"If I really wanted to pray I’ll tell you what I’d do. I’d go out into a great big field all alone or into the deep, deep, woods, and I’d look up into the sky—up—up—up—into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was no end to its blueness. And then I’d just feel a prayer."
- Anne Shirley in 'Anne Of Green Gables' by Lucy Maud Montgomery
I was sitting inside a temple, accompanied by my grandmother, enjoying the beauty of the golden yellow evening sunlight falling on the walls and pillars. I derived a unique pleasure from the scene that was spread out in front of me.
The sight of the women in their colourful sarees, their oiled hair neatly combed and adorned with flowers, and their turmeric tinted traditional features accentuated by sparkling nose studs and large, round bindis; people meditating or reading from shloka books, the distant hum of the priests chanting..
..the kids determined to reach the overhead bells all on their own, jumping with all their might, their arms and necks straining upwards, until they relented and accepted the help of an adult who had been offering to lift them all along, their satisfied faces glowing with a sense of achievement after they had made as much noise as metal on metal could make..
..this, together with the cool breeze, the chirping of birds and the consciousness of being present inside a sanctum meant to be reigned by vibrations of positivity, pure goodwill, elevated thoughts, staunch faith and strong beliefs, was lulling my mind into a therapeutic sense of peace.
Until this inner calm was shattered by loud voices beside me.
There were two women supposedly praying in front of the sculpture of a deity on one of the pillars - without either of them throwing a single glance at the sacred form to whom they were petitioning. While their hands went through the motions essential for performing a puja, neither of their minds was engaged in solemn meditation or spiritual submission.
Their tongues wagging at warp speed, they were exchanging sensational anecdotes about their respective daughters-in-law - scrupulously focusing, of course, on their flaws and deficiencies alone, taking great care that no slip of the tongue should accidentally expose anything that could be construed as a virtue.
They were so eager to impress each other with a woeful impression of the present state of things in their households, that they were talking over each other's sentences. While their hands waved the aarti plates in front of them, their minds weaved through the characters of the said daughters-in-law, and their mouths wove a tight net around them so that not even an iota of goodness could escape.
Meanwhile, nearby, a small group of destitute children were collecting and playing with the leaves that had been shed from an obliging tree. Together, they fashioned a sort of garland, and with the greatest innocent enthusiasm, the deepest joy, and the purest love, they ran towards the sculpture on the pillar, in order to make an offering of it.
Unfortunately, the timing of this heartwarming gesture coincided with a crucial juncture in the tales of the two women - when one of them was rewarding the other with a bumper offer - by throwing into the bargain, certain staggering details about their neighbour's daughter-in-law too. The second woman, not willing to be long outdone by the first, and having luckily come into recent possession of some riveting new gossip of her own, was just beginning her scintillating narration.
Irked by the unwelcome interruption, they angrily shooed the children away, unceremoniously discarded their handmade garland, and proceeded to arrange their own flowers, betel leaves and bananas in its place, while their voices continued to give All India Radio a run for its money.
Reader, I appeal to your honest, unbiased and instinctive opinion - whose offering do you feel reached God?
Is prayer a mere combination of rituals performed by the arms, verses recited by the tongue and endless entreaties crafted by the brain (the mind having been cut loose to wander) to be laid out in front of God to coax Him into consenting with it all?
Is God the supreme ocean of truth, peace, love and knowledge, or a crying child who needs to be calmed down?
Is not the way to connect with God anywhere, anytime, under any situation and while performing any action, to let our minds silently merge in peace, contentment and gratitude with Him, to experience the love of a Parent, the guidance of a Teacher, and the knowledge of a Spiritual Mentor?
Parents make their kids blindly learn verses by heart and recite them like detached automatons to win prizes in competitions and to show off in front of visitors. Should they not, in addition to it, educate and train kids in understanding the deep cultural implications behind the rituals, and applying the values and principles, hidden like gems behind those verses, in their daily lives?
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(If you are wondering what happened to those two benevolent and generous women, they managed to heave themselves up and walked away, all the while complaining about how their knees hurt from sitting on the ground for so long, how time had the audacity to move so fast without their permission, and how late they were to return home to their sundry chores, in a manner that would have made an observer assume that they had been coerced at gunpoint into coming to the temple to tittle-tattle. )