On the short walk from the bus to my office, there is a shrine that sits in the middle of the sidewalk and everyday, I walk behind it.
There it sits, on top of uneven bricks, a marble sort of semi-circle with a stone-god facing the street.
So centered is it, that I must choose to walk past the gods and deity of a religion unknown to me, or I cross it and I wonder if its stone eyes can follow me.
I walk behind it, mostly not to disturb the devotees bowing down to it (oh so obediently).
I’ve seen men stand in front of it, I trace their fingers as they move from stone to head, fingers tipped in red.
I’ve watched women, place fruits at the feet of a god who says nothing, and I’ve watched as, babies unfed, they pour milk onto the gray stone that rivers onto the street.
I’ve watched people pray in the middle of dusty roads, they don’t mind that they’re obstructing my path. I question if I mind the offerings they give are responded with nothing.
Today, I saw a man, standing, dawrasural on, open bag in hand, and to a god that is silent- he did not pray.
To a god that says nothing- he asked for nothing.
Instead, the man, he wavered and to a god that gives not, he did the opposite.
The offerings of someone else: two bananas, perhaps some oranges
and I couldn’t help but smile.
When the gods don’t give anything, is it so wrong to take?