Of Gods and People

A story

For a few years I have not written a kissa (tale) about our Asian-Indian community in Bergen 

County, because nothing was worth telling. But as I grabbed my pen and started to scribble the evening after the fateful day when words gushed from the tongues of Mrs. Sharma and Mrs. 

Tiwari in the hallowed air of our temple merging into a cesspool of confusion and mayhem, 

words rolled on the paper through streams of sentences into puddles of paragraphs, which, in 

turn, merged, into a big pond of a story. 

The kissa started over a mole hill but blew up into a mountain and was now tearing apart the 

very fabric of our temple which was the heart of our community – like Mahabharata that started over mere five villages that the Pandavas demanded of Duryodhana. The problems with 

problems is that their size does not depend upon their size but upon the perceptions of those 

who have them. To the president, there was no problem and to the two women it was a 

cataclysmic, almost life-threatening, problem of gargantuan proportions. The rest were caught 

in the whirlwind. 

Mrs. Tiwari had joined our temple six years ago with her husband Subhash and children Chinki and Titu. I vividly remember their debut in the temple – Subhash in a cream colored silk kurta 

pajama (An Asian Indian traditional dress) and Manju in a hand embroidered salwar kameez 

(An Asian Indian traditional dress) with a glittering gold colored bindi on her forehead, and 

Chinki in ghaghra koti (An Asian Indian traditional dress) and Titu in a kurta pajama that their 

grandma sent from Delhi with a visiting friend. A beaming Mrs. Sharma introduced the couple 

and the president welcomed the new members. Everyone clapped. Each new member was an asset especially those with children because they were likely to stay for the long haul. 

The friendship between Tiwaris and Sharmas grew along with their children. Chinki joined 

Rekha Sharma in every bharat natyam (A South Indian classical dance) practice and in every 

lip-synching Bollywood dance. They prepared temple prasad together, emceed in diwali

and holi (Hindu festivals) in tandem, and got religious values poured down the ears, if not in 

the minds, of their children, at Sunday school. The mothers came for their children’s sake - they wanted their children to learn Hindu values and culture. 

“Behnji(sister), see the Jews, Christians, and Muslims who make their children go to the 

Sunday schools. Only Hindus are ashamed of their religion,” Mrs. Sharma often said and everyone nodded. 

Fathers seldom came to the temple. They took care of the worldly matters of the family while 

their wives took care of the spiritual matters. The mothers showcased the service, the lectures, 

and the hymns to visiting relatives from India, particularly the grandparents, who watched in awe

the well-orchestrated religious service in an alien land. The grandparents thanked themselves 

for the good work they did in raising their children and God for letting them reap the fruits of 

past karma and sow the seeds of good karma for their next life. All was fine and dandy until thatfateful day.

As the secretary of education, Mrs. Sharma invited learned speakers who taught the Hindu 

concepts of selfless karma, of reincarnation, of God, of virtues, of yoga or union with God, and moksha (spiritual liberation). Touching upon Hindu history, some speakers full throatily declaredthat Hinduism was the oldest and most scientific religion of the world and many thumped the 

lectern with their clenched fists to wake up the devout to action against attacks from Christians and left wing secular Hindus. Many informed the credulous listeners that the Muslim namaz 

(Muslim prayer) was actually a form of yoga, that the stone of kaaba (Holiest shrine of Muslims) was a shivlinga - stone symbol of Lord Shiva), and the Christian amen was distorted om 

(The holiest Hindu sound). Firmly believing that Hinduism was the most tolerant and democratic religion, Mrs. Sharma invited speakers from all denominations of Hinduism – the Vaishnavites, the Shaivites, the Shakts, the tantrics, the devotees of Mata, the devotees of Rama, of 

Hanumana, of Krishna, of Kaali, of Balaji, of Venkateshwara, of Nataraja, of Dakshineshawar, of Ganesha, of Subramanium, of Kartikeya, of Radha, of Sai Baba, of Mehar Baba, of Sadhu Vasvani, of Murari Bapu, of Dayananda Saraswati, of MahaMayi, of Anandamyi, of 

