Far from the hustle and bustle of the city there was this small, serene village. It had a certain rustic beauty. It was calm and quiet. There were lush paddyfields, temples, ponds, woodlands and narrow roads straddling vegetable gardens. Poets had sung its praise. Thinkers and philosophers had spent their lives in this countryside "created by the lord’s maya".
The river-side presented quite a lively scene with an age-old and popular temple under a peepal tree. People from different communities lived here in harmony. They led a life of simplicity, truthfulness and loyalty, and hardly knew about urbanisation and the 4G revolution. Some pious men visited the temple regularly to worship their lord in silence.
There was a celestial atmosphere in the village. Men admired an old Brahmin priest for the divinity and prosperity in the countryside. The priest was in his seventies, humble, righteous known for his down-to-earth manner. Praise was poured on him as his days started and ended spreading sanctity in the whole village, chanting mantras. Since his childhood it was a routine for him to wake up early, and purify his body and soul with a bath in the temple pond. He came in his wet white dhoti, his lips chanting the mantras, ringing the bell. The door of the temple was kept open for everyone to offer pujas. He performed rituals with devotion and tried to make sure all who came there left with their prayers answered.
One day a young man visited the village. He was rich, polished and in fine attire, and stepped down from his new car. Villagers were amused to meet the youngster, who impressed them by his worth-a-million looks. The man introduced himself as the grandson of Raghava, a childhood friend of the priest. The priest was impressed and his joy knew no bounds when he met his friend’s grandson who worked in a multinational corporation.
As per custom, the young man also visited the temple and offered prayers in the name of his new car, which was a slight surprise for the priest. He stayed in the village for two days, hanged around around the paddyfields and at his ancestral house, paid homage at his grandfather’s tomb and updated his Facebook status, anxiously waiting for the ‘Like’ comments and shares. He enjoyed every moment he spent in the village.
Now it was time for him to leave for his town. He urged the priest to accompany him for a puja at his house-warming ceremony. Though reluctant, the priest couldn’t decline and went along.
The youngster had immense respect for the priest, whose pujas were thought to have great powers. The villagers found that "tears rolled down his eyes after every ritual as he used to get blessings in the form of Lord’s darshan ".
The priest was amazed as he entered the building. The security system, the infrastructure, the fashion, and the pompous lifestyle of city folk made him feel that rather than his village this place should be called mayadesa .
It was a time of festivals, marriage and other events. Glittering lights, loud bhajans, and bursting of crackers were on in every nook and corner of the city. The young man was busy arranging all the facilities required for the ceremony. He had planned pujas, bhajans and an exquisite dinner for all the members in the apartment on the eve of the function.
It was seven in the evening. The priest was called for the puja. He had had a tough time with his bath, struggling with the shower controls in the bathroom with its vitrified tile floor. He was given a new white dhoti with thick golden borders. The priest’s jaws opened wide watching the puja pandal, plates filled with varieties of food, fruits, lamps made of gold and silver, cartons filled with flowers, and idols of the different lords. Even the agarbathi stand had been chosen with the utmost care.
For the first time in his life the priest realised that he had to chant the mantras as loud as he could and a few members would sit beside him and join him in repeating the verses aloud. All of them were given a well-designed black rod, and huge boxes were fitted in all the four corners of the building. They sang loud with the black rods in their hands and called it the mike , in high and low pitch, and clapped their hands rhythmically so that all — the young, the old, the man, the woman, the child and the infant — may get the divine touch of god. Many youngsters were seen swiping their phones in the middle of the song. A few clicked pictures in different angles and used apps.
Thus came an end to the two days of puja. It was a first-of-its-kind experience in the life of the old priest. It was indeed a grand ceremony.
The young man was highly impressed and bowed at the feet of the gentle Brahmin. He offered a bundle of currency notes and thambulam as dakshina . The priest stood still with no emotion on his face. He took a one rupee coin from the amount offered and the betel leaf, and left for his village.
Back in the village, the morning bells rang. With devotion, chanting slokas , the priest opened the doors of the temple and prayed silently. Once again tears rolled down his eyes. There was an emotional outpouring from his heart when he asked, "Oh lord, in all these years of life I couldn’t see you for the last two days. Though I shouted the slokas with the black rods in my hands, the huge loudspeakers making sure my voice was audible to the entire town, I couldn’t see you!"
The Almighty answered, "For the last two days I heard so many voices calling my name. Was that you? I was confused and couldn’t recognise your voice."
With his eternal smile, he continued: "When you bow in front of me here in this small temple, I could sense your silent prayers. I love the silent tranquil chants rendered with love and compassion. My vision is a world with peace and harmony."
Suddenly was heard the sound of trumpets and then of conch shells, and of bells ringing continuously. The disciples stood worshipping. He would answer the true silent prayers, they believed.
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