Pieces of Faith

Last evening, we went capturing God. Rather, the Goddess of our ancient and forgotten temple. Me, my husband and my friend, she who had the latest digital camera in town and more importantly knew how to operate all its controls. The intention was to photograph the Lord for eternity, laminate her for posterity, and sell these pieces of faith to her humble devotees.

I wanted a piece of faith to safeguard my house, while my soul was being robbed by late night partying. My husband wanted a piece of faith to keep in his car so that his speed would not kill. His brother wanted a piece of faith because he did not really want anything much. His wife wanted a piece of faith because she really believed in it. My brother wanted a piece of faith because everyone else had one. My mother wanted a piece of faith because she needed faith, though she did not know the route. My mother-in-law wanted a piece of faith because she wants everything and throws nothing. Her daughter wanted a piece of faith because her new bungalow has everything and pieces of faith make good curios.

We knew there would be many like us – all wanting pieces of faith for as many weird as varied reasons. So, when the temple committee president suggested clicking photographs of the Goddess, laminating her and putting her on a stand, and thus creating ready-made pieces of faith, we all lapped up the idea. I don’t know whether putting the Goddess on a stand is the equivalent to putting her on a pedestal, but that was the nearest that we would ever come to. The Saunsthan would get some money by selling them, people would get their pieces of faith and my friend would get her moment of glory. Faith, however, seemed miles away.

Hence, that late evening, we had gathered in the old temple – the president, my husband, my jean-clad, camera-toting friend and me. The old priest, who was notorious for ticking us off for the slightest of reasons, was effervescent in his welcome. My friend must have been the nearest jean-clad, camera-toting woman that he allowed either to himself or the idol. And thus, the photo shoot started. The president became the light man; I became a fly on the wall and my husband the interpreter between the old priest and my friend, though he needn’t have. My friend spoke in English and Hindi, the old priest spoke in Konkani and Marathi. Thinking back, now I realize, they both understood in faith.

My friend clicked some really good pictures – at times, requesting the priest to remove the red withered Dashin from the idol’s feet. I thought I momentarily recognized a faint smirk from the Goddess – while we were vagabonds on the way, the flowers were her only constant companion from day to dusk. My friend requested change of light, change of surrounding, change of background. Who knows, maybe if she had asked for a change of faith, the Goddess would have obliged. She clicked in broad tube light, in natural light, in samai light. She knelt, she went down on bended knee, she almost sprawled at her feet. I wonder; would she ever do that again for faith.

Finally, all concerned were reasonably satisfied with the results and I stopped being a fly on the wall. As we trudged towards the door, biding good-bye to the priest; I suddenly realized that I had not prayed. So, I stopped and murmured my regular normal prayer and soothingly, found a little bit of faith creeping into my being with a stunning realization of the short warm friendship between the old priest and my voluble friend.

In a few weeks’ time, our digital Goddess would be printed, laminated and made into a piece of faith; hopefully her faith will remain, untouched, pure and safe within the plastic sheet. She will find herself in the strangest of places – on dresser tops, amid perfume bottles which will smell divine with her presence; on kitchen shelves, amid jars of pickles and haldi making the food cooked absolutely delectable; in the car glove compartment, amid parking tickets and petrol slips, ensuring a safe passage for the rider; in ladies’ purses and gent’s wallets, amid jangling coins and torn notes making the bearer prosperous. She will creep into our hearts and into our lives in a sublime, subtle manner which no human can understand.

Now, I eagerly await jatra so that I can buy a piece of faith there and see her take over my life like no one else can. Like the rest of the crowd, I will throng the mithai mart and gobble up hot jalebis without bargaining about the price, I will rush to the knick-knack shop to buy colourful insignificances and not bother about their worth, I will enjoy the thrills of the merry-go-round and never bother about the fare. Then, I will turn to buy a piece of faith after much discussion with the rest of my family and much bargaining with the temple vendor. Ironic? Perhaps, perhaps not. After all, in a land where more people die of hunger than any other, our lowest common denominator continues to be the temple and faith sells cheaper than bread.