Gopeshawri Devi,of Gayatri Pariwar, of Akshar Bhagwan, the Vedic, the Vedantic, the Arya 

Samajis, the Brahma Samajis, the Brahma Kumaris, the Ananda Margis, yogis, and the New 

Age Hindus. (Some of the Hindu denominations in the USA). To her God was everywhere andin everything – in people, in birds, in trees, in stone, in dust, in rives, and in air. Although He waseverywhere and in everything, He could take an earthly form as a he or a she, or as both, as a 

lion, as a turtle, or even as a boar, if need be. He could incarnate in one body at a time or many bodies at the same time. To Mrs. Sharma every sign, every symbol, and every ritual, and every story, and everything in Hinduism had a higher meaning – the pot belly of Ganesha, the linga 

emerging from the yoni, the blue color of Krishna, the snakes around the neck of Shiva, the five husbands of Drupadi, the assumed blindness of Gandhari, the infanticide of Ganga, the blood-drenched tongue of Kaali, and coming of Vishnu as turtle, as a dwarf, and the amorous antics 

of Radha and Krishna.(A few figures of Hindu mythology) The ancient Hindu seers had realized esoteric truths which they mystified and codified into exoteric signs, symbols, and stories for 

the common Hindus. Common folks need signs and symbols to learn the abstract concepts of 

love, compassion, tolerance, and focus on God. The signs, symbols, and stories were like 

locks on the kingdom of God, keys of which had been lost by the Hindus because of pseudo-

secularism of Pundit Nehru and left-wing Hindus. But thanks to Ramananda Sagar’s Ramayanaand K.C. Chopra’s Mahabharata, Hindus were waking up and our temple was a testimony to 

that awakening. And Mrs. Sharma was playing her part in that awakening by inviting Gurus fromall corners of India and abroad to open the gates of the kingdom of God, by explicating the 

signs, symbols, and stories. She catered to people of all types of temperament. She doused 

the Nachiketas (protagonist of Katha Upanishad) fire of curiosity of the knowledge mongers; 

arranged yoga classes for the action oriented, and arranged hymn singing and parable (katha) narration, particularly of the story of Satya Naraina (God of Truth), for those who didn't want to 

think or act, but just wanted peace. After all, in Hinduism there are many paths to God. Mrs. 

Sharma believed in all the paths. She could walk one mile on one path, go the next on another, 

the third on the next, and then go back on the first. She hoped to savor all the paths by the end 

of her day and desired that she could walk on all the paths at the same time or just cover the 

whole journey to God in three steps and be done with it, like Vishnu who covered the whole 

world in three steps. 

Things were going well in the material life as well, and why shouldn’t they after so much 

investment in the spiritual bank. Rekha was turning into a fine young lady. Adept in Bharat 

Natayam and Bollywood pop dances she participated in all the functions. She participated in 

cross cultural exchanges with other churches and volunteered for the Habitat for Humanity. All 

that would look so good on her resume. Raju too was not far behind. Because of the opportu-

nities he got to speak in the children’s program in the temple he shed his audience phobia and became a good orator. And last but not the least, both children had a bunch of Indian friends 

through the temple. She was scared of the American children – “drugs vrugs, kissing vissing,"

and are baba (colloquial Hindi figures of speech in which words are repeated in rhyming 

spoonerisms for emphasis) God knows what else these Americans do,” she used to say disdainfully, “and their families, divorces, no values, gaande chhi (immoral).” And then they had their 

own social life – the card parties, the picnics, the weddings, and wakes with the Tiwaries, the 

Guptas, and the Shahs. Everything was fine and dandy until that fateful day of the youth group 

havan. (Religious service in which fire is lighted in an urn and Vedic mantras are chanted collectively.)

