It was a rainy Sunday evening, an unforgettable one for the people of Chennai as it was a day or two before the cyclone of Michaung had gently embraced the city and its suburbs. The clouds had started rehearsing for the actual showers to follow and the streets demanded for water transport already. Yet, the new aquatic outlook of the city had not stopped me from my regular visits to the St. Thomas mount church.
My usual cycling route to the Church, which requires fifteen minutes of cycling otherwise, called for one hour of locomotion which included cycling, walking, running, floating, swimming and all the other indistinguishable actions in between. Finally, after being baptized by the city streets, I reached the bottom of the hillock. The white arch, with 298 years of work experience, was guarding the staircase leading to the Church. A statue of St.Thomas, an apostle of Jesus Christ who is believed to have stayed in this hillock during the last phase of his life, stood inside the cement cavity at the top of the arch.
“Rain clouds and gentle drizzles seem to have this magical capacity to make the quotidian world look astonishingly beautiful. It necessitates a pause in our mundane existence to notice its beauty that we otherwise tend to ignore. All of a sudden, open windows, cozy rooms, shabby streets and noisy people become surprisingly pleasant!” I thought as I walked into the arch admiring its beauty which I had ignored till then.
The staircase leading to the church had begun to vaguely resemble Niagara falls, as I made my way up against the force of the muddy rain water cascading down the steps. The cold winds were dancing to the beats of the drizzle which was steadily progressing towards a mighty downpour. Within a few minutes, the deluge sounded like it was applauding to this performance. Cheered by the clapping, the winds started to gyrate wildly, forcefully inviting me to the worlds above. The umbrella I held had already accepted the invitation. Soon I realized that I was swaying in accordance with the rhythm of the rain and the song of the winds.
The life-size statue of St.Thomas placed midway between the white arch and the church greeted me with a gentle smile. That smile meant a lot more than it had ever done.
“You know,” the statue seemed to say, “the difference between you and I is very simple. Just as you are physically swaying to the music of the storm, you are also swaying to the illusions of your world. I stand firm in this storm. That which keeps me grounded is faith. Faith in my god and faith in the absolute.” it said.
“Yes!” I replied with a gentle beam. “I recognize the difference and I am conscious of it. Yet, I do not frown at it. Rather, I acknowledge this difference and place myself in this position at will. I do not want to be grounded. I want to sway with the music of the storms, dance to the rhythm of the rains, float with the tunes of the floods. At present, I do not seek a grounding in anything and in faith as well. I wish to wander across faiths internally and across faithscapes externally, not with an intention of finding a perfect grounding but to explore it with the capacity of my intellect. I not only enjoy this journey, I also have a sense of freedom in knowing that I can continue it at will, without the fear of being committed and therefore, disloyal to a faith ” I replied.
“But,” the statue seemed to reason. “You know very well that the capacity of human intellect is very limited. You will arrive at and seek faith at some point in your journey” it said.
“Yes!” I responded. “In fact, I am looking forward to that. I understand that human intellect is limited. But, I have not realized the dimensions of the space that it limits. I wish to wander that space, understand its characteristics and limitations. After that, I would want to commit myself to a faith that resonates with my experiences in this journey. Who knows, my journey may eventually lead me to it, But, until then, I shall be responsible enough to not commit myself to something that I do not understand.” I replied, retaining my smile.
“Well!” said the statue. “Have a happy, safe and a prosperous journey” it seemed to wish. We exchanged goodbyes and I proceeded further.
When I eventually reached the entrance of the church, I was bathed for a lifetime. The rattling of my teeth would have put several infants to sleep. The warm and cozy hallway of the church felt like a blessing. I seated myself in one of the old wooden benches and wished that evaporation was a faster process. After a while, I started feeling my body, which had been numb till then. The rains got heavier and the church hall felt like a submarine swimming through the storm.
After I had settled down, I looked around for fellow earthlings and was surprised to find only two, a middle aged man who was reading verses from the bible and another who was fast asleep. Neither had noticed me as they were very involved in their own means of connecting with the divine.
I pulled out the book that I had carried with me and began to read. It was a book about Indian Philosophy and I was reading the chapter about Vedanta. The author was discussing Adi Shankara’s Ghatabashya. The three hours I spent reading inside the St.Thomas mount church was one of the many memorable and blissful moments I have had as a reader. Once again, I had realized the value of faith that is accessible beyond the boundaries of religion!
At the substratum of every religion lies faith and the vigor that has motivated and empowered individuals in their search for the truth. Religion has provided seekers with the backing and a suggestive framework for this pursuit. However, powerful agencies which subsequently inherit, engage and adopt these religions, have transformed this vigor and suggestive framework into an exclusive power and an assertive boundary. This has not only made religion a divisive force, but overshadowed the unitive substratum. Individuals who have been able to access this substratum have been able to question, criticize, neglect and rise above these boundaries. They are also remembered and cherished as the pointers to the substratum beneath these worldly boundaries.
Later that evening, after I got home and pulled out my towel for a hot water shower, “Stormy evening and Adhi Shankara in a church hall” I exclaimed as I felt the weight of the boundaries that I had apparently transcended. Truly a syncretic Sunday I had had!
Acknowledgements:
- Proofreading: - J.Ram
