Durga Puja in Assam: The sacred farewell of Dashami, the goddess’s journey back to the eternal river
Heramba Nath
Durga Puja in Assam is more than a religious occasion. It is a season of faith, culture, artistry, community bonding, and the reaffirmation of shared identity. While it carries the imprint of its Bengali origins, in Assam the festival has woven itself into the very fabric of Assamese society, acquiring local nuances, rituals, and meanings that make it distinctly rooted in this land. From the bustling streets of Guwahati to the quieter riverbanks of Dibrugarh, from the cultural heart of Tezpur to the cosmopolitan landscape of Silchar, from Jorhat’s historical pandals to the rural celebrations in Goalpara and Lakhimpur, the festival unfolds with grandeur and devotion. Yet, amidst the joy of the Puja, it is the last day — Dashami, locally pronounced as Drosera or Bijoya Dashami — that remains etched in collective memory. It is a day of farewell, of parting with the goddess who has been welcomed so lovingly, a day when joy and sorrow embrace, and a day when philosophical truths of impermanence, continuity, and hope come alive through ritual and symbolism.
The days leading up to Dashami are filled with life. On Mahalaya, Assamese households awake to the sounds of devotional recitations broadcast on the radio, invoking the goddess to descend upon earth. Pandals across the state are inaugurated with prayers and cultural programmes. Artisans who had laboured for weeks on idols watch their creations come to life with light and devotion. Families prepare new clothes, sweets, and elaborate offerings. Children wait eagerly for the evenings of pandal-hopping, illuminated by colourful lighting that brightens even the narrowest lanes. The goddess, in her majestic form of Mahishasura Mardini, presides over all of this as the embodiment of power, courage, and motherhood.
From Saptami to Navami, the rituals and celebrations intensify. Guwahati’s Beltola, Fancy Bazar, and Maligaon pandals attract thousands, while in Silchar the Barak Valley pandals reflect a harmonious blend of Assamese and Bengali traditions. In Upper Assam, towns like Jorhat and Dibrugarh host Puja mandaps with their own distinct Assamese artistry, where local motifs and designs decorate the goddess’s abode. In villages, even with fewer resources, the Puja is celebrated with equal fervour. Here, the community gathers around a simple pandal, and the sound of dhak and dhol reverberates across the fields at night. The festival becomes a leveller, drawing together rich and poor, young and old, urban and rural, in a shared devotion. Yet, even as the joy builds, the shadow of the inevitable farewell hangs quietly in the background, reminding all that Dashami is not far away.
On the morning of Dashami in Assam, pandals across the state prepare for the final rituals. The atmosphere is both festive and sorrowful. Devotees throng their local mandaps for the Visarjan Arati, the last offering to the goddess. The air fills with the smell of incense and the rhythm of conch shells and drums. Priests chant mantras, families bow their heads, and women prepare for the rituals of Sindoor Khela. Married women, wearing the graceful Assamese mekhela chador with red borders, first apply vermilion on the forehead of the goddess, particularly at her image as the mother. Then they apply sindoor to one another, praying for long life of husbands, prosperity of families, and continuation of joy. In Guwahati and Silchar, Sindoor Khela often mirrors the grandeur of Bengal, with hundreds of women participating together. But in smaller towns and villages, it takes a gentler, more intimate form, where a handful of women share vermilion, sweets, and whispered blessings. Alongside, Assamese sweets such as til pitha, narikol laru, and doi-sira circulate among devotees, giving the rituals a distinctly Assamese flavour.
The immersion processions that follow are the heart of Dashami in Assam. Nowhere is this more visible than in Guwahati, where idols from across the city converge towards the ghats of the Brahmaputra. Uzanbazar, Bharalu, Pandu, and Kachari Ghat become seas of humanity. Thousands gather on the riverbanks to watch the farewell. The idols, carried on decorated trucks and accompanied by throngs of devotees, move through the streets with chants of “Durga Mai ki Jai” and “Aru bochor phale aahi jabo” — next year she will come again. The rhythmic beats of dhak, the Assamese dhol, and the clash of cymbals echo in the air. The Brahmaputra, flowing with its eternal might, becomes the final destination, receiving the clay forms of the goddess and her children. For the people of Assam, this immersion is more than ritual. It is a symbolic return of the divine mother to the elements, to the river that sustains life itself.
In Upper Assam towns like Dibrugarh, Jorhat, and Sivasagar, immersion takes place in local rivers such as the Subansiri, the Dibru, the Disang, and the Dikhow, or in historic tanks like the Sivasagar Sagar Pukhuri. In Silchar, the Sadarghat on the Barak River becomes the centre of immersion, where the blending of Bengali and Assamese voices in chants creates a unique cultural synthesis. In villages, idols are immersed in ponds, wetlands, or smaller rivers, often with a handful of families carrying the goddess together. The scale may differ, but the emotion remains the same everywhere. The farewell is tearful, the cries of “Durga Mai ki Jai” rise in the air, and the assurance of her return the next year becomes the balm for sorrow.
