The Worship Business

In a land where faith is heredity, the mass shares glories and miseries with the higher power and spread love, such a land remains polluted with black emotions of business. Where pure rivers tear the hearts apart with dignity, within them resides the entrepreneurial path holes of favor. Idols are idolised for money, fame is outpoured due to misinformation and love is subdued by greed and situational opportunities.

The holy town of Vidhata was blessed with love and bliss from the Lord who used to visit everyday to meet the devotees and bless them with his charm. The people crowded like denials of unconscious, pushing past each other to just grab a vision of who made them. However, with times evolving, God was replaced as an illusionary machine, still lovably allowing people to grab power through fame which was a by product of his mercy. "Time has switched itself at such a pace that I find it hard to relate the surroundings with my past which was respected as that of the Highest" narrated Gururam as he coughed his sadness into the mic that withheld the people to televisions. 

"Gururam ji, why is that money has taken over Vidhata's acts of devotion? People are trolling the place which once proved as the land of survival for even the cheapest?" Having listened to such a remarkably intriguing question, the elderly sick man gave a grunt of disappointment and swallowed the answers into the camera which felt like an apologetic clip being sent to God before demise. "It's not a new thing to hear beta. God was not a plus point earlier, nor was money. Infact, God was the only summit which mesmerized people to make and do good. Money, fame... such things requested the people of Vidhata to buy them to give them some position in society. Such was the resplendence. When I was a little boy, I was about to get crushed like a sugarcane within the population that had no boundaries of physiological balance. Despite knowing, I offered myself to the Holy which was there to hug me and crush my soul to produce sweetness and be a representative to the world. The tip of people's skills had just touched me when the lord gave a glance to which I sold myself and my eyes felt numb as if a cloud had sang a melody, putting me to a gentle sleep, waving like a dry cloth with the wind of people that threw me in the lap of the lord. I still remember..." he paused and then took a sip of water as though a stick had been inserted in his larynx. Making gentle expressions of serenity and travelling back in time down his memory lane, he looked at the reporter with a crooked smile, the crookedness disguised in perceptive predictability. "I know you all are standing just to hear the words which may seem unreasonable to you" repeated the man "So I pose a question to you beta." Taking a sharp edge, the old man questioned "If I made a statement that commercializing wordship is a keen point of raising love, would you believe me?" "No" the firm answer by reporter seem to have made the man more happy. 

Therefore he continued, "I remember how his soft hands razored my skin with symbols of purity and sanctity, his eyes speaking the love language and lotus feet in a position as if holding like a mother ready to feed a child. The crowd was jealous" he said laughing "The air spoke like a thug asking for money, then what to speak of the bio faces? I was scared that he would leave me soon. So I offered him a chocolate, not really, it was a jaggery bar. He took a bite, a drop of his tear falling into mine and then he disappeared slowly just as a video editor's languid lapse. My eyes watered, wandering alone, because an orphan doesn't know where to go." "But Gururam Ji, you had parents. Your history reveals you were blessed to a rich aristocratic family. Howcome then you are saying you were an orphan?" interrupted the reporter. "I was an orphan because my "God", my father, was ingested by the air after my sudden realisation. Then how can I live my life peacefully. He never came back after the incident and also there was a sudden shift of people's eyes on me. They were those of contempt and regrets. I decided to build a murti to satisfy my devotion. When I built one it was nothing but a small stone carved with different designs and colours. For logical entities like you, it would be hard to believe, but for me, it was a situation of utter allegiance and I could think of nothing but his face of hope in me. My idol however was struck with mishaps when people caught it accepting things by me. 

"The news spread like a forest fire and people engulfed the idea well, but not so well. They threw the rumour with fake promises and delusions which were always and forever a harm to the people. The rest as you know is history. I wanted to reveal the truth for a long time and you see after the interview the people will take no time to create misleading flubs to benefit themselves. I..." His throat this time choked like a sanit who gulped down the folk poison. The trees swirled with the wind as if paying tributes. The reporter and fellow community gathered around rounded the eyes with astonishment. Animals circled around to wait for the next moves. While the sudden action was the center of attention, with the old man now lying peacefully on the bed, falling like an autumn leaf, the audience grabbed held a piece of portrait with a shadowy human encircling arms around the old man, with subsequent shadows of tear drops depicted like railways departing souls to two unequal lands. The time bombed with people submitting resignations of their beliefs about rise of business in spiritual inks.