In Kundapur, we went to see a nearby river which was too picturesque to be described. The trees kissed the water as if standing in a mangrove forest. Seeing a temple across, we crossed the river in a boat and reached the temple only to see that it belonged to a daiva, as they call it in Dakshina Kannada and Udupi. The god had come on the body of the priest and he was dancing with a sword. My young cousin, who had never seen such a scene before with a priest dressed in cloth made of gejje, stood gaping at him even when he danced dangerously close to her. I came out only to see a hen with throat cut, jumping up in air writhing in pain, to take its last long breath and fall dead. What do any amount of literacy, education, sophistication, wealth and power amount to? Nothing, when it comes to following such rituals in fear of god, if not true devotion. The hen's jumping in pain is still dancing in front of my eyes. Why are people so desperate to get what they want at the cost of other living beings? My young cousins asked me why they kill animals for god and if the animals don't feel pain. What do I answer them? Except we humans are just like that.
I miss the complexity of the book and am tired of the predictability of people. Reading each page of a book takes you to a different realm, and often surprises you with its observations. I agree books are written by people, but why do people remain predictable in life and unpredictable in fiction?
... its a matter of level of consciousness - of the universality of the spirit of life we share with all creations of nature & God, hence the care we ought to practice with gratitude towards all things God-made ... until we get there, we're not humans, as its we the humans who're gifted with superior intelligence & freewill to discover the higher meaning of life & preserve the harmony of nature .. We're not condemned to be like that only!
ReplyDelete