Chhath Puja

 

If you’ve grown up in Bihar, Jharkhand, or eastern Uttar Pradesh, you already know that Chhath Puja has arrived. Every year, as the post - Diwali glow softens and winter starts whispering in the air, entire towns transform into living shrines - lit ghats, echoing folk songs, and the golden silhouettes of women standing waist-deep in shimmering water as the sun bows down. It’s all so serene, ancient and quietly powerful. 

This festival dates back to Vedic times, when Surya - the Sun God  - was worshipped for health, prosperity and cosmic balance. It’s said that Draupadi and Karna performed Chhath rituals to gain strength and healing. Unlike many other festivals centered around deities of wealth or power, Chhath celebrates gratitude, balance and endurance. It’s an ode to the rhythm between humans and nature — to light, air and the very source of life. 

Women are the heartbeat of Chhath. Called “vratin”, they fast without even sipping water for many  hours, preparing every offering with utter devotion  - from kneading dough for “thekua” to decorating bamboo baskets with seasonal fruits and sugarcane. Their strength is silent but fierce, turning simplicity into sanctity. They invoke Chhathi Maiya, believed to be the sister of Surya, who blesses families with well - being and fertility. The Devi isn’t worshipped through glitter or noise  - she’s worshipped through austerity, purity and unshakeable patience. 

My experience of Chhath Puja dates back to 2024, when I actually took a deep dive into its nitty gritty. My coursemate and dear friend, Col Rajesh Verma invited me over for the festivities starting from their home on the first day and extending over to the sunset next evening and sunrise the next next morning. It was at his home that I saw Mrs Verma, taking on the daunting task of fasting - saltless, waterless and without food! I think(pardon me if wrong) the fasting is over two cycles of 24 hrs and 36 hrs. 

She adorns the role of a Vratin. Each day has a special role and ritual. The four days include Nahay Khay (Bathe and Eat) on D1, Kharna on D2, Sandhya Arghya (Evening Offerings) on D3, Usha Arghya (Morning Offerings) and breaking the fast on D4. 

The fasting is not just physical endurance; it’s mental clarity. Imagine standing barefoot at dawn, after a night of preparing “prasad”, waiting for the first ray of sunlight  - that’s mindfulness in its most desi form. The rhythm of the ritual, the unselfish devotion and the shared silence during “arghya” (the offering of water to the sun) feel almost meditative. How our women do it remains a mystery - whether on Karwa Chauth or fasting for kids.

 And then there’s the food — because no festival is ever truly complete without it. The simple, earthy thekua, golden brown and lightly sweetened with jaggery, takes center stage. There’s also kasar (made of rice flour and jaggery), coconut, raw bananas and soop - arranged fruits like apple and pear — all symbolic of abundance and purity. Every dish speaks of homegrown vibes — no fancy plating, no filters required, just raw tradition wrapped in aroma. 

Bihar during Chhath has its own cinematic mood. Streets are lined with colorful “soop” baskets, Bollywood loudspeakers meet folk tunes like “kharna geet,” and you can literally feel the nostalgia in the air. Everything slows down. Everyone helps — even Gen Zs are seen making reels for Instagram at ghats before switching to helping their moms set up the offerings. It’s a mix of devotion and dopamine, tradition and trend. 

Sure, the rivers today are gasping. The Ganga’s banks in Patna or the Yamuna at Delhi and countless ponds struggle with pollution and low water levels. But somehow, that doesn’t kill the spirit. When water is scarce, people dig pools, clean wells and manage with buckets — anything to keep the ritual alive. Chhath isn’t just about following a custom; it’s about proving that reverence survives apathy. 

This year again, I am invited to witness a culture and its vivrant celebration. Verma has his house full of fellow Biharis and friends. I could find a small stool to sit on and admire the sheer import of the evening and the ensuing celebrations. It’s that festival where faith feels intimate, not performative. No priests, no temples, no shortcuts — just you, the sun, the river and your promise of gratitude. And maybe that’s what makes Chhath timeless. It’s rooted yet raw, austere yet radiant — a festival that doesn’t just shine; it glows from within.