Ravi took a gander at his wrist-watch now and then. He felt his temper was boiling his insides. The person who he calls his best friend was always proving his lack of interest in punctuality.
Sid did arrive after five minutes, and he quickly astride on Ravi's bike.
Ravi wanted to give Sid a piece of mind, but the image of his Hitler dad manifested before his eyes. You're getting late, report your ass to shop!
He blinked away the negative thought and inserted the key into the ignition. The acceleration vibrated his motorcycle with a few jolt, and they rode away from the scene.
Two of them reached halfway. Sid alighted from the bike in no time.
Ravi took off the helmet before speaking. "I'll see you in the evening." Just a nod what he got from Sid.
Now Sid was all alone on his journey. He took a taxi from there and arrived at the desired location. The boy paid the fare, and the other hand reached to pull out his smartphone.
His eyes skimmed over the address that he had written down yesterday.
A surge of nervousness washing over him. How in this world are you going ask this address to passersby? Imagine this, a young teenager looking for a religious, this fearful thought haunted him that it's going to be cultural-shock for many.
Somehow or other, he collected himself and approached a man who was passing by. The man was donned in traditional clothes as if he was going to a ceremony, and a red vertical tilak (religious marking) on his forehead glinted under the daylight.
"Excuse me! C-could you please tell me where this location is?" Sid said, his voice was still struggling with nervousness.
The man stopped and turned around to cast an eye on Sid's mobile phone. A slow-motion smile brightened his face. "Oh, great!" he exclaimed. "Are you going to the spiritual seminar?"
A smile of relief bloomed on Sid's face. "Yes," he burst out. "I heard they're going to give a seminar on the essence—"
"Oh, you're in luck." The man interrupted. "I'm also heading there. If you don't mind, you can tag along."
"Hell yeah!"
These two words made nervousness fly away like a bird. Sid nodded and started walking side by side with Prakash.
"My name is Prakash Singh." The man introduced himself while walking. "I'm a disciple of Swami Mukhteshwar, the speaker of the seminar. By his mercy, I'm the chief organizer and fundraiser for Babaji. We call him as Babaji. How come you're here?"
Prakash eyed the boy with a curiosity-filled glance.
Sid felt a lump of surprise formed in his throat. "No, I—" He momentarily lost words. "I... I heard about this seminar, and I'm pretty much interested." In the back of his mind, Sid considered putting forward one of his queries to Prakash. The man was oozing out with wisdom, really a scholarly looking fellow.
Prakash scratched his head. "It always fills me with pride when I see a young man like you take an interest in understanding our Hindu Dharma." A glint of awe glittered his eyes. "What's your name?"
"I'm... My name is Siddhant Kothari." Sid's voice was marred with a bit of shutter. "You k-know, I have some queries."
"Oh yeah? I'm certain Babaji will resolve all of your queries," Prakash said with a confident look.
While walking, a constant murmur of something (maybe a mantra?) kept on coming from Prakash's lips.
Several minutes passed with an amble, and the boy finally caught sight a bungalow transformed into a temple. Whatever he glanced, the big hoardings and posters of the Swami Mukhteshwar, eyed back at him.
He darted his eyes at some posters that made the boy croak. The followers of Swami Mukhteswar tried a lame attempt to depict him as a divine being. There was a photo of Lord Vishnu, but Swami Mukhteshwar's face was edited over it instead of the original one.
That's a horrible photoshop skills, Sid thought to himself. Confusion muddled his mind. It was a blatant display of superstition!
He felt this was more baffling than going in hell for no reason. Here, Swami Mukhteswar—was treated as God by his followers and the worst part of it—none questioned it. Swami has millions of following all over the world. That's what a particular poster claimed. How can anyone accept him as God? Or rather, what makes people believe that?
Perplexity flooded Sid's mind; he couldn't make head or tail of it.
His eyes narrowed, and a scowl plastered on his face, he saw a group of people was chanting an invented mantra: Om Namo Swami Mukhteshwaraya Namah — Swami Mukhteshwar is a divine being, I bow down to him.
