To­mor­row, No­vem­ber 8, we will cel­e­brate Di­wali, which comes from the San­skrit “Deep­avali,” mean­ing “row of lights”. This fes­ti­val is cel­e­brat­ed across Hin­duism, Jain­ism, Sikhism, and among some Bud­dhist com­mu­ni­ties. Di­wali sym­bol­is­es the tri­umph of light over dark­ness, good over evil, and knowl­edge over ig­no­rance.

As a Catholic, I grew up re­spect­ing oth­er re­li­gions. My fa­ther, Bal­go­b­in Ramdeen, was a de­vout Hin­du. Ma was a fer­vent Catholic—as we say in Pa­tois, she was a true Po­to léglise.

Pope Leo XIV has con­sis­tent­ly em­pha­sised that:

• in­ter­faith di­a­logue is a trans­for­ma­tive, dai­ly way of life rather than mere com­pro­mise or diplo­mat­ic strat­e­gy;

• co­ex­is­tence and mu­tu­al re­spect be­tween re­li­gious com­mu­ni­ties re­main es­sen­tial in a world marked by war and di­vi­sion;

• shared val­ues of com­pas­sion and sol­i­dar­i­ty can help bridge dif­fer­ences and pro­mote peace­ful co­ex­is­tence;

• uni­ty among faiths is a pow­er­ful re­sponse to vi­o­lence and suf­fer­ing world­wide. Dasharath

The Vat­i­can’s of­fi­cial mes­sage from the Catholic Church (via the Di­cas­t­ery for In­ter­re­li­gious Di­a­logue) to Hin­dus for Di­wali fo­cus­es on shared val­ues, peace, and in­ter-re­li­gious sol­i­dar­i­ty. The Di­cas­t­ery urges us all to live the spir­it of fra­ter­ni­ty in our dai­ly lives.

The cul­tur­al and re­li­gious sto­ries sur­round­ing Di­wali are di­verse. Ac­cord­ing to the Ra­mayana, one of the two ma­jor an­cient San­skrit epics of In­dia (along­side the Ma­hab­hara­ta), tra­di­tion­al­ly at­trib­uted to the sage Valmi­ki, Di­wali tells of the life of Ram, the prince of Ay­o­d­hya and the sev­enth avatar of the Hin­du god Vish­nu, who is born to re­store cos­mic or­der. Ram was born to King Dasharatha and his first wife Kausalya in Ay­o­d­hya, the cap­i­tal of Kos­ala king­dom. On the re­quest of Ram’s step­moth­er Kaikeyi, who “called in” a promise made by King Dasharatha, the King ex­iles Ram to the for­est for 14 years. Ram’s wife, Si­ta, and his younger half-broth­er, Lak­sh­man, ac­com­pa­ny him.

King Dasharatha dies. Ram’s half-broth­er, Bharat, is deeply hurt by his moth­er’s po­lit­i­cal plot and re­fus­es to sit on the throne or be­come king. He goes to the for­est, beg­ging Ram to re­turn. Ram re­fus­es—out of du­ty to keep his fa­ther’s word. Bharat asks for Ram’s san­dals, places them on the throne, and gov­erns the king­dom as a re­gent in Ram’s name.

The fes­ti­val cel­e­brates Ram’s re­turn to his king­dom of Ay­o­d­hya af­ter 14 years of ex­ile and his vic­to­ry over the ten-head­ed de­mon King Ra­vana. Cit­i­zens lit rows of deyas to wel­come him. He re­turns with his wife, Si­ta, whom he had res­cued from Ra­vana. Lak­sh­man, who is the em­bod­i­ment of loy­al­ty, strength and sac­ri­fice, al­so re­turns with him. Bharat gives the shoes back to Ram and Ram is crowned King.

Ram­leela tra­di­tion would have been brought to T&T by in­den­tured im­mi­grants since 1845. His­tor­i­cal records in­di­cate the first ma­jor pub­lic Ram­leela cel­e­bra­tion in T&T took place in Dow Vil­lage in 1881. It is a free open-air “dra­ma” that re-en­acts Chap­ters from the Hin­du epic, the Ra­mayana—over a ten-day pe­ri­od dur­ing Navra­tri—with act­ing, mu­sic, and dance. This year, there were 15 of­fi­cial Ram­leela cel­e­bra­tions high­light­ed on the na­tion­al sched­ule in open sa­van­nahs and recre­ation grounds, in­clud­ing Pierre Road in Char­lieville, San­gre Grande, Fyz­abad, and Palmiste Park.

The re-en­act­ment cov­ers the mar­riage of Ram and Si­ta, Ram’s ex­ile and the rea­son for the ex­ile, Si­ta’s ab­duc­tion by Ra­vana, who ruled Lan­ka, Hanu­man’s jour­ney to res­cue Si­ta from Lan­ka, and the bat­tle with Ra­vana. Hanu­man, an in­car­na­tion or as­pect of Lord Shi­va, is the ul­ti­mate sym­bol of bhak­ti (de­vo­tion), shak­ti (strength), and self­less ser­vice.

The burn­ing of a tow­er­ing bam­boo-and-pa­per ef­fi­gy of Ra­vana clos­es the fi­nal/tenth night. My pun­dit friend re­mind­ed me: “The fire rep­re­sents the de­struc­tion of neg­a­tive traits such as ego­ism, greed, anger, and ma­te­r­i­al il­lu­sion, en­cour­ag­ing a right­eous (dharmic) way of life.”

As you light deyas in your homes and in the streets to­mor­row evening, re­mem­ber, as my fa­ther used to tell us, his chil­dren, the flame of a deya rep­re­sents di­vine wis­dom, clar­i­ty, and the re­moval of in­ner dark­ness or ig­no­rance. Deyas are al­so lit to in­vite the Hin­du God­dess Lak­sh­mi (the de­ity of wealth, for­tune, and pros­per­i­ty) in­to homes.

In­ter­faith re­la­tions im­prove when peo­ple prac­tice ac­tive lis­ten­ing, mu­tu­al re­spect, and a com­mit­ment to the com­mon good. May the cel­e­bra­tion of Di­wali lead us to fos­ter a deep­er sense of to­geth­er­ness, peace, and pros­per­i­ty in our com­mu­ni­ties. May the tenets of our var­i­ous faiths in­spire us to pray for spir­i­tu­al growth and trans­for­ma­tion as we strive to cre­ate con­di­tions in which in­di­vid­u­als, fam­i­lies, and or­gan­i­sa­tions can flour­ish.