Lakshmi Narayan
There was once a lady — simple and straightforward — who thought good and did good without contemplating twice about it. When their guru visited them, she asked him how she could better herself. “Prayer is the most important form of worship,” he pontificated. “You must offer benediction to the Creator daily without fail.”
“What mantras should I chant?” she asked him. So he taught her a long, complicated Sanskrit shloka, which was such a word-twister, she could barely wrap her tongue around it.
She tried her level best to chant it properly. She faithfully got up in the morning, had her bath, and sat in the puja room. But she could not concentrate because she was constantly interrupted either by the milkman who wanted to know how many litres she needed, or the cook who asked what to make for breakfast, or her pa-in-law who couldnʼt find the morning papers or her hubby whoʼd mislaid his socks or by her kids who wanted their pocket money.
She tried to do her devotions when she was alone — which was seldom, given that she belonged to a bustling joint family. Her mind would wander, wondering what her daughter was up to, or whether she should make mango pickle on its own or with lime added. In the afternoons, she caught up with household chores like darning, stitching etc. In the evenings, she had her must-watch TV serials. At night, she was too tired out.
Being a genuine sort of person, she apologised to the Divine several times. “Sorry, Iʼve been busy helping my son with his term exams,” or, “I intended to finish my prayers before the day was done. But hubby called to say heʼs bringing the boss over and Iʼve got to get everything ready.” Her conversations with the Creator went from morning to night, when she told him everything that was happening. It was just that she couldnʼt stop to offer her prayers properly.
Every five minutes or so, sheʼd mutter, “God, I wanted to tell you about Ritwickʼs poor showing in his exams. Can you please help?” Or, “Guess what! Hubby surprised me with a lovely sari. I’m so happy!” Or, “I tried a new recipe today. And everyone liked it.” Every now and then, she would determinedly sit and focus on the Sanskrit shloka. But she never got beyond repeating it more than five or six times.
One day, a sadhu turned up at her doorstep. She welcomed him in and lovingly prepared a meal with her own hands. After he had eaten, she sat down on the floor and pressed his legs. When he asked her if she lacked anything, she confessed, “Swamiji, by the grace of our kul devta (family deity), everything is fine. But for the fact that Iʼm unable to pray in the correct manner. This troubles me a lot. What should I do?”
The ascetic was quiet for a while. Then he asked, “Child, can you explain whatʼs a mantra?”
“Thatʼs easy! Itʼs an invocation that I have to utter with faith and reverence.”
“Think again. What exactly is it?”
After much head-scratching, she said hesitantly. “I guess itʼs praising God, and ….”
“And what? Isnʼt prayer a conversation between you and the Almighty? When you tell him about your day, ask him for help, confide in him, thank him, isnʼt that a prayer? Why, my child, do you need to sit in a corner and mutter undecipherable sounds? In fact, Iʼd say you are in prayer 24 hours a day, just the way you are!”
Prayers need not be formal. We can talk to the Almighty in whichever way we like, provided it’s from the heart.
(Excerpted from Fables from Beyond, Authors Upront, 2020)
Journalist, author and animal activist Lakshmi Narayan is a former assistant editor of Femina and former editor of Eve’s Weekly & Flair
