CHAPTER 26

The Question of Questions

The road to the Ramjanmabhoomi temple clung to the sides of a gently sloping hill, before
ending its journey at Lord Ram’s abode. It afforded a breathtaking view of the city below. But
Shiva did not see it. Neither did he see the magnificent construction of the gigantic temple or
the gorgeously landscaped gardens around it. The temple was sheer poetry, written in white
marble, composed by the architect of the gods. The architect had designed a grand staircase
leading up to the main temple platform, which appeared awe-inspiring, yet inviting. Colossal and
ornate marble statues in sober blue and grey had been engraved on the platform. Elaborately
carved pillars supported an ostentatious yet tasteful ceiling of blue marble. The architect
obviously knew that Lord Ram’s favourite time of the day was the morning. For on the ceiling,
the morning sky, as it would have been seen in the absence of the temple roof, had been
lovingly painted. On top of the ceiling, the temple spire shot upwards to a height of almost one
hundred metres, like a giant namaste to the gods. The Swadweepans, to their credit, had not
forced their garish sensibilities on the temple. Its restrained beauty was in keeping with the way
the sober Lord Ram would have liked it.
Shiva did not notice any of this. Nor did he look at the intricately carved statues in the inner
sanctum. Lord Ram’s idol at the centre was surrounded by his beloveds. To the right was his
loving wife, Sita, and to the left was his devoted brother, Lakshman. At their feet, on his knees,
was Lord Ram’s most fervent and favourite disciple, Hanuman, of the Vayuputra tribe, the sons
of the Wind God.
Shiva could not find the strength to meet Lord Ram’s eyes. He feared the verdict he would
receive. He crouched behind a pillar, resting against it, grieving. When he couldn’t control his
intense feelings of guilt anymore, his eyes released the tears they had been holding back. Shiva
made desperate attempts to control his tears, but they kept flowing as though a dam had burst.
He bit into his balled fist, overcome by remorse. He curled his legs up against his chest and
rested his head on his knees.
Drowning in his sorrow, Shiva did not feel the compassionate hand on his shoulder. Seeing
no reaction, the hand squeezed his shoulder lightly. Shiva recognised the touch but kept his
head low. He did not want to appear weak, be seen with tears in his eyes. The gentle hand, old
and worn with age, withdrew quietly, while its owner waited patiently until Shiva composed
himself. When the time was right, he came forward and sat down in front of him. A sombre
Shiva did a formal namaste to the Pandit, who looked almost exactly like the Pandits that Shiva
had met at the Brahma temple at Meru and the Mohan temple at Mohan Jo Daro. He sported a
similar extensively flowing white beard and a white mane. He wore a saffron dhoti and
angvastram, just like the other pandits. The wizened face had the same calm, welcoming smile.
The only difference was that this Pandit bore a considerably more generous waist.