Every year, Jagannath Hall transforms into a vast, open-air classroom for the Mother of Arts. Here, under the Magh sun, departmental boundaries and religious lines blur, transforming the campus into a sprawling haven of art, unity, and reunion.
From the very first day of January, the excitement for Saraswati Puja had been palpable among the students of Dhaka University. For many, like me, it is not just a festival; it is a cherished tradition, a day to reunite with juniors, seniors, and alumni, and to celebrate knowledge and culture. Over the past four years, I have made it a point to visit the puja mandaps, meet new people, and immerse myself in the festivities. This year, however, held a special significance — it marked my final academic year at Dhaka University, and missing the fun was simply not an option.
The preparations began days in advance with eager discussions about outfits and colour-coordinated saris. Our juniors sent out vibrant “Bani Archana” invitations that beautifully ignore religious boundaries; Muslim students worked alongside their Hindu peers to design and prepare the cards. The anticipation was sweet. My phone buzzed late into the night with texts from friends joking, “Don’t ride Nagordola or Santa Maria without me, please!” It made me smile — the energy of the fair is nothing without your friends by your side. By 10 AM, we had plans to meet at the mandap.
Saraswati Puja is traditionally arranged in the month of Magh according to the Bengali calendar. As we entered Jagannath Hall at the Dhaka University, the sheer scale of the celebration took our breath away. Jagannath Hall organized nearly 60 departmental mandaps, making it one of the largest puja celebrations in the country, if not the world. Navigating the immense crowd, we finally entered the gates and noticed the first mandap, where young children awaited their hatekhori ceremony. The fragrance of flowers and the rhythmic sounds of worship bells set the tone for a day brimming with excitement.
At our departmental mandap, I am met with playful ribbing from two friends who have already finished their prashad. The mandap, which had recently made headlines, depicted the mob culture that attacked the press, and a female pandit conducted the pooja for the third consecutive year. Amidst the crowd, we spotted a senior apu visiting with her family, a familiar and comforting sight. ”Our corner at Jagannath Hall is basically a homecoming,” My friend, Kouritro Poddar Tirtho muses. “In the morning, we watch seniors return to start their kids off with hatekhori. By evening, the whole place is buzzing with teachers and students just catching up. Despite your background, we all share the prasad and the energy. This puja is more like our own departmental festival, and honestly, it’s the purest symbol of our secular spirit.”
As the scorching sun made the hall crowded, we decided to rest at the Hall field. We passed mandap after mandap, each a world of its own. The largest Devi murti from Charukola Department stood majestically in the middle of a pond, though last year’s pond Devi had set an even higher bar in our memories. Even in our brief rests, the crowd around us kept reminding us that this year’s celebration had grown larger than ever.
After regrouping at our departmental mandap for lunch, the real adventure began. We visited each mandap to marvel at its unique themes and decorations. We stopped to admire a Devi draped in a minimalist white sari, only to be surprised moments later by a rickshaw-themed mandap. The Department of Dance’s Devi reminded us of Apsara, and the Statistics Department somehow managed to transport us straight to the narrow, nostalgic lanes of Kolkata. Across the university, Saraswati Devis adorned in white, pink, lavender, orange, and blue saris sat gracefully on padma flowers, holding the bina, the eternal symbol of knowledge, truth, and education.
The Robotics and Mechanical Engineering department created a robot bowing in front of the Devi, an adorable touch that had us giggling and gossiping as we passed by. It is in these moments that the true spirit of Dhaka University shines through. You see it in the way everyone rolls up their sleeves. Whether it is a classmate helping to secure a sponsorship or a group of juniors from different backgrounds working late into the night to drape the mandaps, the effort is entirely collective. No one calls it inclusion. It is just how we do things here.
Walking through the mandaps for hours left us craving refreshment. So we indulged in colorful sodas, despite the “festival prices,” taking a well-deserved break before heading to the rides. Nagordola awaited, a tradition none of us could miss. Riding alongside children, laughter, and playful chaos, one friend overcame her fear, and countless selfies immortalized the fun. The boat rides added hilarity, as bags collided and friends laughed uncontrollably. Even a junior from BUET joined, adding to the camaraderie.
As the day wound down, my social media feed became a flood of yellow saris and happy memories. I spoke to a former student, Rafij Khan, now a lecturer at a State University in Bangladesh. He expressed, “It’s an occasion for all. It’s our festival.” From first-year networking with seniors for advice to now helping juniors financially, the cycle of giving and learning continues. The rhythmic beats of the dhak made us dance in the fields, breaking barriers of age, religion, and department.
The rhythmic beats of the dhak echo across the fields, inviting us to dance and breaking every barrier of age or department. In the middle of the crowd, I caught up with my friend Suraiya Fatima, who perfectly captures the mood. To her, this is far more than a religious date on the calendar. “It is a place of reunion,” she told me over the music. “We meet our seniors, have fun with the juniors, and share lasting memories and connections among us.”
That sentiment of belonging is everywhere. Even for those from different faiths, the pull of the festival is undeniable. Khing Mu, who is a practicing Buddhist, shared that the puja is a fixed point in her university life. “I never skip it,” she said with a smile. “The memories we make here as students will stay evergreen.” Their words remind me that while the rituals belong to a tradition, the experience belongs to all of us.
Returning home via metro with sore legs but full hearts, I realised that while none of us know where we would be next year, the Saraswati Puja at Dhaka University once again brought us together, helping us create memories that would last a lifetime.