nilan
11-15-2009, 04:38 AM
The unblinking demon stared back at Michael as he studied the statue. It was a beautiful specimen of ancient architecture, carved out of a single stone and brought to life with a marvellous paint job. In a western museum, it would have been given the spotlight and scholars would have gathered around it, eager to display their knowledge of such an incredible work of art. Here, it was just another statue in just another temple. Michael leant further back on the pillar and looked around him. There was beauty everywhere.
The noises from the outside were blocked by high walls. He could hear cars and buses race past the temple, but only if he strained his ears. Inside the four walls, it was surprisingly peaceful. There were possibly hundreds of people around, but nobody seemed intent on creating a ruckus. The smell of incense and sandalwood soothed him so much he almost felt drowsy. This was very different from the negative portrayal his friends had given him of the temples in the city.
An old man sitting next to him was surrounded with paintings of the Goddess Kali. Her look was as menacing as one would expect from the infamous Goddess, but the reverence with which he wiped and maintained the frames suggested something more benevolent. “Why have you brought your Kali paintings here?” Michael asked him. “Is this not a Shiva temple?” The old man took a few seconds to grasp what had just been asked. “So what?” he snapped in a feeble voice and continued wiping the pictures. None who passed by seemed to find it odd either, so Michael let it pass. The little knowledge he possessed of Kali came from horror novels and Hollywood swashbucklers, it was better not to let his ignorance show.
“Why is her tongue so long?” a group of young boys approached the cluster of pictures and were studying them with genuine interest. Michael thought the old man would bark at them and ask them to get lost, but was surprised to notice his frown soften into a kind smile. His scorn was probably reserved only for stupid questions asked in a funny accent.
“This one,” the old man said as he gently took a portrait out of a young boy’s hand “explains why. There was once a demon called Raktavija who waged a mighty war against the Gods. The forces of good, led by Durga, were strong and fought hard but for every drop of blood that the demon spilt, a new version of him would be created. As the battle progressed, there were so many of him that even the Gods were overwhelmed. Then…”
“Our teacher in school told us that the Gods could do anything. Then why could they not defeat a demon?” one of the boys seemed unconvinced enough to interrupt the old man.
“Maybe your teacher lied.” Michael giggled and looked at the old man, who clenched his fist at him. He stopped mid-giggle when he realised the old man was serious about hitting him. The old man turned to the sceptic-child with a patronising smile.
“If they did defeat him with no effort, then what lesson is there to learn? The Gods want us to hear their stories and learn from them – that is always their primary concern. That is why our greatest stories are about the Gods overcoming adversity. Even if it means portraying them as weaker than they really are, the Gods want each of their battles to teach us courage and wisdom.” He stroked the picture with his arms. Michael could see that the boys did not fully comprehend what the old man meant, but were impressed with what they heard.
“Continue” said the boy and sat down. The rest of them followed him.
“Without any other choice, Durga morphed into Kali. In this all-consuming form, she unrolled her tongue and made it stretch across the entire universe. Every time the demon’s blood was spilt, her tongue would absorb it instead of allowing him to replicate. Raktavija was no match for her and was easily destroyed, but so great was Khali’s fury that she danced across the battlefield, destroying universes and even the mightiest gods. In the end, Lord Shiva had to fall at her feet and bring her back to her senses.”
“That doesn’t explain why her tongue is long. It is just a story featuring her long tongue.” The boys who were impressed only a few seconds ago turned pessimistic again. The old man’s smile did not change, but his irritation was starting to show.
Michael wanted to hear more. “Come on, give us another story.” The old man lifted the portrait as if to swing it down on Michael’s head. Michael grimaced and shut his eyes but the blow never came. When he opened them, he saw that the portraits were being given away to the boys.
“What are you doing? You should be selling those, not giving them away for free!”
“Fool, this is art. It is meant to educate these youngsters, not make them poorer.” The old man grunted as he got on his feet. With a last look of disgust at Michael, he walked out of sight. The boys were busy scooping the portraits into their arms. “Keep them safe!” Michael shouted at one as a frame almost slipped through his hands. “Cant you idiots hold a painting without breaking it?”
