One can never hear the beats of the dhaak without thinking of Bisharjan... There is a traditional rhyme to which the dhaak inevitably beats... something that is taught to us Bangalis from pretty much our first experience of Pujo :
“Thakur thakbey kotokkhon,
Thakur jaabey bisharjan...”
So the very hour that Pujo begins, its knell is also spelt out with the dhaak and the kanshor ghonta. The four days of frenetic festivity and mindless enjoyment that defines Pujo end on the night of Dashami, the day that the idols are traditionally immersed. The people of the para come down for a final sight of the goddess, and wait and watch as she is hauled up on the truck.
All this while, the dhaak beats incessantly, picks up new rhythms, changes its pace, slows down, then picks up again, yet continually reverts back to the theme- Thakur toh jaabei Bisharjan....
As the dhaak beats reach fever pitch, the truck revs up, the men and the women enthusiastic enough to go for the Bisharjan clamber on, and the goddess bids a final adieu to the pandal that was home for a few days. The dhaakis accompany the Bisharjan party, and the ones who stay behind in the pandal lurk till the beats of the dhaak grow fainter and fainter, till they are heard no more...
The pandal is now left desolate... Only a diya remains where the goddess had presided over so lately.... and the pandal decorations and the lights and the traces of sindoor and sandesh (that the women had given to the goddess as a sign of farewell, and to each other, in a ritual called ‘Sindoor Khela’ that takes place on Dashami) further add to the sense of desolation.
Thus ends Pujo... leaving a sense of emptiness in the hearts and souls of all who were a part of it, of all who were not, yet have observed... But the cries of the Bisharjan-party still ring loud and clear, and makes the solitary diya in the pandal burn brighter still :
“Aashchey bochhor aabar hobey,