The emotional intensity of Dashami in Assam cannot be overstated. For many, the goddess is not a distant deity but a family member, a mother who comes home once a year and must now leave. Women, especially elderly mothers, often cry openly during immersion, relating the goddess’s departure to the many partings they themselves have experienced — daughters married away, sons migrating to cities, loved ones lost to the river’s erosion or to life’s hardships. Children too feel the sadness keenly, as their days of joy, sweets, and lights come to a close. Youth, who had spent the Puja evenings in laughter and friendship, also feel a void as the idol is carried away. Yet, amidst the sorrow lies the hope of renewal, the faith that next year the goddess will return again, bringing with her the same joy.
After immersion, Assamese society enters the season of Bijoya. Families and friends visit one another’s homes, offering greetings of “Shubho Bijoya” and distributing sweets. Children touch the feet of elders for blessings. Neighbours who might not have spoken for months come together in the warmth of Bijoya visits. In towns like Tezpur and Nagaon, it is common to see families carrying trays of pithas and sweets from house to house. In villages, Bijoya becomes the occasion to rebuild ties and reassert harmony. The festival, even in its farewell, thus reinforces unity and social bonding, leaving behind a legacy of togetherness.
Philosophically, Dashami carries profound meaning in Assam. The immersion of the clay idols into the Brahmaputra or other rivers reminds people of the impermanence of life. Just as the goddess, crafted lovingly by artisans, dissolves back into the elements, so too do humans return to the earth and water from which they came. The rituals embody the cycle of creation and dissolution, reminding society that endings are never absolute but part of an eternal rhythm. Yet, unlike the mournfulness of death, Dashami transforms this parting into a hopeful farewell. The cry “Aru bochor phale aahi jabo” becomes a reminder that faith and devotion ensure continuity, that life’s cycles always contain the seed of return.
In the Assamese context, this symbolism becomes even more powerful when seen against the backdrop of the Brahmaputra. The river is central to Assamese life — nourishing the soil, sustaining agriculture, shaping culture, and also bringing floods and erosion. To immerse the goddess in this river is to entrust her to the very force that defines the Assamese existence. The Brahmaputra becomes not just water but the eternal mother, into whom even the goddess returns. This connection imbues Dashami in Assam with a depth of meaning that is unique, where faith, nature, and culture merge seamlessly.
In recent years, Durga Puja in Assam has grown in scale and splendour. In Guwahati alone, hundreds of pandals showcase artistic themes ranging from replicas of historical monuments to messages about environmental conservation. Light shows and cultural functions draw huge crowds. In Silchar and Dibrugarh, too, the Puja has expanded with sponsorships, competitions, and digital innovations. Yet, despite this modernisation, the essence of Dashami remains unchanged. The immersion at the ghats still draws multitudes, the tears of farewell are still shed, and the chant of her return still echoes. Even in the Assamese diaspora abroad, where Puja is celebrated in community halls, Dashami brings nostalgia, connecting people to the soil and rivers of their homeland.
Environmental concerns have also reshaped Dashami in Assam. The immersion of idols in the Brahmaputra and other rivers has raised fears of pollution. To address this, many Puja committees now opt for eco-friendly idols made with natural clay and colours. Artificial immersion ponds have been created in Guwahati and other towns, though many devotees continue to feel that immersion in the river carries deeper spiritual value. The debate reflects Assam’s ongoing effort to balance tradition with responsibility towards nature. Yet, at its heart, the philosophy of Dashami — returning the clay to water — remains aligned with ecological cycles, reminding us that all forms are temporary, and all must return to the earth.
Dashami in Assam thus becomes more than just a day of ritual immersion. It becomes a metaphor for Assamese life itself — filled with joy, touched by sorrow, shaped by impermanence, yet sustained by resilience and hope. The festival speaks to the lived reality of Assam, where floods destroy but fertility returns, where erosion takes land but new roots are planted, where partings are endured but reunions are awaited. The goddess’s departure is not an end but a continuation of this eternal rhythm.
In Assam, the last day of Durga Puja, Drosera or Dashami, is therefore not only a farewell to the goddess but also an embrace of life’s deeper truths. The clay dissolves into the river, but the devotion remains alive in the hearts of the people. The drums fall silent, but the echoes of faith resound. The lights of pandals fade, but the bonds of community glow brighter. Above all, the promise of her return sustains the people through the year. When the cry “Durga Mai ki Jai” rises at the ghats, it is not just worship but also affirmation of continuity. And when voices shout “Aru bochor phale aahi jabo,” it is not only a farewell but also the declaration of an unbroken hope. That is why, year after year, Assam waits for the season of Puja, knowing that the silence of Dashami will once again break into the joyous rhythm of her arrival, that the river which received her will once more give her back, and that the eternal mother, though departing, never truly leaves.