what I understand Diwali is more or less an extension of Dasara, or rather, a reconciliation of Dasara’s story. At one point long ago, in the time of the Ramayana, the Ayodhyan King Rama flies to Sri Lanka to rescue his wife Sita, who had been stolen by the evil king of Lanka, Ravana. Dasara (which we celebrated a few weeks ago, and which Matt wrote about in his blog) marks the day that Rama cuts off Ravana's head and rescues Sita. Diwali, meanwhile, marks the day that Rama returns to India. It falls every year on the New Moon because Rama returns on a moonless night, and everyone in India puts out candles and diyas to guide his way home.
We lit the rest of the candles and diyas, and had a round of drinks. A neighbor friend of Sujata and Anurag’s (and another organic farmer) who had just returned from Germany came over to share in the festivities, so it felt like a real gathering. New friends, homemade passionfruit wine, and handmade candles. The ensuing barbecue (yes, it’s finally dry enough to barbecue!), a plethora of sweets, and singing around the fire made it feel like a real holiday.
As we head into holiday season as we know it, I’ll be sure to keep Diwali in mind. For Halloween we’re planning a dance party (for the four of us interns, at least), but Thanksgiving and Christmas are right around the corner. I’m sure I’ll be missing my friends and family then, but at least I’ll know that we can still create a sense of peace, joy, and community on those special days.
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