Author: Dr. Manasa Nagabhushanam
There is something about Deepavali that has stirred human hearts for ages. Perhaps it is because light is simply the absence of darkness, and each of us carries some darkness within: of ignorance, of fear, of the quiet unknown blocks that keep us small. Long ago the rishis felt this same longing and prayed, “Asato ma sadgamaya, tamaso ma jyotirgamaya” (lead me from the unreal to the real, from darkness to light). The Mundaka Upanishad whispers that all this shines only by His light, “tasya bhasa sarvam idam vibhati”. Perhaps that is why, in every Hindu home and shrine, a lamp is lit each evening. Imagine those nights before electricity, when the sun went down and that tiny flame was all that stood between a family and the dark. And see how Deepavali chooses Amavasya, the blackest night of all. It is as though each little diya says to the world, “I am small, but I am here, and I will give what light I can.” Tagore heard that same voice. When the setting sun asked who would carry on its work, the humble earthen lamp replied, “I shall do what I can, my Master.”
Naraka Chaturdashi: Victory Over Narakasura
That quiet courage of the lamp has been honoured since our most ancient days, and the first story is one of darkness at its cruellest. Narakasura, drunk on power, had imprisoned sixteen thousand women in his fortress. Think of their despair, cut off from home with no hope of return.
Then Krishna came, with Satyabhama beside him, and on Chaturdashi the demon fell. But Krishna did more than free them. Knowing the world might turn them away, he gave them his protection and his name, so they could live with dignity. Even Narakasura, in his last moments, asked that his passing be remembered with lamps. And as the season moves on to Tulasi Vivaha, we remember another promise kept, the Lord’s assurance to the devoted Tulasi that she would be cherished in every home.
Bali Padyami: The Return of a Generous King
If Narakasura reminds us of what must end, Bali Chakravarti reminds us of what must endure: a generous heart. Under this beloved king, the people lived in plenty. When Vamana came asking for three steps of land, Bali gave without a second thought, and when the Lord’s two strides covered earth and sky, Bali humbly bowed his own head for the third. Touched by such surrender, Vishnu granted him one wish. Bali did not ask for a kingdom. He asked only to return once a year to see that his people were well. What a beautiful wish for a ruler. So on Bali Padyami we light our homes, so that the old king may look upon his land and smile.
Rama Returns to Ayodhya
And then there is the homecoming every child in India knows by heart. For fourteen long years, Ayodhya had waited. Mothers had grown old, the streets had lost their song. When word came that Rama was returning with Sita, Lakshmana and Hanuman, the people could hardly contain their joy. They lit lamp after lamp, on every doorstep, every wall, every rooftop, so that not a single corner of that moonless night would keep him from home. Can you picture it? A whole city glowing with love. Every diya we light today carries a spark of that welcome.
How Deepavali Is Celebrated
These stories do not sleep in old books; they come alive each year in the way we celebrate. The festival opens with Dhanatrayodashi, when new vessels and the first lamps are brought home. On Naraka Chaturdashi, the household wakes in the dark for the fragrant oil bath, abhyanga snana, laughter mixing with the first crackers of dawn. Amavasya brings Lakshmi Puja, and as dusk falls, rows of diyas appear on every sill and step. Then come Bali Padyami and Govardhan Puja, and finally Bhai Dooj, warm with the love of brothers and sisters.
And the lamps themselves! Little clay diyas shaped by hand, gleaming brass samais, the five-faced panchamukhi deepa, the steady nanda deepa, painted lamps in every colour. Rangoli blooms at the threshold, sweets pass from hand to hand, and the sky bursts with sparks. Today this joy has crossed oceans, from Singapore and Mauritius to London, Toronto and New York. Yet wherever it is lit, watch the faces around a diya: the same soft glow, the same smile.
The Lamp Within: A Spiritual Journey
Yet when the last cracker fades and the house falls quiet, the diya keeps burning, and it seems to ask us something. It gives itself away, drop by drop, so that others may see. It never asks for thanks. And however you hold it, its flame always rises upward. Could we live like that? The yogis say the same upward pull lives within us.
The life energy resting at the base of the spine longs to rise, and through sadhana, devotion and stillness it climbs from chakra to chakra until it blossoms at the Sahasrara, the thousand-petalled lotus of enlightenment. This is atma unnati, the soul’s own Deepavali. Our body is the lamp, our breath the oil, our awareness the wick. So this year, as you light a diya at your door, light one within too, and let it rise.
Dr. Manasa Nagabhushanam is an, academician spiritual communicator. She is the Co-founder of Daiv Bharathi Technologies Pvt. Ltd; Views presented are personal.