The abandoned Ganesh in Chandrapur

 The air was heavy that evening, and the moon-goddess showering her splendor upon us enticed me to a higher spiritual plane. My friends and I were accountants at a city firm, and besides a trip to Goa, nothing out of the ordinary seemed to transpire in our lives. Hoping to make the best of a long weekend we decided, in a moment of the best of great confidence, to visit the waterfall at Chandrapur.

While we set up lamp near a tiny rivulet, the dallying bees buzzed with an almost divine intention, and the fish in the stream danced to an equal degree - we were among the four groups to visit that evening, and although we would have vied for a spot in a city mall, nature did not bid us so. After a spirited roasting of nuts and singing of songs, we reclined on the mat of grass laid out by nature, with a feeling of great elation. It was almost as if divine minstrels, Gandharvas, were enjoying their music above us.

At the middle of night, I alone woke up and betwixt the mist of the forest, I could spot a tiny clearing. Leaving my friends in the realm of sleep, I woke up thoroughly and walked past the various trees and shrubs, almost as if, I were a moth drawn to a flame.

The pristine forest, engaged my senses, in a manner never before known to me. The songs of the birds drove me to joy, but the soft dressing of leaves and flowers beneath my feet propelled me to bliss. It was an ancient forest I supposed - a site of many wars and festivals, as well as rains and floods. Untouched by the skyscrapers of Ranchi, nature’s beauty stood magnificently.

Crrck! My reverie was broken by the harsh, polytomous snapping of a twig beneath my feet. And in that state of the expensive night sky, wet with a sense of curiosity that overcame my feeling of fright, I urged myself to more towards the tiny speckling.

The cold, soothing air of the forest brushing against my face, I moved with trance like resolve, and to my surprise, there was massive stone structure. Stippled and punctuated with cracks, a quadrangular slab of stone teased me with abstract lack of meaning. While in the city, all stone is dedicated to business or pleasure, here it seems not.

With stream of thought, I looked to the sky hoping to find the moon, but finding instead a giant stone arch, with a monstrous face guarding it, almost mocking me not to enter.

Still unperturbed by fright, I entered, my feet falling a rhythmic pattern, the march of the Vanara armies of lore, so to speak. And in the march of life, came to me, a shock of sublime nature, for between those quadrangle stone slabs was a tiny shrine. And sitting atop, a petit icon of Ganesha. With a trunk of splendor and tusks of saber sharpness, he sat up in the slab with his pot belly, making me wonder what mysteries he holds insides. A tiny flame, warming my shoulder, lay lit next to him. In my wonder of this work of grandeur, from which era I knew not, I failed to notice a loud formulaic chant behind me.

Growing louder and louder, it approached me, almost like a tiger approaching its prey, and with equal grace. I revolved around, to see before me a frail man, of not less than eighty, his white beard only overshadowed by his deep brown eyes. In equal admiration of his dreamy nature, and fear of his forlorn bodice, I jolted away, my feet dragging my body as sharply as they could.

That was when he proclaimed, in chaste Hindi, “Wait! It is I who must be excited, for I have been waiting for you my son, but you never came”.

Anchored by his word, I leaned back, to be asked to sit on a slab of stone. The man explained that this was once the temple of a small village here. Built by a king, and administered by a powerful minister, it had seen glorious festivals with music and dance. Altercations with a neighboring kingdom led to the village’s demise, and the temple, built with the strongest rock stood the test of time. The roof however has withered away. I know not by flame or thunder”, he cried.

While my head turned towards the glorious deity, resplendent Ganesh, he proclaimed,

“Oh! Vinayak,

While once you were worshipped by Kings and Queens

Now you can claim my humble sheen”.

And as he sang, he lay prostrate in front of the altar, his hands forming a mudra, a pattern of peace. An unexplainable force pulled me along, and very soon my chest found itself against the ground.

Getting up after a minute’s hiatus, I bid farewell to the man, who was still in the ground. Walking back with a deep sense of satisfaction, I pondered about what the man had said, ‘Indeed, Kings and Queens rise and fall, temples and cities are built and destroyed, but nature’s beautiful Song punctuated by the divine never dies.’

Spotting my friends, still deep within the clutches of sleep, I looked to the skies, and pondered, ’Why was he waiting for me, and who was he?’. Finding myself unable to answer such questions, I laid myself to rest, thanking the stars for whatever poesy I had claim to, for indeed - the air was heavy that evening, and the moon-goddess showering her splendor upon us, enticed me to a higher spiritual plane.