A Saraswati Puja with Sree Sree Thakur

This morning, as the golden light of dawn bathed the world in its quiet radiance, Sree Sree Thakur spoke softly, his voice carrying both instruction and love—

“Take your morning bath early and offer anjali to Mother Saraswati.”

A strange reluctance welled up within me. I hesitated and replied, “I no longer feel drawn to these rituals. Whom shall I worship, and why? Which deity shall I bow before?”

Thakur’s lips curved into a knowing smile. He did not answer immediately but instead set forth to bathe, assuring us that he too would offer anjali and guide us to do the same.

Still unsettled, I questioned, “Is this merely a customary practice? The Bauls sing—

“Among people, one follows customs;

By the Sadguru’s side, one walks alone.”

Thakur nodded, his smile deepening. “There is truth in that. Certain customs are indeed worth preserving—not for our own sake, but for the greater good of society. If such practices bring no harm to oneself yet uplift those with lesser understanding, then upholding them is wise. Not all can grasp the highest truths at once. If those who comprehend them hastily discard all external forms of worship, then the common folk, seeing their example, may also abandon rituals—without attaining the inner wisdom that was meant to replace them. That would lead to their loss, not gain.”

He paused for a moment and then continued, “The truest worship of Saraswati is not found in external offerings but in bhajan—Surat-Shabad-Yoga. The anahat (unstruck sound), eternal vibration that awakens within through sadhana, that which is heard in the depths of one’s being, that is the real invocation of Saraswati. Today, the external world resonates with songs, music, and hymns, while within, through devotion, one must immerse in the silent resonance of the Supreme Sound. That is the true adoration of Para-Vak, the transcendental voice, the divine Saraswati. But since not all can grasp or experience this, external worship is not to be forsaken.”

His words settled over me like a gentle breeze, stirring something deep within.

After completing our ablutions, we proceeded towards the altar. Among us was Avinash Da, a devoted disciple, who, with a playful smile, began chanting mantras aloud. Thakur too, with great ease and sincerity, joined him in reciting them as he offered anjali.

I knelt behind him, flowers in hand, my heart filled with reverence. Yet, my mind wavered. What should I chant? The conventional mantra? No, I chose instead to silently utter the Mahamantra—his primordial, resonant Name. But where should I place my anjali? Before the idol enshrined in the ceremonial vessel, or at the feet of the One who stood before me—the living embodiment of divinity, the origin of all sound, the father of Para-Vak Saraswati herself?

As I pondered, my gaze fell upon him. There he was, bowing before the altar—not out of personal necessity, but out of duty to the tradition, for the sake of the people. His actions were a guiding light for those who did not yet see beyond form. His command was my truth. Suppressing my yearning to place my anjali at his feet, I too followed his lead and offered my flowers at the altar.

As I sit here in solitude, recording these reflections, I suddenly hear his voice. Thakur has come, his eyes gleaming with a tender mischief, his arms encircling my shoulders as he softly sings—

“Hoist the sails, hoist them high,

The merciful One shall take the helm,

And steer you through the tide.”

Returning to the ashram, he turns to me with a teasing smile, “Now, let us have you lead the prayers today! You shall be the officiating priest—not just for the devotees but even for the Brahmins themselves.”

Shortly after, as a group of twelve or fourteen devotees arrived after their ritual baths—Kishori Da, Biraj Da, Jogen Sarkar, Jatin, Suren, and others—I recited the mantras as Thakur had instructed. They bowed, offering their anjali with deep devotion.

A thought arose within me—If I must be a priest, let it not be for the ritualistic worship of deities enshrined in clay or stone. Let me, instead, be a priest at your lotus feet, guiding all towards the eternal, living worship of the Divine within you. O boundless ocean of grace, redeemer of the fallen, may I forever serve as the priest of your worship alone…

— Ashwini Kumar Biswas

(From: Amiya Bani, Pages 114-116, Bengali Year 1326)