His religion carried a belief that a dip in the sacred river Ganges on the day of Diwali was the most auspicious sin-washing ceremony there ever was. He was a religious man. He believed in the tenets of hinduism with all his heart. He liked to believe that his every action was governed by the words professed in the various mediums his religion used to reach him. And so on a cold morning, after his wife anointed him with the customary Diwali oil, he walked down to the rushing cold Ganges to wash away all of his sins, if there was any.
On his way to the banks of the river he saw the world go by, filled with people hurrying, like himself, to wash away all their accumulated sins of the previous years; it was like it was a physical act. The roads were lined with shops selling oil, toiletries and other items devotees needed to complete their daily ablutions and their purifying ceremonies. There were old men with completely tonsured heads but for a tuft of hair symbolizing their disposition as learned men who had access to the gods.
The air was chill with the incipient winter. The crisp air made him feel fresh and pure. He felt the presence in the holy land in itself was a purifying act, his mind was feeling it. The hawkers called out to him, asking him if he needed oil, or mustard for the ritual to appease his ancestors. The tonsured men with tufted hair asked him if he needed their services to act as portents into the world of gods and his ancestors, to reach out to them and seek blessings. He noticed how a number of hawkers and shop owners were of other faiths, how one religion thrived through another he wondered and ironically how people killed each other in the name of religion he smirked into himself.
As he descended the steps to the river he saw the crowd milling around the waters edge. Some drying themselves after their purifying dip, some sitting cross legged with the tufted gentlemen sitting opposite to them with their pooja paraphernalia spread out in front of them, leading them on with mantras and actions that would make their lives better and satisfy their ancestors in the other world. There were some who were there to merge the final remains of their kin with the holy waters of the Ganges. The immortal soul to heaven and the mortal remains to the holy water of the Ganges that would lead it to the ocean.
The crows arrived to pick at the food offered to ancestors by the men making the offerings - it was considered that the ancestors took the form of crows into this physical realm and so it was with happiness this spectacle was taken in contrast to the chasing crows were subjected to in other times and places.
As he felt the water with his feet, he shivered. The winter water was freezing. Goose bumps ran up his legs and reached his arms. If the price to pay for purification of ones sins in life was a little bit of cold, he thought it was a small price to pay. He waddled into the water until he was half submerged in the icy waters.
Parvati looked with wretched eyes at the limp body of her husband as it hung lifeless from the wooden beam that supported their single room hut. Shivan's promise of money for their land didn't come.They placed their inked fingers on the documents he asked them to with promises of prosperity. No money came after a month of the land was taken and Shivan was not to be found, he had moved to the city sources said. With no land to farm and no money for the sold land, her husband, unable to bear the pressure of the lenders, chose the last and lasting solution, death.
In a fit of rage, the ragged Parvati, eyes red from vain tears and saree filthy from wallowing in the mud floor of their temporary hut, threw mud in the air cursing Shivan, never to be redeemed of his sins. It was said that this act was a curse that would render the person cursed ,to fall into the abyss of irredeemable misery.
Shivan bent, holding his nose. The water engulfed him softly. A moment of shock from the cold that permeated through the before untouched parts of his body by water. He let his mind pray to the almighty to wash away his sins. Shivan felt light. He felt holy. He felt he was reborn and he felt liberated. He felt like a good man.
On his way to the banks of the river he saw the world go by, filled with people hurrying, like himself, to wash away all their accumulated sins of the previous years; it was like it was a physical act. The roads were lined with shops selling oil, toiletries and other items devotees needed to complete their daily ablutions and their purifying ceremonies. There were old men with completely tonsured heads but for a tuft of hair symbolizing their disposition as learned men who had access to the gods.
The air was chill with the incipient winter. The crisp air made him feel fresh and pure. He felt the presence in the holy land in itself was a purifying act, his mind was feeling it. The hawkers called out to him, asking him if he needed oil, or mustard for the ritual to appease his ancestors. The tonsured men with tufted hair asked him if he needed their services to act as portents into the world of gods and his ancestors, to reach out to them and seek blessings. He noticed how a number of hawkers and shop owners were of other faiths, how one religion thrived through another he wondered and ironically how people killed each other in the name of religion he smirked into himself.
As he descended the steps to the river he saw the crowd milling around the waters edge. Some drying themselves after their purifying dip, some sitting cross legged with the tufted gentlemen sitting opposite to them with their pooja paraphernalia spread out in front of them, leading them on with mantras and actions that would make their lives better and satisfy their ancestors in the other world. There were some who were there to merge the final remains of their kin with the holy waters of the Ganges. The immortal soul to heaven and the mortal remains to the holy water of the Ganges that would lead it to the ocean.
The crows arrived to pick at the food offered to ancestors by the men making the offerings - it was considered that the ancestors took the form of crows into this physical realm and so it was with happiness this spectacle was taken in contrast to the chasing crows were subjected to in other times and places.
As he felt the water with his feet, he shivered. The winter water was freezing. Goose bumps ran up his legs and reached his arms. If the price to pay for purification of ones sins in life was a little bit of cold, he thought it was a small price to pay. He waddled into the water until he was half submerged in the icy waters.
Parvati looked with wretched eyes at the limp body of her husband as it hung lifeless from the wooden beam that supported their single room hut. Shivan's promise of money for their land didn't come.They placed their inked fingers on the documents he asked them to with promises of prosperity. No money came after a month of the land was taken and Shivan was not to be found, he had moved to the city sources said. With no land to farm and no money for the sold land, her husband, unable to bear the pressure of the lenders, chose the last and lasting solution, death.
In a fit of rage, the ragged Parvati, eyes red from vain tears and saree filthy from wallowing in the mud floor of their temporary hut, threw mud in the air cursing Shivan, never to be redeemed of his sins. It was said that this act was a curse that would render the person cursed ,to fall into the abyss of irredeemable misery.
Shivan bent, holding his nose. The water engulfed him softly. A moment of shock from the cold that permeated through the before untouched parts of his body by water. He let his mind pray to the almighty to wash away his sins. Shivan felt light. He felt holy. He felt he was reborn and he felt liberated. He felt like a good man.
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