It was a common man on a day of uncommons. A common man, amidst the cacophony of celebrations. A mere common man who dragged up the fallen idol, back on it's pedestal. The procession had halted for a split second. The elderly matrons had started to chant, as the idol comically toppled over. You see, it is not auspicious to see the gods slither and slant. We don't allow our deities the margin of error. Poor dears. Such impossible stress! But then like that stray mindless act of faith that sustains the Hindu universe in the minds of it's devotees, a common man stood with his legs wide apart, pulled on the ropes, wrestled with the bindings and up and about, the high and mighty went! In that one instant, man and God were equal. I wondered if the rituals ever, were meant to be thus commonplace.
I am not religious. Or should I say, I am not sure if I am yet. I have too many questions and religion has too many answers for everything else. And yet during those few days of festivities, I find myself giving faith a patient hearing. If you ask me to interpret, I would probably say that God had toppled over so that man could feel godlike in that one instant. Much like in our imaginary universe, we like to believe that God might pull us up, when we happen to slither and slide. But funnily enough, this being, this entity, this God, usually exercises a will of his own. Suppose toppling was his chosen game?
So when Ganesha found himself prostrate on the ground, the fisher boy jumped to his rescue. The elderly matrons chanted, blew on conch shells, shook their heads harder and all was well. The procession still had it's merits. Ganesha still had most of his limbs intact. Only the common fisher boy, grew half and inch taller with pride. After all, his was a rescue of no mean proportions.
I am not religious. Or should I say, I am not sure if I am yet. I have too many questions and religion has too many answers for everything else. And yet during those few days of festivities, I find myself giving faith a patient hearing. If you ask me to interpret, I would probably say that God had toppled over so that man could feel godlike in that one instant. Much like in our imaginary universe, we like to believe that God might pull us up, when we happen to slither and slide. But funnily enough, this being, this entity, this God, usually exercises a will of his own. Suppose toppling was his chosen game?
So when Ganesha found himself prostrate on the ground, the fisher boy jumped to his rescue. The elderly matrons chanted, blew on conch shells, shook their heads harder and all was well. The procession still had it's merits. Ganesha still had most of his limbs intact. Only the common fisher boy, grew half and inch taller with pride. After all, his was a rescue of no mean proportions.
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