“Can’t we go to the other temple Mumma, it’s a lot cleaner”,
I said, grimacing as I maneuvered myself away from a soup of poo. Huge grimy dogs
were loitering around, following visitors who carried anything that remotely looked
like food in their hands. No sooner had we stepped out, three little kids
dressed in rags and with soiled faces started following me saying, “Didi paise
de do, Didi de do”. “I have no money to give” I muttered, opening out my arms,
to show them that I, in fact had none.
We had come here on a mission, it had been detected that
the reason for my frequent illnesses was actually because of a guy named ‘Rahu’.
Men always create problems, don’t they sistaah?(*black girl headroll*)
Strangely, I had no clue who he was. Just a loser who was stalking my life and
eclipsing all my happiness. Well, damn
him! As there was no option for me to file a restraining order against that
creep, I had to get rid of him by conducting the prescribed puja and after that
I would go back 1188 miles away to college the next day, happily ever after.
Meet-Rahu, the creep responsible for all my troubles. Dashing, isn't he?
“Inhe Rahu ki puja ke liye kaha gaya hai?” Panditji said,
his brow furrowing worriedly looking at me sympathetically as if I’d just been
diagnosed with cancer. Thick horn-rimmed glasses, a shiny expensive-looking
watch glistening on his wrist and a grey waistcoat on top of his dhoti, he
looked more like an IBM working professional rather than a priest. We followed
him inside the gallery of statues, to stop in front of Goddess Durga. She’s
always struck me as the most perfect symbols of feminist rage; with powerful eyes,
a trident in her hand piercing bad-man Mahishasura(I admit it, I had to google
his name, forgive my unbaked Indian mythology knowledge) and a lion at her
feet. I was happy that out of all the myriad Gods and Goddesses, it was she who
would, um… I don’t know, get rid of Mr. Rahu for me.
But it wasn't all so easy. Panditji told us that Rahu ki puja
takes a long time with weekly mini-pujas, concluding with a havan. He said
gravely, “It is like when you are administered medicines, you have to complete
the whole course to cure the disease”. We nodded our heads severely in
response. But because my mother had come equipped with all the puja
paraphernalia, he told us that he would perform a quickie for “temporary relief”.
And so began the indecipherable chanting, and we folded our hands obediently. A
staccato ringtone buzzed from Panditji’s pocket, interrupting our little party,
as he flourished out his Iphone and silenced it. After it was all over, he
fished out his visiting card, saying that in case of any 'emergency', he was just a
call away. I tried to straighten my face as my giggles had already started
erupting. My mother, clutching money in her hands asked, “Yeh kahaan pe..?..
yahaan… ya phir” glancing towards Devi’s statue and at him, her awkwardness
very visible to me. “Wahaan pe”, he said, pointing to Devi’s feet, in a very
professional manner.
As we came out, I asked my mother, “He will be the one eventually
taking the money, right?”
“Of course!” she said and she, my sister and I
laughed all the way as we drove back home.
