The city is full of the sights and sounds of Diwali. Streets are lit up with endless strings of tiny electric bulbs. At home, the decoration is more traditional — rows of diyas with their swaying flame, an image that lends itself to a child’s earliest lesson in drawing a lamp. Every now and then, the night sky becomes a canvas for a drawing of a different kind, dynamic and wondrous, as bursts of fireworks sketch bright lines that end in collapsing stars. Which brooding heart will not find solace, even a cause for quiet joy, in a sight like this.

It’s amazing how each of our festivals represent mythology’s leap into modern times, an epic’s entry into our lives. The people of Ayodhya were eagerly awaiting Rama’s return from Lanka, so he could be coronated after 14 years of vanvaas, which actually turned out to be an exercise in national integration, since there is hardly any region in India that does not lay claim to having welcomed the peripatetic king in exile.

I have with me a recent Hindi publication, Janh Janh Rama Charan Chali Jaanhi, by Dr Ramavatar Sharma, a Ramayana scholar who has catalogued the names, along with photographs, of 214 places across India where temples or ponds commemorate its protagonist’s itinerary. I have heard people even in the Andamans contending that their island’s name is derived from Hanuman. Rama’s loyal sevak is said to have flown there in search of some medicinal herb that would cure Laxman, who was wounded in battle. When Rama, Sita and Laxman returned to Ayodhya, its residents lit rows of lamps to welcome them. That, the victory of good over evil, is believed to be the origin of Diwali.

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