The aroma of fresh flowers mingled with the smoke of incense to mask the slight mustiness that permeated the Shanti’s home. Inside the small prayer room where idols of gods and goddesses jostled for space with each other, Shanti intoned the shlokas at the top of her voice. Her nasal intonation was accompanied by the tintinnabulation of the brass bell she shook vigorously with her right hand. The elaborate puja, marking the first day of Navratri, was dedicated to the goddess Shailputri, the daughter of the mountains.
Last night, Shanti’s bosom friend Malathi had sent her a WhatsApp message with the instructions Shanti Devi needed to follow for a successful Navratri. Afraid of the repercussions of angering the goddess, Shanti had followed the instructions faithfully.
She had selected her orange Benarasi saree according to the colour chart of the day, and wheat had been sowed in the soil in a clay pot kept in the prayer room. In front of the idol was a silver plate with bowls of cut fruit and sabudana vada to offer as bhog to the goddess and to satiate the fasting tastebuds of Shanti.
Shanti was getting into the flow when there was banging on the outer iron gate. The rhythmic chiming of the bell stopped as Shanti frowned at the disturbance. She tried to ignore it and started shaking the bell again, but after a few minutes, the banging was repeated.
Irritated, Shanti kept the bell down and folded her hands in front of the idol, asking forgiveness for the interruption in prayers. Her anklets sang as she walked barefoot to the gate, pulling it open.
“What?” she asked the child standing on the other side.
The waif-like child trembled on seeing sparks in the eyes of the middle-aged woman in front of her.
Gulping down her fear, she said, “Maji, my younger sister and I have not eaten in two days. Would you have some leftovers for us? The goddess will bless you if you help.”
Shanti looked at the dirt-streaked face of the nine-year-old. Her tattered frock and tangled hair said there was a grain of truth in her words. But Shanti’s heart was unmoved by the plea in the child’s brown eyes. She was only aware that the auspicious time for the prayer was ticking away.
“You look hale and hearty. Why don’t you work to fill your stomach instead of begging?” She taunted.
“Now begone,” she said, clanging the gate shut as tears streamed down the child’s face.
“Had to leave my puja midway for these freeloaders,” she muttered, hastening back to her prayer room.
A few minutes later, the sound of the bell once again reverberated through the house as Shanti resumed her prayers. Fifteen minutes later, her prayers drew to an end by offering bhog to the idol.
Outside Shanti Devi’s house gate, the young girl sobbed, her sister’s listless body wrapped in her arms.
Featured Photo by Prchi Palwe on Unsplash
This post has been written for #BlogchatterFoodFest You can read the previous posts by clicking on the links below.
If you liked my post, then maybe you would be interested in checking out my books. You can find them on my Amazon author page.
undecidedindubai 
It’s so sad and thought provoking. Nicely written.
LikeLike