Visit to Temple of Lord Durga

December 12, 2009 by hughcampbell

Visit to the temple of Lord Durga

We went with a friend to her favorite temple – the temple of Lord Durga, a powerful goddess within the pantheon of Hindu gods and goddesses. Our friend first purchased some flowers, a coconut, two lemons and two bananas from a fruit stand outside the temple – enough for her to present on behalf of herself, her mother and family, my wife and I, as visitors. Before entering the temple we first washed the front and back of our feet at three taps protruding from a small wall near the temple, so our feet would be clean upon entering the temple, then walked twenty meters on a dirty concrete pathway to the temple entrance.
As we entered the gate we followed the example of those ahead of us and stepped over the two raised gold plates at the gates. We walked into a gated area where we walked between two handrails towards a shrine. Entering the first shrine I noticed three designs above the door – the middle one being Lord Durga. Worshippers raised their right hand and touched the representation of Lord Durga before entering the shrine.
Inside the shrine, our friend presented her gift of fruit to the priest, who in turn, prayed over it, then held it in front of him as he turned to face the idol of Lord Durga; he chanted some prayers, mentioning our friend’s name, her mother, and our names. His prayers said, the priest turned, faced us and said a few words to our friend. She smiled.
Leaving that particular shrine or worship cove, we stopped before a table which held a bowl of water. A young priest took a spoonful of water and placed it in my hands. I was to drink some water, and sprinkle some over my head. I drew the water to my face, dripped some over my head, and rinsed my hands with the water that remained.
As we passed by other idols we noticed areas where worshippers had placed a candle, flower, or food as an act of worship. We also passed by, and I later entered, a worshipping area where gods representing the planets were set on altar like block. People, who were concerned about mistakes they had made or sins they had committed, walked nine times in a tight circle around the gods praying for forgiveness for their mistakes or errors. Our friend told us that these gods were related to astrological signs and were very powerful.
We passed by another idol of Lord Durga, this one covered with string or thread like material which held tightly rolled notes, which initially worshippers would have placed in the idol’s hand. Lord Durga has great power to intervene on a person’s behalf, should she choose to do so; she can create a god to destroy a demon, if necessary or requested. The person making the request, however, needs to be worthy of intervention, or to have lived a good life for such an intervention to occur.
Another shrine area contained a number of supply barrels full of provisions provided by the donations from devotees who came to the temple – meals were made for worshippers. If a poor person came, s/he would be fed, as that was only right. The food that was offered to the gods was used to feed the priests, with the rest given to the poor.
The gods recreate themselves – gods and goddesses can create a demon(s) to exist for a specific timeframe and allow it to wreak havoc and destruction, before being destroyed by a goddess created for that purpose. For a life to be created, a life must be destroyed, thus creating or maintaining a balance. In the end, the forces of good are more powerful than evil, in that evil is kept in check by the pantheon of gods.
As gods recreate themselves, so do humans, possibly with or without the assistance of the gods, continuing on earth at a higher level if their previous life was worthy, or continuing on earth at a lower level, if their previous life was not worthy.
Considering the pantheon of gods within the Hindu framework, each with its own story passed down from generation to generation, I can easily imagine parents passing on these stories to their children asking “why” or “how” and the dutiful parents telling a story(ies) of the gods in response. The gods are visible, and can be touched (if touching is permitted). In combination with a well told fascinating story – and some of the stories are fascinating, full of passion, treachery, violence, conflict, and revenge – a child couldn’t help but believe it, and sharing stories heard with their friends.
After our tour of the temple and on our way home, our friend told us that she had gone to a Christian Church on at least one occasion and there she participated in communion – eating cracker dipped in wine. She felt bad about what she had done, and hoped that she hadn’t offended Jesus, whom she considered one of many gods, and a good one, a good teacher, but one she couldn’t relate to as well as Lord Durga.
As my friend shared her story, I admired her honesty and transparency, her desire to live a good life, to be good to people, her story not so different from mine. Her parents told her stories about the gods, she listened to them, and clung to the story she liked, the story of Lord Durga. When I, as a child asked questions, my parents told me stories about the God of Abraham, Issac and Jacob; the Protector of Hagar the mother of Ishmael; and the beloved Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, Moses, King David, the prophets, and the people. The stories were alive, far reaching.
When I think of the Children of Israel falling away from the True God, the God of Abraham, Issac, and Jacob, I see them pursuing gods that were visible from a distance and up close. And though these gods may have been hideous and grotesque in appearance, at least they could be seen – they didn’t require much imagination nor faith. The stories of the idols may have connected with the children of Israel pursuing lesser gods – stories of passion, creation, destruction, life, death, treachery, friendship, intervention, silence, forgiveness for a price or a ritual, blessing for a price or ritual.
Some Christians may have a similar view – professing to believe, follow, and be disciplined by God and his Word, but deep in their hearts demanding to work out their own way to heaven because salvation really can’t be free, it obviously must cost something – a sacrifice of flowers, vegetables, fruit, a sparrow or lamb or ox or camel.
A living sacrifice is too personal, painful, and costly. There must be an alternative – if not many.
We, in the west, influenced by the prophets of old, the life of teachings of Christ, the saints over the centuries, church upon church, church division upon church division, and the current pursuit of maximum profits gained from the maximum burdens on the backs of the poor, cling to and argue about the tradition of “the truth shall set you free” with truth ranging from relativity to absolute, free ranging from free from sin to free from consequences, often presenting numerous mixed messages.
The gospel is sold to the highest bidder, but those in a position to buy don’t – they object to the fine print; and the poor, as has been the case through the centuries, may hear by random word spoken, and random testimony shared, a trickle here, a trickle there. When a poor man or woman does hear through whatever medium, s/he shares the gospel without price, and the gospel quickly spreads by word of mouth and action, family to family, community to community, and at times, tribe to tribe, language group to language group.
It’s no wonder Jesus spent so much time with the poor – they listened to him, and were glad, and told their neighbors what they had seen and heard.

