Mother always made sure that our Diwali night was never without light. To her, it symbolized auspiciousness, the power of good over evil. All through the night, she kept a large diya burning, illuminating the small temple in the corner of our courtyard. I wondered why, if darkness was so bad, nature created it in the first place. After all, don’t we need the night to relax and unwind? “Isn’t the brightness of light a bit overvalued in our traditions?” I thought.

On top of this, mother always insisted that we leave the temple door open. She believed it was a welcome sign for Goddess Lakshmi, inviting her to usher wealth into the household.

To me, this seemed like sheer foolishness—practically an open invitation for thieves. What made my mother imagine that a goddess would wander into people's homes after midnight, especially when she wouldn’t even let her daughters out after sunset? The whole ritual felt irrational, and I dismissed it as superstition.

Surprisingly, last year, on the morning after Diwali, we found a money bag and a pack of sweets in the temple. This only strengthened my mother’s faith in the goddess.

So this Diwali night, I vowed to stay awake to uncover the mystery of the money bag and the supposed visit from the goddess. I sat by my window, my eyes glued to the temple door. The soft light of the diya glowed through the silent night. Occasionally, distant sounds of firecrackers echoed, but by 2 a.m., it was all quiet. My eyelids grew heavy, tired from the day's celebrations.

Just as I was drifting off, I heard a faint noise. Startled, I looked out and saw a figure entering the temple. I assumed it was a burglar. My heart raced with fear and curiosity. Who could it be?

Then I saw her—a woman, dressed as Goddess Lakshmi, moving towards the temple. I hadn’t noticed her arrival; perhaps I had dozed off for a moment. I quickly crept outside to follow her. Through a small window, I peered inside the temple.

To my shock, it was my mother. She placed a bag of money and a box of sweets at the altar and sat there, gracefully. She looked so beautiful, like a goddess herself. Her soft chanting filled the air, and her aura lit up the space with a divine glow. I had never seen her like this—so majestic, so full of grace!

I had always thought of her as an ordinary, somewhat superstitious woman with impractical beliefs. But now, I was seeing her in a totally new light. The respect she subconsciously craved but never received, she was creating for herself through her devotion to the goddess.

As I watched her in awe, I realized that the goddess isn’t some distant, mythical being. She is here with us, if only we could see her through eyes of reverence. That Diwali night truly illuminated more than just the temple—it illuminated my understanding.