Pilgrim's progress

It all started when my sister prayed for a miracle. Spiritual masters might tell you that miracles are not deeply edifying, but she desperately wanted one. Although she’s my spiritual fellow-traveler, I didn’t join forces with her in this respect. I have come to believe that spiritual experiences are going to elude me until I learn to control my anger, fear, boredom, physical slothfulness, and mental cha cha cha. 

Anyways, my sis continued to pray to Babaji (the deathless Himalayan master from Autobiography of a Yogi). She reasoned she wanted a tangible evidence that showed her indisputably that what she sees around is indeed maya, and beyond this ephemeral world there truly exists the Truth. Before she set out to unveil that absolute truth, she wanted a glimpse of the beyond, something that defies the physical laws of her universe. May be it was her vociferous demand answered when Babaji’s picture disappeared from her puja shelf where she kept the pictures and idols of gods, goddesses, and gurus. She searched for it everywhere but couldn’t find it.

“There is your miracle, sis. Babaji has pulled a disappearing act on you!” I said with some lighthearted sarcasm.

She concluded that disappearing acts don’t count. Only appearing acts are considered miracles. Although it was highly unlikely, we rationalized that maybe the wind, her kids, or the cleaning lady was responsible for the disappearance of the picture. And I mailed her a new picture of Babaji from the ashram shop in Bangalore. And Babaji reassumed his position among the other deities in her puja shelf.

Days rolled by, and sis persisted in her prayer for miracles. Around that time, our mom called and excitedly shared with us the miracle she witnessed: a jasmine garland that her neighbor put around Satya Sai Baba’s photo started growing in length. It grew persistently for three days and reached almost three times its original length. Now that’s a miracle, thought I. My sis' prayers for a miracle are finally answered. But once again, my sister said, it's not her miracle because she has not witnessed it. 

A week after the garland incident in her neighborhood, my mom came to stay with me. One of those days, my little one had too much fun by the interactive play fountain at UB City, Bangalore, and fell ill. The garland incident preying on my mind, I prayed that if Ami got better, I would put a garland for the gods in my puja shelf. Ami did get better, and my ungrateful self promptly forgot about the garland. In a day or two, Ami's cough revisited, and this time it developed into wheezing. I, immediately, fetched a jasmine garland. And my mom's holy hands were given the privilege to put it around the pictures and statuettes of gods and goddesses. Lo and behold! It started growing. Boom boom boom, in three days it was twice its original length.

“Here is our miracle, sis.” I said choking with religious fervor and devotion. I felt dignified and distinguished as this has happened in my house, right in front of my skeptical eyes.

Then my modern education tried to kick in, and my rational mind tried to discount everything that couldn't be explained by science. But this time I didn't give in. This is a miraculous moment, a god-sent, rarest, most singular event. God wants me to be transformed. The thought that a superior consciousness is even remotely interested in me filled me with hope and peace. I felt loved and cared for. I was filled with gratitude. There was a song in my heart, and I felt a strange pull to introspect. Boredom vanished from my brain. I succeeded in controlling my languor quite a bit. This miracle won't be wasted on me, I decided.

But my sis had her reservations in believing in my personal miracle. “Is the thread getting pulled by gravity? Are the jasmine buds falling down and the knots getting loose?” But by that time, I had lulled the rational side of my brain to a stupor. 'How could she question the divinity of my miracle?! thought I. 'That's preposterous!' I threatened myself that if I discredited this miracle, it would be heresy, and I should be burned at stake for that.

Navarathri arrived and sis decided to put a jasmine garland around Goddess Saraswati. Now, we are not normally the garland wielding, incense burning, puja performing kinda people. We aspire to believe in advaita (non duality) and (sometimes, mind you, only sometimes, we tend to be borderline agnostics). We haven't quite made up our mind on which path to follow. All we have is a general, hazy, and imprecise idea of the destination.

Anyways. An hour or so after she put the garland, sis calls and tells me her garland is also growing! “God, you have chosen our humble homes to perform miracles. Bangalore and Cochin are the modern day Cana,” I said, short-winded by pride and devotion. We marveled at God’s grace with infinite joy.

Next, my sis confided the miracle in two of her friends who belong to the fairly religious garland putting camp. And guess what they said, “Jasmine garlands grow in length. That’s the nature of the thing. It’s the thread getting pulled and knot getting loose when the flowers wilt. Nothing miraculous about it!”

Our hearts sank. Our gratitude and pride as the chosen ones withered under the scorching heat of the truth. The “miracle” has left a very bad taste in our mouth. "Miracle" even sounds like a dirty word. Damn miracles. Hope my sis has stopped praying for one. 

Post script: So my sis calls a few more folks and tells them how we were duped by the gods themselves and her friends say, "never heard of growing garlands. This is a miracle!"

The debate rages on in our skeptical minds. The rational front is winning hands down, though. Hopefully, it's temporary, but our once-devout hearts are filled with irreverence and despair. I can almost hear the gods shaking their heads in mild horror, saying, "ugh, those brats!"