There are festivals that dazzle with noise, and there are festivals that humble with silence. Chhath Puja belongs firmly to the latter. No firecrackers, no idols, no priests orchestrating the script. Just the river, the setting sun, and a community of people who, for four days, surrender their bodies and egos to the discipline of ritual.

If Diwali is the festival of lights, Chhath is the festival of shadows—of silhouettes against the horizon, of women standing waist-deep in water, of men carrying bamboo baskets lined with fruits and sugarcane. It is austere, elemental, and strangely democratic.

The Sun as Deity, the River as Witness

Unlike most Hindu festivals that revolve around gods with elaborate mythologies, Chhath is directed toward the Sun—Surya Dev—and his consort Usha, the first light of dawn. The Sun is not a god of temples but of horizons. He rises for everyone, without discrimination, and so the worship feels less like a plea for miracles and more like an acknowledgment of dependence.

Chhath Puja is mainly celebrated in the states of Bihar, Jharkhand, Uttar Pradesh, and some parts of Nepal. It is a festival that is celebrated with great fervour and devotion by the people of these regions.

The festival starts with Nahay Khay, which is a ritual bath taken by the devotees in the holy river Ganges or any other nearby water body. This is followed by Kharna, which is a fast observed by the devotees for the entire day. On the third day, Sandhya Arghya is performed, where the devotees offer prayers to the setting sun. The final day is known as Usha Arghya, where the devotees offer prayers to the rising sun.

Echoes from Antiquity

The origins of Chhath are as old as civilization itself. Some trace it back to the Harappan era, when nature worship and matrilineal rituals formed the rhythm of daily life. It is among the few women-led festivals still practiced today—conducted without the mediation of priests, sustained by the devotion and endurance of women who become both seeker and intermediary.

According to Hindu mythology, Chhath Puja was first celebrated by Surya Putra Karna, who was the son of Surya (the Sun God) and Kunti (the mother of the Pandavas). Karna was a great warrior and a devotee of the Sun God. He used to offer prayers to the Sun God every day, but during the month of Kartik (October-November), he observed a fast and worshipped the Sun God for four days for strength and prosperity.

Later, Draupadi is said to have revived the ritual during the Pandavas’ exile, upon the counsel of Sage Dhaumya, to invoke abundance when scarcity loomed. These mythic echoes lend the festival a lineage that stretches from Vedic hymns to modern ghats—a continuum of devotion through millennia.

Chhathi Maiya: The Dawn Divine

At the heart of Chhath is the worship of Chhathi Maiya, identified in the Vedas as Usha, the goddess of dawn. She is the embodiment of light emerging from darkness, the first ray that dissolves the night. Alongside her, Pratyusha—the last ray of the setting sun—is also revered. Together, they form a poetic symmetry: the first light of day and the last, the twin thresholds of existence.

Chhath is the only festival that honours both—the setting and the rising sun—a complete circle of devotion and surrender.

The Austerity of Abundance

Chhath is a paradox. It is a festival of abundance—baskets overflowing with bananas, coconuts, sugarcane, and thekua (a rustic sweet made of wheat flour and jaggery). Yet it is also a festival of austerity. Devotees fast without water, stand for hours in cold rivers, and sleep on the floor.

Thekua deserves special mention. It is not a confection you’ll find in sweet shops; it is made in homes, in iron kadhais blackened with use, fried in ghee until it turns a deep, earthy brown. It tastes of jaggery, smoke, and memory. Each piece is a story—of mothers and daughters, of patience and devotion, of sweetness that doesn’t need refinement.

A Festival Without Priests

One of Chhath’s most radical features is its absence of priests. The rituals are performed by the devotees themselves, guided by collective memory rather than clerical authority. In a land where faith often flows through hierarchies, Chhath stands apart—a quiet rebellion wrapped in reverence.

The riverbank becomes a temporary republic of faith. The rich and poor, the powerful and powerless, all stand in the same water, facing the same sun. No VIP enclosures, no special privileges. Just the leveling force of devotion.

Memory, Migration, & the Festival of the Margins

For many, Chhath is also a festival of memory. Migrants from Bihar, Jharkhand, and eastern Uttar Pradesh carry it with them to Delhi, Mumbai, or even New Jersey. Wherever there is a river, a pond, or even a makeshift tank, Chhath finds a home.

It is a festival that refuses to be uprooted. In fact, its very portability—requiring only water, sun, and discipline—makes it a ritual of resilience. For migrants, it is a way of carrying their village with them, of recreating the Ganga on the banks of the Hudson.

The Poetry of Stillness

What makes Chhath unforgettable is not spectacle but stillness. The image of women standing in water, palms folded, eyes fixed on the horizon, is less about asking and more about acknowledging. It is a ritual of gratitude, not petition.

In a world obsessed with noise, Chhath whispers. In a culture of consumption, it fasts. In a society of hierarchies, it equalizes.

And perhaps that is why it endures. Because in its silence, it speaks to something universal: the human need to pause, to endure, and to bow before forces larger than us.

Epilogue: The Sun Will Rise Again

When the final arghya is offered and the fast is broken, life resumes. The riverbank empties, the baskets are put away, and the thekua is shared with neighbors. But the memory lingers—the silhouettes, the stillness, the whispered prayers.

Chhath Puja is not merely a festival; it is a philosophy in ritual form. It reminds us that devotion need not be loud, gratitude can be austere, and sometimes the most profound prayer is simply standing in water, facing the sun, and saying—without words—thank you.

Wishing you a very happy Chhath Puja. Jai Ho Chhathi Maiyya Ki!