Call to Prayer, Mosque in Bangalore, India

December 12, 2009 by hughcampbell

Attending Call To Prayer in Bangalore, India

Entering the mosque grounds I was struck by the beauty of a fountain, surrounded by a luscious lawn and some palm trees, outside the mosque and near the washing area. My friend and I first went to a counter where we removed and left our shoes and socks, then walked to a washing area housing at least a hundred individual cleansing/cleaning stations (a brick stool in front of a ceramic trough in front of a water tap). There we rolled up our pants, washed our hands, our face, the back of our neck, head, our arms, and then our feet so we would be clean when entering the mosque to worship. Before entering the mosque, my friend picked up two white male head coverings from a basket on a shelf near a pillar, and we placed them on our heads.
Entering the magnificent new mosque, carpeted with a beautiful and luxurious looking red and white carpet we walked a few steps to our right. There we stood in the second row facing the wall and Mecca. About twenty bronze plaques with Muslim scriptures engraved in English and a couple of other languages, lined the wall; and we stood directly in front of one of them. The plaque in front of us referred to the importance of being obedient to the holy laws, living a good life and being rewarded for it; and rooting out and standing up against those who did not live according to the holy laws.
I copied my friend. At first we stood facing the wall, arms hanging limp at our sides. Then, standing quietly, we folded our arms in front of us, heads bowed as the head of the mosque chanted from the Koran. On cue, we bowed forwards about half way, placing our right hand just above our right knee and our left hand just above our left knee. Following this we stood, then kneeled on our knees and leaned forwards, placing our open hands and face on the carpeted floor. Then, we stood, folding our arms in front of us, heads bowed as the Iman chanted. This pattern was repeated two more times, for a total of three times. At the end of our third kneeling on the carpeted mosque floor with our open hands and face pressed to the floor, we sat, still kneeling on the floor, turned our heads towards the right and then to the left, acknowledging those around us. Then we stood, turned, and walked towards the mosque entrance/exit.
As my friend and I left the mosque, fountain and washing area, a car drove up and a young man, holding some camera equipment, got out and stood, waiting. A new Toyata SUV drove through the gate near the street, stopped, and a few people, looking like dignitaries, got out of the vehicle and looked towards the mosque. The cameraman started taking pictures, and my friend and I made a quick detour and returned to our vehicle.
The mosque in Bangalore didn’t have the “angst and below the surface anger” of the mosques I had seen in Egypt. The Bangalore mosque, a new and affluent one, seemed built to impress if not inspire. What I experienced during the call to worship there, spoke of ritual – cleansing oneself with water to be acceptable and clean before Allah, holding the hands a certain way, bowing a certain way, kneeling and placing one’s hands and face on the floor a certain way to indicate respect, worship, obligation. As a visitor, I was relieved I stood, bowed and kneeled with someone who had simply suggested beforehand that I copy his movements (which he did slowly for my sake), which I did – other than the moment on my first kneeling on the floor, when placing my hands on face on the floor, my headpiece fell off and I quickly put it in place; placing my face, rather than my forehead flat to the floor, alleviated that problem.
