Nine Nights, Nine Colours

• Mataji stood fearless. ‘I have come to stop your cruelty.’ The battle began. Mahishasura changed his forms again and again, but Mataji did not step back. At last, she defeated him.

Once upon a time, there
was a small, beautiful
village nestled between green fields and gentle hills. Every year, when the monsoon clouds began to disappear and the first cool breeze of autumn arrived, everyone knew that something special was about to begin.
Navratri was coming!
The village came alive. Marigold garlands decorated the houses, colourful torans hung over doorways, and children practised their Garba steps in the lanes. The rhythmic beats of dhols filled the evening air.
At the centre of the village stood a small temple of Mataji. In front of it, the villagers placed a beautiful earthen Garbo decorated with flowers.
Among the excited children was a lively boy named Raj. He loved everything about Navratri - especially the moment when Dadaji lit a tiny diya inside the Garbo every evening.
One evening, Raj watched the little flame dance inside the Garbo.
“Dadaji, why do we light a diya inside the Garbo every night?”
Dadaji smiled.
“Because, Raj, this little diya carries a very big story.”
“A story?”
“Yes. The story of Mataji and Mahishasura.”
Raj moved closer, eager to listen.
“Long ago,” Dadaji began, “there lived a powerful asura named Mahishasura. Filled with pride, he became cruel and began troubling the gods and the people of the earth.
“The gods joined their divine energies together. From their combined Shakti arose a magnificent Goddess - Durga, Mataji.
“She shone with divine power. The gods placed their sacred weapons in her hands, and she mounted a mighty lion.
“Mahishasura laughed. ‘You think you can defeat me?’
“Mataji stood fearless. ‘I have come to stop your cruelty.’
“The battle began. Mahishasura changed his forms again and again, but Mataji did not step back. At last, she defeated him.
“Flowers rained from the heavens, and the gods rejoiced.
“‘Jai Mataji!’ echoed across the land.”
Dadaji looked at Raj.
“That is why Navratri is celebrated for nine nights. During these nights, devotees remember Mataji in her nine forms, known as the Navadurga. Each form reflects a different aspect of Shakti. Together, they remind us of the many ways divine strength can shine.”
The next evening, Raj stepped out of his house and noticed something different.
The lanes were glowing with colourful lights. The decorations seemed brighter than before, and people were dressed in a beautiful new colour.
“Dadaji,” Raj asked, looking around at the colourful clothes, lights and decorations, “why is everyone wearing a different colour today?”
Dadaji smiled.
“Because each night of Navratri has its own colour. As the nine nights pass, these colours become part of the celebration, filling the village with joy and bringing a special beauty to each evening.”
“So every night looks different?”
“Exactly,” Dadaji said. “But through all nine nights, we remember the same Shakti.”
Night after night, Raj watched the village transform.
One colour followed another. The Garbo glowed brighter, the dhols grew louder, and the circles of Garba dancers grew bigger. Yet the little diya continued to shine quietly at the heart of it all.
Raj slowly began to understand that the nine nights were more than a festival of colours, music and dance. They were a celebration of Shakti - the divine energy that represents courage, devotion, wisdom, compassion and strength.
As the final beats of the dhol echoed through the village, Raj looked once more at the glowing diya.
He understood that true strength is not just about power. It is about having the courage to stand against darkness and choose what is right.
The little diya flickered inside the Garbo, and the village rang once again with a joyful cry.
“Jai Mataji!”