BY C.S. KRISHNAMURTHY 

 

SOMETIME around 2005 or 2006, after I had visited a famous temple in Tamil Nadu, I found myself strolling in the free prasad queue with my family. On that particular day, the divine offering was Puliyodharai, or Tamarind rice. The gentleman ahead of me, having received prasad, actually requested more. The bare-chested volunteer, after a brief haggling session, eagerly accepted a 50-rupee note. He hurriedly left his seat, removed the cloth that was draped around his dhoti, casually tossed it over the camera meant to prevent such unfair dealings, then returned promptly, crammed the “divine rice”, swiftly wrapped in a palm leaf into the hands of the ‘buyer’, and concluded the ‘transaction’. He retrieved his cloth from the camera and resumed his duties as if nothing had happened. On another occasion, I accompanied someone to a temple in Mysore. This person handed a 200-rupee note to a tout posing as a security staff member. The special treatment was immediate.

 

Apart from the darshan, the individual was festooned with garlands by the priest (who received a separate ‘blessing’), showered with fruits, flowers, sacred ash, and vermillion… Who emerges victorious in this scenario? When VIPs spend long hours at a temple, commoners are left waiting for an extended period, sometimes a day or two. It appears that those with deeper pockets ‘win’ in such situations. Does God, in fact, endorse the Orwellian idea that “some are more equal”? Who receives more of God’s grace – the one who jumps the queue or the one who patiently follows “dharma dharshan”? In reality, there should be no need to bribe for the privilege of worshipping Him. But sadly, we do. If God could be won over with money, people like (insert your preferred name) would have installed Him in their living rooms instead of visiting the temple. With genuine devotion, we embark on a pilgrimage to Tirumala only have a fleeting glimpse of the deity. But if, from the outset, people accept the notion that intermediaries are required to reach God, and the worship is an investment with the expectation in return, then why the pretence of denouncing corruption? Temples are meant to be places of sanctity, providing a tranquil environment where devotees can sit and pray in peace. The one who pays more gets closer to God – that’s quite the jest! Some argue that this is the ultimate test of faith, and the fruits of such visits are reaped only when there’s an element of sacrifice involved. Those in authority, from the administration officials, politicians, vendors, and brokers, all seem to be in cahoots.

 

When the prasad, like the famous Laddu, is sold in the black market, can it maintain its sanctity? Touts flock around the shrine, thriving openly. Corruption is inevitable when the whole operation resembles a large business entity, favouring the wealthy and influential. Perhaps we should confine ourselves to our homes or visit local shrines and be true to our beliefs. God, I believe, would appreciate my devotion and shower blessings when I don’t resort to unsavoury practices. Why not support our local places of worship? If we can’t find God in our own homes and hearts, how can we expect to find Him elsewhere? Why should we visit a temple where darshan must be bought or bribed? When someone claims to control access to God and, what’s more, for a fee, I already feel deceived. Would it not be better to engage in a little charity rather than bribing the intermediaries? After all, isn’t service to humanity is service to God? So, where should the solution lie – with God or with humanity? I confess, and I’m still confused. I’m not an atheist.