He brushed off this ridiculous scene and felt it was wise to follow Prakash, instead of getting judgmental at face value. Both of them set foot in a big tent. In there, Swami Mukhteshwar was pretending to be a god on a golden throne. Two women were fanning him on his left and right side, just like ancient Indian kings used to have.
Right then, a large number of human current crowded the tent, pushing each other, just to see Swami. Sid pushed himself away—which made the influx barge ahead—he was in no mood to behold Swami.
His eyes, however, searched for Prakash, who was disappeared into the crowd. Then Swami raised his hands and waved at the people. Everyone fell on the ground like a sack of potatoes in reverence except for Sid, who went unnoticed.
Sid walked up to the last row and sat down. The boy could come up with an estimate that at least eight-hundred people were packed in this tent. He was the only teenager while the rest consisted of seniors.
Swami prepared himself to speak. He tapped on the microphone for testing. "My dear devotees," he spoke up, his voice was soothing to ears. "I'm delighted that you came."—He presented his followers with a smile—"I was meditating last night, and then abruptly, my heartbeat stopped; I died."
A god died?
Swami was an expert juggler of words. He hoodwinked his believers into believing that he has attained complete godhood. Now he has become one with the Almighty. Thus making him a living god.
More than his talk, Sid was gazing at Swami's long grayish beard, touching down to his bare chest. His matted hair provided evidence that he didn't bathe for years.
"Why be a believer when you can be a god?" Swami voiced his concluding words. "You all can attain complete godhood like myself. When a drop of water falls into the sea, it instantly merges as one with the ocean. Similarly, we all can be one with God. Because you cannot perceive God, therefore, you can concentrate your mind on me. Rest assured, there is no difference between God and me."
A ripple of uncontrolled awe spread across his air-headed followers. They exploded into boisterous cheers.
Swami stood up from his golden throne. With a mere wave of his hand, he produced some ashes, flowing down from his palm. The miracle dazed his followers; their jaws dropped ajar. Right then, Swami swung his other hand and produced a golden necklace out of nowhere.
Right on! That's the exact reason why Swami has a massive following. He was a mystic yogi.
Swami sat back on his throne with a faint smile.
Dumb believers, blinded by ignorance, hurt their throats by shouting Swami's name at the top of their lungs.
In no time, a few queues formed to take blessings. One by one, Swami's followers fell at his feet like a stick. The bundles of money were licking Swami's barefoot. Some adherents took special pleasure in showering down cash and valuables on Swami.
An influx of mixed feelings wafted through Sid's mind. He was the only unimpressed person. His legs began to move on their own, without paying any respect to Swami. Once he got out of the tent, all he wanted was his home.
"Hey, where are you going?" Prakash took hold of Sid's shoulder from behind; this made him turn around and see the owner of the voice. Prakash, who was disappeared into the crowd, stood in front of him again.
"Well ... I guess not. My queries were different."
Prakash brought his palm to his forehead and groaned. "That's not okay." He tapped Sid's shoulder. "Okay, let's go to my office, and we'll discuss your queries."
Sid nodded, and both of them started walking towards the location, it was not that far, just to the neighboring building on the second floor. An apartment that was only meant for bookings of Swami Mukhteshwar's future sessions and tours.
Prakash had a cabin; the four wall was decorated with several pictures of him with influential people. One side of the wall paraded his certificates of inter-religious debate. The man was no joke, a highly educated and Ph.D. holder in religious studies from Duke University. He presented Sid with a look, hinting the boy to have a seat.
"So now tell me about your queries?"
Sid brushed his fingers over his lips and replied, "Well—uh—it's a bit complicated. Why do people want to prove their religion superior? Aren't all paths lead to the same destination?"
Prakash heaved a sigh and joined his fingertips together. "This is a difficult question," he answered gravely. "People have religious conflicts because they don't understand themselves."
