Blog

“I feel so empty,” Mrs. Sarkar told herself.

She had come from Kolkata to Bangalore to spend her retirement, but apart from the books her daughter-in-law brought home from the office library, nothing held her interest. The city’s crowd and pollution irritated her.

At three in the afternoon, her granddaughter Kaira returned from preschool. In this vast city, Kaira was Mrs. Sarkar’s only friend. She listened to the child’s stories and laughed wholeheartedly at her jokes. What she loved most about Kaira was her questions—her doubts. The child seemed born with wisdom, perhaps a blessing from God.

That day, Kaira asked, “Grandma, why are there so many worshipping homes for God in this world?”

Mrs. Sarkar smiled and set aside the book she was reading—Draupadi by Mahasweta Devi. Instead of answering, she began a story.

Long ago, before electricity, cars, or cities existed, the land was lush with vegetation. Humans, animals, and birds lived in harmony. God lived among His creation, meditating quietly in the forest.

Unaware of His presence there, people worshipped God in paradise.

One rainy day, a hunter wandered deep into the forest and saw God in meditation. He approached and touched God’s feet, feeling eternity and bliss. God, immersed in meditation, remained unaware.

The hunter returned day after day, until a fear crept into his mind: What if God wakes and leaves?

To prevent this, the hunter built walls around the place where God sat. Still afraid, he enclosed Him completely and locked the room.

Back in his tribe, the hunter claimed God had asked for shelter. The people believed him. They made him their leader. Soon, he began speaking on God’s behalf, accepting gifts and offerings.

Years passed.

When God awoke, He realized He was trapped. Gold and food lay around Him. Devotees sang outside. He watched the hunter collect offerings and pretend to communicate His words.

After days of struggle, God escaped and found another place to meditate.

The hunter searched, found Him again, and trapped Him once more.

And so it continued—a game that outlived the hunter himself, passed down through generations.

“How is the story, Kaira?” Mrs. Sarkar asked.

Kaira had already fallen asleep. A faint smile lingered on Mrs. Sarkar’s lips.

“Poor little angel,” she whispered.