Prayer to the Gods

[Continued from 4.30 AM]

Making her way across the kitchen, she went to the room that housed the small temple with framed pictures and small brass and silver idols of the Gods. The previous night, she had washed the silver lamp, poured oil inside it and placed a wick in position. This had been her last activity everyday before going to bed, for as long back as she could remember. Opening the matchbox, she flicked a matchstick and lit the lamp. Folding her hands and joining her palms, eyes closed, she prayed silently for a few minutes. Not just a general prayer. She knew a number of Sanskrit Slokas and verses. She knew which of these were appropriate for different occasions. She would recite the one most suitable for her first morning prayer.

Making her way back to the kitchen, she closed the doors leading to the room of the Gods and the rest of the house. Now, she switched on the light. A small hand mirror on the open shelf served as the early morning dressing table. Adjusting and partly retying her cotton saree and ensuring the presence of a large red ‘Pottu’ — a dot on the centre of the forehead, were the two activities she indulged in. The two things that her culture necessitated. The two things that catered to her vanity too.

She was the envy of the neighbourhood for her choice of exquisite earthy toned sarees, that were uncommon. The ‘Pottu’ in the middle of her forehead was larger, quite a bit larger, than the average size of the dot that women usually sported. It made her face distinctive and eye catching. She wasn’t particularly pretty and yet her face was arresting and not easily forgotten. The two elements — the saree and the ‘Pottu’, somehow seemed to bring her strong, definitive character to the fore.

Picking up a can, money purse and the key to the front door and the outer gate, kept ready on the kitchen platform, she made her way to the front door, staying close to the wall, stepping gingerly, to avoid the unpredictably spread out and occasionally moving arms and legs of her family sleeping on the floor. The hall was the dormitory style bedroom for the entire family during such visits.

Gently shutting the front door, she climbed down the four steps and on to the ten feet long path leading to the locked gate. She unlocked the heavy old padlock. The small gate would squeak. It always did. No amount of oiling the hinges helped. A quick swing to open it and an equally quick swing to shut it would keep the sound to the minimum.

She stepped on to the road that was a few inches higher in level. It was a narrow tar covered street that connected the main road to the inner streets and lanes. She looked towards the right. The Ganesha temple at the intersection that was just two blocks away, had its gates wide open. This allowed an unrestricted view of the main idol within. The priest was busy making the preparations for the day ahead. The regular morning devotees would soon be here. The idol was clearly visible, lit up by the oil lamps in front of it and on the sides. Taking a few steps to the centre of the road, bringing herself directly in line with the temple idol, she folded her hands once more. It had become a habit with most people on this street. To acknowledge and send out a quick prayer requesting GOD to take them through the day without hurdles.

Turning away, towards left from her gate, she was faced with two choices.

Read on….The Road Ahead

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This was first published on my blog: http://shobitha.blogspot.in/.