She came to my house for a day only or more precisely for a night only just a couple of days ago. She came in the evening of the 27^th February and went away in the morning of 28^th. I am talking about Mother Goddess or the clay idol, which was the exact replica of her as described in the scriptures in beautiful verse in Sanskrit. My belief that she owned this universe and all that inhabited it prompted me to appease her once a year in the new moon night in the Hindu month of Falguna (February-March). I didn't know much about her except that she was unfathomable. I gave up my juvenile efforts to understand her ways long back. But she went on quizzing me time and again and perhaps derived immense pleasure at my discomfiture like a real mother did while playing with her child.

I had been carrying on with this ritual once a year since 1981. The idol of the Mother Goddess, with four outstretched hands, smiling face with her tongue projecting out a little in feigned embarrassment at her accidental stepping on Her husband Lord Siva, was the incarnation in which I worshipped Her once a year. I got her clay idol made by a competent artist every year and placed it inside a small temple that I had constructed for her in my village home, far away from the madding crowds of the city. She stood on the pedestal inside the temple only for one night in a year and was immersed on the next day.

This year however a peculiar idea came to my mind. Instead of immersing her the next day why not keep her inside the temple throughout the year? The empty pedestal haunted me whenever I went home during other periods of the year. The temple became very lonely. Only the pedestal stared at my face imploring me to do something. It would remain like that for the rest of the year. Only a big snake would appear from nowhere and rest on the pedestal, nibble at remnants of whatever sundry offerings were made to the altar in my absence during the rest of the year. A fat frog would come visiting occasionally and while away his time totally oblivious of the snake.

The perfect silence and stoic solitude of the place perhaps prompted the snake to abjure violence for the time being. Who knew? The Mother might be keeping a close watch not perceptible to human sense but amphibians were more sensitive in more ways than one. Perhaps! The eerie silence of the place was frightening even to the young priest whom I had deployed to look after the temple in my absence. He went there every morning and offered small flowers and fruits to the Goddess on my behalf in my absence. The snake and the frog were the visible amphibians that made good use of the offerings. There were others whom the young priest had missed out.

The young priest also told me that once in a while he had heard light footsteps of someone walking on the roof. He could not find anybody there when he came out. The footsteps resumed as soon as he went inside the temple. He was naturally frightened and ran away from the temple on such occasions. This young man objected to my idea of retaining the idol for the rest of the year. He said that he would not be able to face the gorgeous idol of the Goddess in the temple all by himself. The fierce (according to him) idol of the Goddess Mother Kali was too much for him to negotiate round the year. If the vacant altar could scare him so much what would happen to him in front of the idol?

I could not compel him to accept my idea. How could I? Perhaps the Goddess desired that way only. After all he was a priest whatever might be his age. I was in a fix to find out her wish. Unable to decide either way I decided to give in. The morning of 28^th came with a clear blue sky and bright sunshine. Ladies of the household performed elaborate rituals by showering marigold petals and other flowers, sounding of conch cells etc. in the wide courtyard of the temple (which you can see in the picture above) before she was taken out in a procession to the place of immersion some distance away.

When the idol was being taken round the lanes and by lanes of my village with the accompaniment of loud music played by big and small drums, flutes, bells and other instruments, the womenfolk came out to have a glimpse of the beautiful image of the Goddess and also to pay their obeisance. Some touched the Mother's feet and rubbed vermilion powder on her feet to take a small portion back and smeared it on their own foreheads. They believed that by doing so they could ensure that their husbands would outlive them.

Sunshine was reflected on the shining decoration of the Mother. Men stood with folded hands on the entire route to convey their respects. Now I got my answer. The blue skies, the gentle breeze, the bright sunlight, the people and everything that represented the nature stood there silently in total reverence for the Mother Goddess. Small children started dancing all along the route to the tune of the accompanying music. There was joy all around. The crowd swelled to several hundred when we reached the immersion place. The creator and Her creation were happily united for some duration at least. My joy knew no bounds. I was hard pressed to conceal my tears as they flowed out of happiness and gratitude for the divine Mother for the love she bestowed on all of us.

Could I achieve this by keeping her imprisoned inside the temple all through the year?

I shall now relate three of my recent experiences to expand on the idea.

Episode - 1.

I was invited to a seminar meant for practicing electrical engineers (my primary profession). A speaker was describing the technical parameters related to swaged steel tubular poles used for street lighting. It was quite an interesting topic to me.

Some of the participants were taking down notes and others were simply listening, because, in any case, a hand out was circulated to the participants well in advance. I concentrated on the subject and did not notice that some one was gleefully observing me.

Incidentally, it was my habit (since college days) to take notes while listening. It was as much for remembering what was said by the lecturer as also in the belief that writing down helped in better assimilation of the subject being discussed.

All of a sudden I heard my superior officer, who was seated in the front row, by virtue of his official position, almost shouting at me:

"Mr., are you writing a story here? Why don't you listen attentively to what the speaker is saying?"

I shot back at my boss with blazing eyes but was at a loss to find words. My writing prowess failed me in the nick of the moment.

Episode - 2

I am a diabetic for over a decade. Luckily I am undergoing treatment under a reputed endocrinologist, a D.M. (Endocrinology), MRCP, Professor and Head of the department of Endocrinology and Metabolism of the premier teaching hospital of my city. Since it is a government hospital, the treatment at its outdoor clinic is free of charge. My doctor is a renowned teacher and a highly successful medical practitioner. He has been able to keep my blood sugar levels within tolerable limits.

One has to wait in a queue for at least a couple of hours to get a chance to meet the doctor at the outdoor clinic. Last time I visited him, I completed the formalities of several essential blood and urine tests and sent in my papers and reports inside his chamber.

I was pleasantly surprised to be called in immediately to the dismay of other waiting patients, who were waiting for longer periods than me. I didn't know why I was called earlier. Was there something awfully wrong in my pathological reports? I felt thirsty out of nervousness and entered his chamber with worry writ large on my face.

How did the doctor remember my name? I visited him once in three months or even more. There must be thousands like me who are treated by him and he can't remember each one of them by name.

As soon as I entered his chamber the doctor pointed his finger towards an empty chair for me. He did not even lift his head to glance at me. He was going through the reports instead. They indicated all sorts of pathological data regarding glucose, cholesteorol, microalbumin, creatinine etc. Without lifting his head, the busy doctor made a statement:

"Mr. (My name was on the report cards), I found your short story quite interesting in last Sunday's Daily..."

I was speechless.

Episode - 3

This is a short one. I was busy in my workplace scrutinizing technical specifications of a new project, with my chin dropping almost to my chest making my visibility beyond the book I was reading almost nil.

A friend of mine came and occupied the chair opposite me silently. It was my habit not to look beyond the paper that I was reading. My friend waited silently for some time and then got impatient.

He stood up noisily, pushed his chair back and left the place. Before that I heard him utter something like:

"What's the hurry Si...? How many times more you need to read that lousy novel of yours?"

I was at a loss to find words again.