Listening to words I didn’t understand while going through motions I didn’t understand reminded me of the Christian Europeans during the middle ages who may have done the same thing for over a millennium. Were they Christians or not? Were they believers in the Gospel or not? Had they actually heard the Gospel or not? Were they walking by faith, and if so, in what or whom? Or were they simply going through the motions, the rituals, believing that those motions, rituals, would cleanse them sufficiently to be acceptable before an Eternal God who could be loving on the one hand, yet full of wrath on the other? And the consequences were eternal.
How does God view the genuine rituals and motions of poor men and women who enter his sanctuary but do not hear the truth in a language they can understand, and choose to obey, disobey, or simply ignore? How does God view the genuine to flattering rituals and motions of men who enter a sanctuary built in honor of a warring prophet, whose words have spoken loudly through the centuries, and whose words, even now, are accompanied by folded arms, bowed bodies, kneeling bodies, hands and face placed flat to ground signifying humility, worship, fear?
And then I ask myself the question: Am I going through the motions, but not actually living the life of a believer, follower, disciple of Jesus Christ? I’ve been a believer since childhood. I’ve been an inconsistent follower: from a distance, afar, occasionally nearby. As far as being a disciple, discipline has not been my forte – I prefer a random, haphazard approach which I reframe as creative, flexible, nonconformist if not free-spirited. I have been self-disciplined in some areas that are essential to me as a person – my passions (which I tend to keep to myself and voice only to my most trustworthy listeners and encouragers), but certainly not overall.

Young Autorickshaw Driver

November 3, 2009 by hughcampbell

Young Autorickshaw Driver

Young autorickshaw driver at corner one block west of me,
glances my way, turns 360 in intersection,
and drives towards me and stops.
I look at young driver and nods.
He smiles.
As I sit on bench behind young driver,
we pass two older drivers waiting at corner one block north
of my pick-up point, waiting for customers to approach.

I make comparisons –
young driver, alert to surroundings, possible customers
walking down street, used his time
to drive out of his way to see
if I wanted a ride, with no guarantee of “yes.”
He did more, not knowing if he would hear “yes”,
or “no,” receive payment or not.
Older drivers waited for no one that showed up
while young driver and I passed by.

Young driver’s action counters prevailing rhetoric
dominating message of leaders demanding more with less,
providing less with more strings attached.
Young driver alert, quick to act, seek out business transaction
to pay the 150 rupees fee for renting autorickshaw for one day,
according to an article in newspaper, plus other expenses on top of that,
keeping for himself whatever is left, if he is able to keep anything at all.

Thoughts on prevailing rhetoric of leaders take a tangent:
their dominating message demands more with less,
more with less, more with less,
their following decreasing as the marginalized
(by choice or coercion or left behind)
withdraw or shift to the margins
where the media is quiet if not silent,
where the weight of demands decreases,
where scripts are invisible, if existing at all,
yet heard in a whispers, whispers spreading,
quietly, discreetly, stretching,
their numbers possibly growing, or
moving towards obsolete, irrelevant, extinct –
a paradigm shift or quake in the evolving
a circle of theories and counter theories,
swirling within and around the masses,
their number growing, their representatives unknown.