It was one of the two havans that the children performed every year. The boys were dressed in white, off-white or cream colored kurta pajamas and girls in white or light colored salwar 

kameezes, with saffron colored Om/Rama sashes thrown across their shoulders. Their parents had prepared the Prasad (Sanctified food offered to the devotees after the service) -- a five 

course meal to be served in one course by the children after the religious service. The children had their lines typed or written on paper. Some had written their parts themselves and for some the parents or grandparents had written them. Anticipation was in the air – the hallowed air 

through which the smell of incense wafted and the rays of the spring sun traversed to make a 

latticework of light on the white sheets laid on the floor. Air that was soon going to resonate withthe divine energy of the Vedic mantras and was going to be purified by the herbs offered in 

oblation to the sacrificial fire. Titu, Chinki, Rekha, and Vijay took up positions around the

fire and took out the sheets on which the facilitator had transliterated the Sanskrit mantras for 

the children. Other children sat behind them in concentric circles. The facilitator sat in the back-ground and the children started chanting the mantras in their American accents. The parents 

smiled demurely, satisfied at the graduation of their children from the school of Hindu values; grandparents beamed in joy for having passed their cultural legacy to their posterity; cameras clicked and lights flashed; and videos were made. 

After the chanting ended, the children’s program got underway. “Lord Krishna loves a person 

who bears no ill-will toward anyone, is friendly, compassionate, forgiving, and free from attach-ment and self-conceit, and,” Rekha Sharma said. Everyone applauded. 

“Perform your duty selflessly, as a sacrifice, without any ulterior motives, and leave the results to God,” Chinki Tiwari explained the Hindu theory of Karma. Everyone applauded again. 

“Hail Lord Ganesha whose mother is Parvati and father, the great Lord Shiva,” a toddler 

mumbled bashfully and haltingly as his mother prompted him. The audience said oooo and how cute. 

The Patel children sang a hymn, “Lord! Give us mental strength so that we may win ourselves 

before we win others.” Applause again! When no other child came forward, the president 

asked for a big round of applause for the young speakers and the audience complied 

thunderously.

The children got up one by one and received their certificates of participation from 

octogenarian Uncle Taneja. The parents and grandparents applauded again.

Then came the fateful moment!   

The outgoing president of the youth group invited nominations for the coming year’s team. 

Someone nominated Rekha Sharma for the position of the president. A few children and their 

parents applauded. When the applause died down, although it died down slowly because 

Mrs. Sharma and Titu were too elated to stop, someone got up and proposed the name of 

Chinki Tiwari for president. 

“But there’s only one position of president, “Mrs. Sharma interjected, “You mean president or 

vice president.” 

“No, for president,” the nominator insisted. 

“How can you do this? I am a founder member of this temple and Rekha has been attending 

every function and every class of this temple. She is the most suited to be the president of the 

youth group,” a piqued Mrs. Sharma said loudly.

“What founding of the temple has to do with youth group elections? Chinki has also been 

attending all the classes and participating in all the functions and the byelaws call for elections” Mrs. Tiwari retorted. “Mrs. Sharma, temple is not your hereditary property. We too have been 

paying our dues and preparing prasad,” she continued. 

The candidates and the voters stayed quiet. It’s impolite for children to talk when elders talk, even if they are talking about them. Mothers, especially, could even talk for children - that is what Hindu family values are all about, love of children. 

Suddenly the Brahman, the One and only One, shattered into many individual souls clamoring 

for their rightful, hierarchical to be exact, place in the universe. Mrs. Sharma metamorphosed 

into Chandi,(The wrathful form of Mother goddess) the Wrathful, ready to stake her place at the 

top by killing the demon of ungratefulness. 

“Don’t not forget that I introduced you to this satsangi temple, Mrs. Tiwari. You’re not even a 

born satsangi. I was born into a satsangi family. Mrs. Sharma screamed angrily.

“Behnji, don’t be angry. Lord Krishna says in Gita that anger destroys intellect,” the priest 

advised.

“Do not preach about anger-vanger to me, Punditji (priest). I also know dharma. Didn’t lord Shiva become angry when Ganesha forbade him to enter his own house,” Mrs. Sharma turned on 

the priest. “I’m not beheading anyone’s head like Shiva did. I’m just fighting for my daughter’s 

rights.”

“Behnji, why are you bringing Ganesha and Shiva into this worldly fight? That story must have some higher meaning that you and I don’t know.”

“Punditji, be quiet and mind your business of doing puja (religious service) and don’t forget that I hired you,” Mrs. Sharma chided the priest.

