No civilized society can thrive upon victims,whose humanity has been permanently mutilated — Rabindranath Tagore
Bewitched, I stationed my gaze at the edifice.
The stillness was palpable.Trees nodded gently to the passing gust, as the narrow stream bordering the terra firma danced away to some unknown.
On a customary winter visit to Kolkata it was decided upon, to fulfill our long cherished plan of visiting the countryside. We chose Murshidabad.
We were taking a lazy round of the village when we stuck upon the spot.
As I took the leading lane, my parents, following suite,a voice quipped in local dialect “didi (sister), don’t make any noise, there’s puja going on”.
Equipped with my urban smartness I chose to ignore him. There was no mention of a temple here in the travel website.
I doubled my pace to avoid any further conjecture and to reach the point in a hurry……lo and behold!
Standing handsome, resplendent even in its weathered form is a terracotta temple housing a Shiva Linga( stone edifice of God Shiva).
We started to go in, only to realise a human presence murmuring softly. Little near, they were Shiva strotras(hymns) being chanted by the slightly hunched, mid-sized priest.
Once finished, the priest took the puja thali and turned behind to see us waiting.
The salt ‘n pepper, rather long & unkempt beard suspended from his chin, could not be missed in an apparently soft face.
He came to us, gave us Prasad and touched my head with a smile,”May god bless you!”
As he turned and walked away, he took out a white scull cap from his right pocket and placed it carefully on his ruffled hair.
The day was not gone.
Slightly puzzled, we were rambling back ,when a familiar smell filled the air.
My mother, instantly recognizing it, started moving towards the nearest mud hut.
My eyes, inadvertently fell on two welcoming eyes, peeping through a veiled face, instructing me to follow her.
I did, only to find my mother, gesturing me like a teenager, to check the earthen pot lying infront.
Now I know. Freshly made,dry roasted,puffed rice, what we call ‘muri’.
My hand touched my clutch, when they were stopped by my mother” Learn to respect people, enjoy the hospitality”,she whispered.
After gulping a bowl, packing some for our evening tea and profusely thanking the lady, we left, after making a mental calculation of the cost of this pack of puffed rice in Kolkata and Delhi.
In some obscure village in a nondescript part of our country, a local maulavi (priest)protects and conducts puja in a centuries old Hindu Temple in a ‘minority’ majored village, where people serve you lunch for free.
As I walked back to our urban carrier, I felt a lump in my throat. Trying hard to smile through my discomfort I knew something inside me found peace. Many answers to what “The Nation Wants to Know”.
Yes. Lost and found.
Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind.
“Man’s abiding happiness is not in getting anything but in giving himself up to what is greater than himself, to ideas which are larger than his individual life, the idea of his country, of humanity, of God” — Rabindranath Tagore
Thank you Team Literary Impulse Nachi Keta Priyanka Srivastava Somsubhra Banerjee Elizabeth Khan for this space for creative expression.
Thank you everyone who takes note. Your visit, inspiration and encouragements are ways of moving forward.