Modern, Educated, Hindu Indian Man

November 3, 2009 by hughcampbell

Modern, Educated Hindu Indian Man

Modern, educated Hindu Indian man
has jogged consistently within walls of gated community
every weekday morning at 7:00 am
since I’ve lived here – three months.
This morning, Indian man jogs towards me – walking late.
We exchange “good morning” greetings.
Indian man continues twenty metres and stops
before small Hindu temple backing onto north wall of compound.
There, he lightly presses his hands together near his chest;
stands in worship, prayer, solitude,
giving thanks for this moment, day,
gift of opportunities laying before him.
“Be still and know…” flashes through my mind, grazes heart,
but I, running late, continue walking,
choosing to be still in another place, another time,
today, more likely tomorrow when I’m not running late.

October 27, 2009

Hired Driver

November 3, 2009 by hughcampbell

Hired Driver

Hired driver, Indian man in his fifties,
Married, father of two – son and daughter,
Now in twenties, university graduates,
Their future stretching before them,
Their debt a burden to their father,
Pleased with their choices and success –
They’ve reached higher and traveled further
Then their father ever dreamed for himself.

Hired driver’s story told over kilometers
Of pavement, potholes, speedbumps,
Through congested traffic of cars, trucks,
SUVs, buses, cargo trucks, bicycles, ox carts,
Autorickshaws, cows on roadway, scooters,
Motorcycles, and pedestrians carrying heavy loads,
From Bangalore to Chennai to Ponducherry,
And back to Bangalore,
Connects with mine, similar but different,
Still paying down younger daughter’s credit line,
Which paid for two university degrees
Opening diverse doorways and opportunities
In a global world.

Hired driver, Indian man gives me bill –
Reasonable in amount, yet ridiculous in my eyes;
His driving, communication, and story telling skills
Are worth so much more.
I pay bill and add big tip, huge in his eyes.
“To help pay off your children’s education.”
He smiles as his eyes sparkle.
“You will hire me again,” he says hopefully.
I nod. “Of course.”
His smile broadens. As he drives away,
I put my wallet back in pocket.
Hired driver, Indian man and I are alike,
More than he and I may know.
I would need to know more of his language
To hear more of his story, and he, mine,
And I don’t have the time or the commitment
To know more.

Twin White Towers

November 3, 2009 by hughcampbell

Twin White Towers

Two white towers, twenty stories high, linked
by steel and glass corridor12th floor to 12th floor
rises from ridge
overlooks lake and marsh to south
flat land stretching north.

From a distance, veiled by low hanging cloud at dusk.
twin gray towers add eerie mystery, raise questions
about past – who built this tower and how was it built
in this region of two to three story buildings built
for small traders and extended families living under one roof,
sometimes leaking during monsoon rain?
about present – who lives there?
about future – what will it look like, be like, years from now?
Will it continue to dominate landscape and buildings below it,
or will it be surpassed by higher, wider towers reaching towards the heavens,
casting their shadows on congested streets and ant sized people below?

As night approaches with gentle breeze clearing sky of polluted clouds,
white lights from white twin towers pierce darkness
with synchronized rays that awe the eye, engage the mind,
and spark question:
who lives and breathes in white tower at this time of night?

Light rays beaming prestige, power, dominance from lofty heights
suggest gods or similar life forms live there, high above the autorickshaws
careening through late night traffic, carrying customers to destination –
party, business appointment, home – all within rays of lofty tower,
dominating landscape under sun, moon, and cloud,
day after day, night after night, consistent, constant.

Their Future is on the Line

November 3, 2009 by hughcampbell

Their Future is on the Line

One Indian male, one Indian female, both seventeen,
peers, friends, students at same school, writing
1 hour and 15 minute math exam,
worth 100% of course mark.

Both students want to score high, for this is India,
rising star in global economy,
where marks are worth a lot, if not everything
on the congested roadways
to greater opportunities
greater status
greater salary
greater influence, if not power.