“Why can’t we have four presidents? After all democracy means equal opportunity for all,” a 

past president and elder of the temple advised. “Four children will have the presidency on their resumes instead of one.” 

“But the byelaws will have to be changed for this,” the current president of the temple replied.

Others jumped in pulling the ropes from either side like the mythical churning of the sea by 

demons and gods as if the youth group presidency were the mythical nectar. Older children 

watched in shock and dismay, while the younger ones clutched their moms’ saris; a few even 

cried and were taken out by their mothers. Some adults requested Mrs. Tiwari to ask her

daughter to withdraw her name. 

“No, why should she. It doesn't matter if my daughter becomes the president or not, but it’s is a matter of principle,” Mrs. Tiwari rejected the suggestions. “Every child should get equal 

opportunity.” 

“Equal opportunity, my foot! I know your politics. You’ve been doing favors to the children in the

cultural programs to obtain more votes for Chinki,” Mrs. Sharma snarled. 

“Manju! You’re also not milk-washed. You've been showcasing Rekha’s oratory in educational 

programs to make her more popular,” Mrs. Tiwari countered instantaneously.

“Behnji, too much moha (attachment) for children is not good. Lord Rama had to go jungle 

because Kaikayi, deluded by moha, demanded that her son, Bharata, (Stepmother and step 

brother of Lord Rama in the Hindu epic of Ramayana) be made the king instead of his rightful

older brother Rama,” the priest brought out another arrow from his quiver of Hindu mythology.

“Punditji, you stay out of it,” both women simultaneously turned on the priest, “What do you know

about raising children in Amrika?(Hindi pronunciation of America)” The priest had been 

imported from India.

Fearing that the tongue fight may evolve into a fist fight, the president decreed that the electionsmust go on. And they did. In the backdrop of long faces and cavils of their parents, the thirteen members of the youth group voted by secret ballot. Chinki Tiwari won by one vote.

“I bet on my mother, I haven’t seen people more ungrateful people in the whole world,” Mrs. 

Sharma ranted as she stomped out with Rekha and Vijay in tow, leaving a few grumbling 

supporters to boo the president. 

Everyone chipped in with an opinion. A pandemonium was about to break out when the 

president declared an end to the service and called upon everyone to sing the aarati (the 

parting hymn) and chant the peace mantra. The mothers scrambled to bring their tiny tots to the mike and every one sang the aarati in chorus. The priest then led everyone in the unity prayer, “Let us live in harmony and love one another. Let us make a strong community with a common 

resolve.” The service ended with the peace invocation. “Let there be peace in the brighter 

regions of the galaxy, in the midregions between the sun and earth, on earth, in water, herbs, 

vegetation…….let there be peace all around, peace, peace, peace!” 

No sooner than the peace invocation service was over, the floor was divided in two camps, onerepresenting the old establishment that opined that Mrs. Sharma, a veteran of the temple, was 

treated unfavorably, and a younger progressive one, who wanted to celebrate the victory

of democracy and change over tradition. Angry words were exchanged and supporters of Mrs. Sharma angrily confronted the president to declare the election null and void. Not making much headway, the supporters of Mrs. Sharma left huffing and puffing without taking the blessed 

prasad.

Mrs. Sharma hasn’t been seen in the temple for many years now. It’s rumored that she started ahymn singing group of her own that summer. “There is no religion-viligon in the Satsangi 

temple, only politics” she has been heard to say. Her daughter, Rekha, became the founder 

president of the nascent youth group of the nascent organization and went to an Ivy League 

school. She is going out with an American guy these days.

Mrs. Tiwari, too, is rarely seen in the temple now. Both her children are off to college, and she 

has founded a teen patti (Game of three cards, also called Flush) party. “What is in religion, old weather-beaten tales? We went for our children’s sake – to teach them some Indian values and for Mummyji and Papaji – they had good time,” she has been overheard to say. Chinki went to a state school after a successful year as the youth group president. She never returned to the 

temple and knitted her eyebrows if anyone asked her why she didn’t go, “Are you kidding, 

temple and me?”