"How?" The only word made past Sid's throat.
"Brahma Satya Jagan Mithya." Prakash elucidated. "It means 'only Brahman is the truth, and this whole universe is false.' You see, people conceive illusory things as real, that's why they're always in a miserable state."
What? How? These words attacked Sid's mind. To make things relevant for himself, Sid explained the whole quarrel that he had with Raj and Nikhil. As soon as Sid stopped his narration, a fit of rage exploded Prakash into a diatribe. "They are rascal!" His chest swelled up with pure hate. "I know about these missionaries. They want to convert Hindus into their religion by material allurements."
Sid felt a lump in his throat at this unusual display of rage. "Raj and Nikhil are my friends," he said to calm down Prakash.
"No, Siddhant!" Prakash thundered but in no time realized that he shouldn't suppose to blow his fuse like this. "They are not friends. I want to persecute these rascals."
"I hate communal violence."
A scene formed in the boy's mind: some extremists slaughtering each other, explosions, press swarming, cameras rolling.
For almost half an hour, Prakash tortured Sid's brain with various documents and statistics. The right-wing's narrative of Hinduism is in danger and media's bias toward Hindus. The news channels always support minorities, but neglects the Hindu populace, just for minority vote bank politics.
He also put forward various documents before Sid, which revealed the actual population growth of minorities in India. On the last point, he concluded the "hate against hate" policy, which meant if someone wants to destroy your religion, then you should fight back with the same aggression. What's the point of being laid-back and ignore the hard facts?
Slowly and subtly, Prakash tried to plant a feeling of religious insecurity in the latter's heart.
"I'll guide you on how to destroy these missionaries, are you in?" A confident smile spread across Prakash's face. Without having any doubt, he assumed "yes" as a reply.
Now everything was up to Sid. His finger went to rub his chin and even pinched the bridge of his nose. All of those documents and statistics were indeed staggering his conscience. A voice rose within him. What should he suppose to do? Same intolerance?
He gathered himself together and spoke up: "Well ... I don't like this 'hate against hate' policy. It'll only make the situation worse."
"No!" Prakash stamped his both fist on the table. "If you do not drive them away. Soon, our religion will become a minority."
"Hating each other will never lead us to peace and harmony!" Sid sprang up from his seat to voice his disagreement. The boy shot a glare at Prakash and took a dramatic pause. He felt his breathing already became hard.
"You know, what's more important to me than defending my religion?" He gazed at Prakash with a questioning look. "According to the WHO, over one million suicides take place yearly—one death every forty seconds. Women are getting raped every day, and youths are destroying their lives with narcotic drugs. Crime, corruption, and natural disasters are taking their toll on humanity. This all makes me wonder something's terribly wrong with this world. Could you tell me if defending my religion will stop any of those issues? If so, then I'll be more than happy to become a terrorist."
"Your queries are—" Prakash felt words ran out of his mouth, but he still managed to spew out words of hate. "—least important to me. We must protect our religion and country from ANTI-NATIONALS!" A sudden burst of anger made him shout the last word. "You may leave now," he spoke without looking at the boy.
Sid didn't waste another second to bid adieu and walked off.
His heart was trip-hammering in his chest. He was sincerely looking for answers, but nescience trampled him.
While traveling back to his home, his mind grew contemplative over his bickering with Raj. Did he really lose his good friend due to religious conflict?
Just a few days ago, Ravi, Raj, and Sid were the best of friends. They cracked jokes; they ate together; they hung out together and did whatever good friends suppose to do. Now there was a rift between their friendship.
Whom should he blame for all this? Religion? Bigotry? God? Circumstances?
An impossible thought brushed his mind. Is there any way to cross this forest of delusion? A universal truth that binds everything as pearls strung upon a thread?
I will find it out, Sid decided.
****
A/N: So Sid is confused than ever before. Where will this disappointment lead him toward atheism? I have chosen Beware of Darkness by George Harrison as the song of this chapter. Listen to it now.