Where Love Is, God Is
Where Love Is, God Is4 mins 160 4 mins 160
This is a real-time narration of the bond between humans and God. . . .
Once in a village of Ilanji, near Courtallam, a middle-aged couple Ram and Danya live a decent life. They have enough wealth enjoying every speck of ecstasy. They travel a lot, visiting places of tourism and spend to the core.
However they have a scheduled life, they are not blessed with an offspring. Yet, Ram loves his life and wife. He is satisfied with his horde of sophisticated luxury. He never goes in search of money because he has heart’s full, what his ancestors had left behind. He never believes neither in charity nor service to others. Days roll on.
Danya loves her husband and very dutiful too. She adores doing her daily chore and accompanies her husband wherever he goes. But, she wets her pillows at night, for God has not blessed them with a child. Though she enjoys her outing with Ram, she is much disappointed for he never likes to come with her when she goes out. Yes, she loves visiting the Durga temple near her house everyday. She tries to persuade him, cajole him, coax him, but he remains adamant.
One day, as usual she went to the temple. She returned back soon . Her silence rose the anxiety of her husband. Ram enquired her,”whats wrong with you?”. Danya started crying,”today there was heavy rush in the temple. Everyone pushed me. I couldn’t have a good darshan”. Ram was shocked. His better half was in tears. “ okay. I will come with you tomorrow, but on one condition. I will stand near the temple gate and safeguard you from others pushing you”. Danya was in high spirits. Both went to the temple and Ram stood outside and never had a glimpses of the Deity. His full concentration was on the crowd.
The following day, once again, Danya went alone and returned home with a sad face. “What happened darling “ Ram asked. ”Oh dear, I lost my slippers. someone has stolen”,she said. ”How dare”, Ram remarked and promised to be the security guard for her slippers the next day.
Everyday, Ram went with her, stood outside the temple like Bharathan at the palace with Lord Ram’s pathuka. Danya, with an air of pride walked like a queen. The villagers were stunned at the sight. How come Ram goes to the temple, being an atheist????But no one knows the story behind it.
It was festive time. The devotees thronged the temple for special pooja. . Nearly hundred to two hundred visited the temple everyday. Loudspeakers called everyone, there was traditional dances, musical night etc etc. Danya was the regular visitor thrice a day. Sometimes, she would forget to cook. Her daily work at home piled up. Ram was much worried about Danya.
It was the penultimate day of the last festive. Danya adorned herself in a beautiful sari. No sooner than she entered her house, she burst into tears. Ram was shocked. He heard from her that she could not see the Deity properly as many were hiding her. Ram was bit relieved. He told her to stay at home. But she was adamant. So, Ram decided to go with her unwillingly. Once again, he conditioned her that he would enter into the temple but he would stand behind her to make her see the Deity, closing his eyes. How is it possible? She was perplexed. Any how she was happy.
Ram stepped into the temple with Danya. What a crowd! Are people mad. . But he obediently stood behind her, hugged her, very keen on Danya to have a glimpse of the Deity. . . Ram could hear people calling the name Durgamma. . . What makes them shout. . . Ram was astonished. Slowly, he had a rear view of Goddess Durga. He was stunned. What a beauty. He opened his eyes wide opened. How come I missed Her. Ever enchanting. He closed his eyes again. Sorry Danya. . . I failed to share your happiness. Ram was totally mesmerized and murmured Durgamma.
Ram started devoting most of his purple time at the temple. He loved feeding the poor and the needy. He spent his savings on charity. Durgamma smiled from her altar. Yes, She sees the truth, but waits. She made everyone realize that Service to Humanity, is Service to God. . . . .