Frames of faith
Usha Bande

WHEN I boarded the Shimla-Delhi bus, little did I know that I would be in for a rich experience of young India. Travel "in the younger sort, is a part of education, in the elder, a part of experience," said Francis Bacon. For me, it was both as it opened up a new vista of contemporary India.

My co-traveller was a young girl in her late teens, clad in jeans and jacket, short-haired and equipped for the journey with all sorts of packets of chips and chocolates. In sum, a modern, urban girl, exuding an unmistakable public-school ethos. We smiled at each other, adjusting ourselves in our respective seats as the bus jerked and hummed.

After about ten minutes, I felt a kind of quick, cautious movement of her hand and noticed her in a sort of obeisance. I looked in the direction of her gaze. The bus had taken a sharp turn and we were crossing the Dargah of Hazrat Salotri Baba near Ghora Chouki in whom a large number of Shimlaites profess faith, irrespective of religious beliefs. Two turns more. At the Sankat Mochan temple again the girl sent a quick prayer and about five minutes later she turned her gaze at the huge, thickly wooded mountain-side where nestles the Tara Devi temple, invisible from the road, though. The mode of her prayer intrigued me. With her right palm slightly bent, she would place her forefinger horizontally on her forehead, lightly kiss the finger, then touch her heart and then shoulders as if to make a cross. After that, it was simple. Any place of worship, whether on the right or the left side of the road, or gleaming atop some far off hillock etched out against the blue sky, or snug amid thick foliage, attracted her "praying" gaze. Churches, gurdwaras, the Dargah of Nau Gaza Pir and temples en route.

Indeed, I was curious beyond the limits of decency. I discreetly asked her name. "Gauri," she said. That placed her in a particular frame. I wanted to probe into those young eyes to see what lay behind those prayers—may be the welfare of her family or success in the examination or it could be a secret appeal for the fulfillment of a sweet dream of a young, recently-sprouted romance.

During that nine-hour journey, I became aware how the 390-kilometre stretch from Shimla to Delhi was dotted with innumerable places of worship. The Census in its recent report gives stunning statistics that we have 2.4 million places of worship in India which is much more than the educational institutions and hospitals put together. Statistics aside, I was keen to talk to her, to get her views on her typical secular attitude, of course, without embarrassing her or sounding rude.

I smiled at her again before starting a conversation. She was "Gauri Sharma," studying for her graduation in a prestigious institution, she volunteered the information.

"You believe in the oneness of all religions. That's good, very heartening," I ventured. "Oh, aren't all religions one, Ma'm," she asked. Her eyes had that clear look of untainted youthful dream that one cannot but admire.

"What about all this hullabaloo—the Babri and Ayodhya, Godhra and its aftermath, caste and other divides?" I persisted.

"Those aren't our doings, are they?" She counter-questioned with confidence. "Neither yours nor mine, Ma'm." She said with bold, frank assertion.

Whose doings are they, indeed?

I didn't think it sensible to ask the obvious.

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