“Shut up.” The boys looked at Michael like a millionaire would a beggar. After wrapping the portraits in large pieces of cloth, they were on their way too. Michael glanced at his watch, it was lunchtime and his uncle expected him to arrive on time. Reluctantly, he left the serenity of the temple and entered the chaos outside.
The noises from the outside were blocked by high walls. He could hear cars and buses race past the temple, but only if he strained his ears. Inside the four walls, it was surprisingly peaceful. There were possibly hundreds of people around, but nobody seemed intent on creating a ruckus. The smell of incense and sandalwood soothed him so much he almost felt drowsy. This was very different from the negative portrayal his friends had given him of the temples in the city.
An old man sitting next to him was surrounded with paintings of the Goddess Kali. Her look was as menacing as one would expect from the infamous Goddess, but the reverence with which he wiped and maintained the frames suggested something more benevolent. “Why have you brought your Kali paintings here?” Michael asked him. “Is this not a Shiva temple?” The old man took a few seconds to grasp what had just been asked. “So what?” he snapped in a feeble voice and continued wiping the pictures. None who passed by seemed to find it odd either, so Michael let it pass. The little knowledge he possessed of Kali came from horror novels and Hollywood swashbucklers, it was better not to let his ignorance show.
“Why is her tongue so long?” a group of young boys approached the cluster of pictures and were studying them with genuine interest. Michael thought the old man would bark at them and ask them to get lost, but was surprised to notice his frown soften into a kind smile. His scorn was probably reserved only for stupid questions asked in a funny accent.
“This one,” the old man said as he gently took a portrait out of a young boy’s hand “explains why. There was once a demon called Raktavija who waged a mighty war against the Gods. The forces of good, led by Durga, were strong and fought hard but for every drop of blood that the demon spilt, a new version of him would be created. As the battle progressed, there were so many of him that even the Gods were overwhelmed. Then…”
“Our teacher in school told us that the Gods could do anything. Then why could they not defeat a demon?” one of the boys seemed unconvinced enough to interrupt the old man.
“Maybe your teacher lied.” Michael giggled and looked at the old man, who clenched his fist at him. He stopped mid-giggle when he realised the old man was serious about hitting him. The old man turned to the sceptic-child with a patronising smile.
“If they did defeat him with no effort, then what lesson is there to learn? The Gods want us to hear their stories and learn from them – that is always their primary concern. That is why our greatest stories are about the Gods overcoming adversity. Even if it means portraying them as weaker than they really are, the Gods want each of their battles to teach us courage and wisdom.” He stroked the picture with his arms. Michael could see that the boys did not fully comprehend what the old man meant, but were impressed with what they heard.
“Continue” said the boy and sat down. The rest of them followed him.
“Without any other choice, Durga morphed into Kali. In this all-consuming form, she unrolled her tongue and made it stretch across the entire universe. Every time the demon’s blood was spilt, her tongue would absorb it instead of allowing him to replicate. Raktavija was no match for her and was easily destroyed, but so great was Khali’s fury that she danced across the battlefield, destroying universes and even the mightiest gods. In the end, Lord Shiva had to fall at her feet and bring her back to her senses.”
“That doesn’t explain why her tongue is long. It is just a story featuring her long tongue.” The boys who were impressed only a few seconds ago turned pessimistic again. The old man’s smile did not change, but his irritation was starting to show.
Michael wanted to hear more. “Come on, give us another story.” The old man lifted the portrait as if to swing it down on Michael’s head. Michael grimaced and shut his eyes but the blow never came. When he opened them, he saw that the portraits were being given away to the boys.
“What are you doing? You should be selling those, not giving them away for free!”
“Fool, this is art. It is meant to educate these youngsters, not make them poorer.” The old man grunted as he got on his feet. With a last look of disgust at Michael, he walked out of sight. The boys were busy scooping the portraits into their arms. “Keep them safe!” Michael shouted at one as a frame almost slipped through his hands. “Cant you idiots hold a painting without breaking it?”
“Shut up.” The boys looked at Michael like a millionaire would a beggar. After wrapping the portraits in large pieces of cloth, they were on their way too. Michael glanced at his watch, it was lunchtime and his uncle expected him to arrive on time. Reluctantly, he left the serenity of the temple and entered the chaos outside.