The Messenger

I crept in and out of the crowd glancing at the paintings, searching for a suitable one for my office. I was almost at the end of Chitra Sante, the yearly Painting Market organized by Chitra Kala Parishat. Yet I found nothing impressive. At that moment, my eyes swapped on something. Involuntarily my feet stopped moving. It was a painting of a girl in a traditional silk skirt and blouse whispering in the ear of a Stone Bull in a temple. An array of emotions stirred in me.

It happened when Namita, was in the third standard. She was not a brilliant student but very helpful. She was a ‘Bulbul’ (the preceding level of Girl Scouts). Every day she looked forward to a task to complete her ‘Good Deed’, as a part of Bulbul requirement. She would help the teachers to carry the books, dictate marks for teachers, teach riding bicycles to her friends, water plants in the school garden, help the parents of her friends and also help the destitute people. On the whole, Namita was a girl needed by all. One day, her Bulbul teacher arranged a camp for Bulbuls and asked them to bring Rs 500/-. Namita paid the amount the very next day and was excited about going to the camp.

Rakshita was Namita’s friend. They used to have their lunch together. At the lunch break Namita asked, “Rakshita, I am very happy that we are all going to the camp. Aren’t you?” Rakshita said sadly, “I am not coming, Namita, I have not paid the money. My mother said she could not arrange such a big amount.” Namita was sad that Rakshita would not be joining her for the camp. Namitha was brooding over the problem the rest of the day. She remembered the Kannada lesson where a girl wanted something, she went to the temple, prayed to God and God gave whatever she wanted. Namita felt that was a good idea.

As soon as the school bell rang, she ran home and asked her mother. “Mumma, I want to go to the temple”. Mother was surprised. “Why at this hour, we’ll go on Sunday, when you have a holiday.”

“No. I want to go now itself. Please take me. Take me please”

Her mother was annoyed, but could not say “No” to her loving daughter. Both went to the temple. Namita entered the temple. It was not at all like how the Kannada teacher explained. God was somewhere inside.

“How can I go to God and tell him that I need money for Rakshita?” she thought. Her eyes filled up with tears. That is when she saw the Basavanna outside. She remembered her Grandmother saying that Basavanna is the vehicle of Shiva and a messenger to him. ‘If I tell Basavanna, about Rakshita, he will, in turn, tell Shiva on behalf.’ Happily, she walked to Basavanna. There was a lot of noise around. Climbed the first step, leaned into Basavanna ’s ears and said,

“Basavanna, please tell Shiva to give 500 Rupees to Rakshita. So, that she can attend the camp.” She repeated these words three times and added, “Please do not forget”.

By then her mother came searching for her and saw her whispering in Basavanna’s ears. When she came to her mother Namita was very happy and satisfied. Her mother asked, “What did you ask Basavanna ?” Namita explained all that happened with twinkling eyes. Her mother did not tell anything but listened to her daughter.

Next day, the mother met me in the school and narrated the previous day’s events. She added, “I did not want to give the money directly to Rakshita since I don’t want to interfere in Namita's learning about God and His reality. She will be happy if Rakshita attends the camp. Hence, here is the fee for her. Please keep it confidential.”

Rakshita and Namita both went camping and were happy. I did not disclose the secret. The imprint of Namita speaking to Basavanna shared by her mother stayed in my mind for a long time. This happened several years ago. Namita and Rakshita both completed their schooling and also their higher studies. Rakshita is in England working as a Systems Analyst and Namita had also completed her Social Work. She is also not here. She is in the abode of Shiva serving him. Yes! She died of Brain Tumour five years back.

I looked at the painting. Quickly wiped my eyes and thanked the artist in my mind for reminding me of Namita and moved to the next stall.