I visited temples to realise 'God only listens to Brahmins'
It was the winter of 2015 and my sister and I were performing a circumambulation (parikrama for the uninitiated) around a certain holy shrine. I am intentionally choosing to keep the name of the place under wraps lest the aggressive worshippers - as oxymoronic as it sounds - take offence.
Personally, my faith in organised religion lies nestled between dissent and denial but I did not want my conviction in the non-existence of the invisible to challenge my sister's unwavering belief. So we had decided to brave the cold and visit a couple of temples before the winter vacations ended.
As we finished the final stretch, I heard someone walking behind us, muttering incessantly a barrage of mantras. Another ardent devotee, I presumed, without giving it much thought. When we finally stopped, the man behind us came forward, extended his hand and asked for "dakshina" (gift given willingly).
As per my limited knowledge of the Indian structure of religious appeasement, a dakshina entailed a fee or a gift which must be given, by your own free will, to the Brahmin who performs a puja for your benefit. The said benefit could be spiritual or material. Since we hadn't exactly commissioned his service, I asked him why we should pay him.
"I walked behind you and prayed to the Almighty to give you whatever you want", he stated in a casual tone.
"But we didn't ask you to", I chipped in.
"So what?" he countered, "A Brahmin does his duty whether you ask him to do it or not."
Assuming that this argument was bound to escalate into needless friction, we started to walk away but the man didn't relent. He began following us.
"God will be displeased if you don't pay me," he said, sounding belligerent, "Nothing that you've prayed for will ever fructify."
"Why?" I responded without turning, "Does he not listen to anyone but you?"
"Only Brahmins", he answered, "He listens to only Brahmins."
His statement made me realise that the dream of a casteless India was not going to be fulfilled anytime soon. No forces of globalisation could open the windows of a mind which had been caged by an entrenched sense of privilege. Economic prowess might lend wind to our sails but societal attitudes would always be our anchor.
We visited a few other shrines across central India and a pattern began to emerge. God was apparently under arrest. The temples and their premises had been appropriated by a class of priests who served as a conduit between the deity and the devotee. Faith had become a transaction. If you had the money, divine blessings were all yours to corner. Each one of these places was breeding an ecosystem of humanoid vultures, who came swooping in to exploit the vulnerabilities of hapless worshippers.
Somewhere in Madhya Pradesh, we were asked if we wanted to stand in the queue and kill hours or pay a crisp note of the now demonetised currency to get into a VIP lane. This line moved quicker, was given more time to bow in front of the lord and was provided with a rare opportunity to pay dakshina directly to the head priest. Of course, the loss would be of the temple trust but who cared. After all, paying the god's messenger present in the sanctum sanctorum was way better than donating to an unknown and invisible administrative entity.
Also, the fact that the VIP conception in itself was a colonial relic, picked up by the local gentry to shove class entitlement into the faces of poor masses, didn't seem to mean anything.
Also, there was a place where men were asked to strip and stand in the queue wearing only a dhoti. Initially, I had no problem with it because this was being done to ensure cleanliness and security. However, I changed my mind after seeing sweaty, bare bodies in the queue, rubbing against each other, seeking deliverance in an orgy of passionate prayer.
Every idol we passed on the premises had a man seated next to it who would shout out the rate for seeking blessings. It was pandemonium. I wondered if the modern argumentative religion had any place for those who simply wanted to close their eyes, concentrate their mind and connect with the universe in silence, without seeking any sort of divine validation.
I didn't come back from the trip with memories worth cherishing. The unstructured chaos had pushed me into a pit and no Petyr Baelish could turn it into a ladder. Nevertheless, a year later my sister convinced me to accompany her and her fiancé to the temple of a prominent goddess in Kolkata. There was nothing different here, except that the VIP lanes were more diversified and were divided into Rs 200, Rs 500 and Rs 1000 categories. As we headed out, another man began following us.
"Money, give me money," he said looking at my sister and her betrothed, "Goddess will bless you with a son."
The irony of it was astounding.
"Why not a daughter?" I asked, unable to contain myself, "You're praying to a goddess".
"Of what use is a daughter?" he shot back, "Too much trouble to keep them safe."
If nothing else, these visits have served as a lesson to me. Somewhere between the need to find a god and claim undying fidelity to her, we have forgotten to grow up.
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