He ain’t biased
After looking for a nice hotel to spent the night in we went to the main market for the dinner. This time it was Sounth Indian…it fills the tummy and is readily digestable, ofcourse its tasty. There was a bed lacking and we ordered an extra that was to be spread on the floor and ofcourse I took it. My back was paining badly the next day, seemed like the fever will relapse. But nothing happened except for a sore throat, flowing nose, back-ache. That’s trifle, it’s not fever.
Shreenathji is a pilgrimage site – the avatar of Lord Krishna when he got hold of Govardhan Parvat to save Vrindavan from the hatred of Indra. The gate to enter the temple is huge, you are not allowed to wear socks there. It is cold to death but you have to suffer to get his Darshan. I thought he relieved pain ..
Inside the gate it is a huge town. There are vendors, book-shop, among other things. They sell vegetables, milk etc. There are rooms for Bhogs – Vida bhog, milk bhog, flower bhog etc. The locals come and do their bit, like cleaning vegetables, as a part of their service to God. There are those pujaris who are constantly pestering you to pay for the bhog. I felt it was nothing more than a money making business; besides money-earning can increase if you can touch the faith and emotion part. It is easy to touch the emotions then a man’s intellect: said thus the Socialists. If you let your brain win, you are not God-fearing person but if you get fooled easily – you are religious, God-fearing person.
They make us crowd at yet another giagantic gate. I notice that all are women, there is another crowd for men and the third is the VIP crowd. You get the Darshan first if you pay some bucks. This crowd is mixed – men and women alike. The pujaris say if you can worship togather you will have Arthik labh. Mom and dad are now in seperate crowds, there ain’t any money coming to us. The floor is made of grey stone and I could feel the cold rushing into my veins from the feet. I am not wearing any sweeter but a full-sleeves T-shirt suitable for summer. I hold my calm and tell mom that I am leaving. I turn around myself to walk away but there is not any place to move. All women are packed like Hitler packed them in gas chambers. I am crushed, cold, waiting for Lord Krishna to protect us from the prakop of winter. I see a board that warned us to be wary of pocket-snatchers and I grab my purse tight. I tell myself: “Few more minutes, you may not get another chance, never miss an opportunity. Every experience is worth”. Fancy the way human accepts a circumstance.
There comes a relief and the VIP crowd is released. We are glad, we are waiting for ourselves now. Defying the rule ‘Ladies First’ gents get to go in first. They run, rush to meet Him. I see my dad, uncle, my brother jogging to get the Darshan. I blow my nose and ask Him to bless me. The gents queue is ever-ending. They don’t stop their flow and the ladies get impatient. They, including me, start screaming ‘ayee’. Finally they stop and our crowd movies. No need to walk, we are pushed by the crowd forward. We enter the temple.
There are railings, atleast dozens of them; an attempt to manage queues and a complete failure. The idol is black in color, draped with green clothes. I join my hands and express my gratitude. The moment you do that, you are out of the place. The guards in khaki uniform are shouting: “Chalo, Chalo. Idher se“. There are such screams coming from all sides of the corner and young local kids also join the shouting. Its amusing to them as they feel they are controlling people and their emotions for next few seconds. I am out of the temple and look around: Mom is missing.
I go back to temple looking for her. A guard points me the way out.
I shout, “I know that, my mother is inside, waiting for her.”
“No, she ain’t. I saw her leaving the gate.”
“And how do you know she is my mother?”
“From your face. She looked like you.”
I go in again and find her.
I tell the guard, “You were wrong, she was inside.”
“Yeah. You from Himachal?”
“The cap is from Himachal.”, he says pointing at mothers cap.
“The cap is from Himachal, person from Gujarat.”
We get our shoes and socks and see the VIP cars going away from the temple premises.
And He ain’t biased.