Now, both focus on the task at hand,
answer the question correctly, so as to get full marks,
answer the question quickly, so as to finish all the questions on the exam.
High mark equals better job in business world
where ceilings are high, very high,
like those in luxurious villas in Goa,
or live in Bangalore in large house in gated community,
patrolled by guards, protecting entrance and exit,
checking the perimeter by day and night.

Meaningful jobs may be found in public service,
funded by taxes, and other shrinking sources of funding,
but they don’t pay enough to cover cost
of lifestyle reaching higher, wider, global in focus,
catching the world by the tail,
then rushing straightaway, through zigzag, switch-backs,
whatever it takes to the top of the pyramid
where the stars and the sun are the closest –
where decisions are made,
where actions are taken,
where you’re part of winning team,
if not number 1.

Young Indian man, young Indian woman focus –
think, think, think, write, write, write,
their future is on the line, and they know it.

Master Musician

November 3, 2009 by hughcampbell

Master Musician

Master Indian musician, cross legged on stage, plays ancient instrument –
seven strings, divine-like, stretched over old wooden arm, attached to two oval globes,
giving great depth and great breadth to notes sounding like wind
moving earth-water-clouds, filling air with mystical sounds.

Master Indian musician, accompanied by two others, cross legged on stage,
one playing base like instrument, but different,
the other playing oval like drum, flat at both ends,
playing both ends of oval drum resting on floor before him.

Master Indian musician tunes ancient instrument,
talks to audience seated respectfully before him,
listening to history of instrument playing music through centuries,
through times of war, peace, droughts, floods, disasters, prosperity.

Master Indian musician and accompanying musicians play:
notes sound old, different, eerie, story-like, ranging from guttural
– deep in earth – to stars in sky, sounding sharp, flat by purposeful design,
telling a story of earth-water-sky and gods
protecting, destroying, creating, recreating, watching, acting.

Master Indian musician invites comments and questions from awed audience.
Young Indian student, face in rapture, eyes focused on master musician,
rises to ask question, speaks clearly into microphone.
Master musician responds respectfully to student’s awe and audience’s delight.

Quietness settles briefly on respectful awed audience;
spontaneous applause breaks silence, reaches crescendo, then drops to respectful silence.
Master Indian musician and each accompanying musician touch left hand to right,
finger tip to finger tip, palm to palm, and bow respectfully to audience. Smile.

Accident in Waiting

November 3, 2009 by hughcampbell

Accident in Waiting

Cute two year old Indian girl,
wearing burgundy dress and black sandals,
sitting in front of her helmeted father
driving Hero Honda down paved street
dotted with potholes shallow and deep,
looks expectantly ahead.

Her excited, curious eyes
look out past instrument panel
handle bars
protective plastic visor’s edge
in line with little girl’s neck.

I, western observer, father of two daughters,
grown up and living full lives in their twenties,
shudder at disaster in waiting –
motor bike hits pothole,
two year old face, innocent, picture perfect,
slashed open or worse.

Hero Honda parks in front of Domino’s Pizza.
Father steps onto ground.
Daughter jumps to ground,
grabs father’s hand and leads him to lunch,
just as my daughters grabbed mine
and led me into Boston Pizza
when they were three, thirteen, even twenty-three.

Krishna Diamond

November 3, 2009 by hughcampbell

Krishna Diamond

From picture window facing south, four levels of apartments face north.
Courtyard in between provides playground for children
playing on monkey bars, swings, and other apparatus
in sand area spread between basketball net, badminton court and semi-circle seating area
on west side of courtyard where flagless flagpole stands.

Families living in apartments opposite us live life –
Watch their children and grandchildren playing in the courtyard below;
Hang their children’s play clothes out to dry on lines strung up on balconies
Where breezes sweep through in late afternoon, early evening,
And even in morning after sun rises in the east.
After the sun sets, children leave their play,
Run up stairway to their apartments where family meal awaits.
Quiet settles over courtyard as children and adult activities move inside.
An occasional person walks to or from apartment through courtyard;
Some picture windows open to welcome cool breeze of evening
As adults talk in living room, or on balcony overlooking courtyard.