Work Is Worship

The journey began with a lot of enthusiasm. The travelers revved up their memories and exercised their musical abilities. A few also decided to do a jig whenever possible. Slowly the bus moved out of the city limits and the highway. The rickety bus started weaving its way through the winding mountain paths. Mother Nature had decked herself in breathtakingly beautiful shades of green and brown. Other colors speckled over her contours. I for my part did not take my eyes off the picturesque scenery. Unfortunately, not all of them on the bus could enjoy the scenic beauty that flanked us. Some of them were catching up with their sleep. Some others were reeling under moving sickness in the heights. After a while, all of us got used to the sounds of fellow passengers throwing up into plastic bags. It would be invariably followed by a friend or family member of the sick person spraying some deodorant to freshen up the bus. It was construed and accepted as their way of saying sorry. While this was activity was taking place like clockwork a ten-year-old threw up right into the aisle of the bus without warning. All of us clucked and twitched almost at the same time. The thought of another four hours in the bus reeking with the stench of vomit was too much to put up with. The adults who accompanied the child attended to the girl first. Then they thought it fit to throw some sheets of paper of the on the gooey matter and look the other way.

People who moved back and forth in the moving vehicle tried to carefully avoid the mess. Yet most people could not, because of the width of the muddle. As a result, the aisle turned squalid. The commuters had a complaint on the lips and the nose was up in the air. Suddenly Manoharji our cook cum guide bade the driver stop the bus. He picked up two buckets, alighted from the bus, and went to the public tap among the mountains. He came back with the water and poured water down the aisle, washing the muck away. People who lifted their feet to avoid getting drenched heaved a sigh of relief. All of us were vocal and liberal in our praise for our hero of the day.

When I wondered what made him do hands-on, what we did not even think about, I realized that he was not merely working for a living, working selflessly was his second nature. He seemed to be the essence of the motto Work is Worship.