Exploring the Interplay: The Dependent Mentality Within an Independent Nation

After an arduous wait of nearly half an hour, I managed to traverse the queue's length, finally stepping foot into the sacred precincts of the temple through its principal entrance. During this span of time, it is beyond my reckoning how many expletives swam through my thoughts, a testament to my inner struggle with the virtue of forbearance.

You may wonder, who embodies this virtue? Patience, my dear compatriots, patience is the term. In the colloquial tongue of the vernacular lads, 'Langotiya yaar'. My association with this paragon of patience dates back to our shared days of primary schooling. We had the same bench, shared our midday repasts; our camaraderie was established through these commonalities.

Subsequently, a turning point came in his life. Embarking upon a pilgrimage of knowledge, he was dispatched to the spiritual haven of Kashi for the pursuit of religious enlightenment. At a juncture when the world metamorphosed from computational epoch to the era of mobility and ultimately into the realm of artificial intelligence, Patience remained entrenched in the incantations of ancient Vedas composed eons ago. The irony therein lies that even in the contemporary era, there exist individuals who opt for the vocation of priestly pundits, religiously shaving their crowns every other day, in a world where technological vistas are perpetually evolving.

Lost in contemplation, I commenced my survey of the temple's environs. Patience had instructed me to await his arrival beside the ancient Nandi idol. The ubiquity of mobile phone bans within temple precincts due to security concerns rendered me without recourse but to await my friend's arrival with the utmost patience.

Devotees congregated for the coveted 'darshan' within the sanctum of Kashi Vishweshwar, yet the prospect of joining the throng held no allure for me. One might misconstrue my stance as atheism, yet I profess to be 'spiritual' when queried about my religiosity. While my knowledge of theology may be modest, this avowal lends a fashionable air, hence I persist with it.

Navigating the sprawling complex in search of a tranquil refuge, I felt somewhat estranged within the midst of this congregation of devout worshippers. Today, two decades since our separation, I encountered this opportunity to reunite; it was disconcerting that he chose this abode for our rendezvous. My intuition suggested that a vantage point within the heart of the temple compound might yield a sighting of the Nandi idol.

In pursuit of this prospect, I traversed the courtyard's expanse. The environs were dotted with edifices of varying dimensions, adorned with spires both imposing and diminutive. Adjacent to this assemblage stood an ivory domed structure, recurrently featured in televised debates, heralding as it did a controversy of its own. My comprehension of the Gyanvapi imbroglio might be sparse, yet my grasp of current affairs remains robust.

In my quest to locate a confidant amidst this congregation of devotees, the venerable Nandi idol constituted my foremost target. Engaging a local denizen for assistance was the logical course, and as providence would have it, an aged 'Pandit ji' crossed my path.

Adorned with furrows etched by time upon his visage, his attire comprised the Yajnopavit draping his shoulder, the Tripundra emblazoned on his brow, and the Pitambar setting him apart from contemporaries bedecked in modern garb. His mien embodied an enigma: the prospect of embracing antiquity over modernity bore fruit within his persona.

During my days of board examinations, I grappled with the doctrines propounded by the ancient seers within the hallowed halls of Dhairya Gurukul. As I embarked upon my collegiate journey, my friend, Patience, delved into the sagas scripted by Valmiki and Vedavyasa. My pursuit of an MBA aligned with Patience's immersion in Vedic mantras and 'Richas'. As I ascended the corporate echelons to secure a coveted position, my friend's path meandered through the esoteric passages of Vedas here in Kashi. The divergence is evident: my trajectory shines with promise while Patience's light remains obscured within the spiritual citadel.

Patience, once a cherished companion from yesteryears, continues to reside within the realm of my concerns. The bonds of our shared childhood have persistently woven an intangible thread between us, traversing the years of separation. His enthusiasm, palpable during our recent telephonic exchange, underscored the depth of our bond. This, my dear readers, compelled me to traverse the expanse from Mumbai to Kashi, all for the sake of our reunion.

I lowered myself respectfully before the 'Pandit ji', addressing him, "Namaskar Panditji, could you please guide me to the venerable Nandi idol?"

Pandit ji's gaze narrowed as he appraised me, his response offered through a gentle smile. A beckoning gesture from him set our joint journey in motion.

Stride by stride, we navigated toward the northern boundaries of the temple grounds. He queried, "Do you hail from the metropolis, Bombay or perhaps Bangalore?"

"Mumbai," I replied.

A subsequent query followed, "Have you visited?"

"Negatory."

Lastly, he inquired, "Are you inclined toward performing 'puja'?"

"Negative," I responded.

With the cessation of questions and answers, he gestured toward an immense Nandi statue. Draped in saffron attire, this depiction of Nandi struck an unusual chord within me. I have frequented temples consecrated to Lord Shiva, yet this manifestation deviated from my prior experiences. Typically, the Nandi idol is oriented toward the inner sanctum, awaiting the deity's presence. Here, the Nandi gazed away from the principal temple, a posture uncommon to my observations.

Having provided directions, Pandit ji withdrew, leaving me to await Patience's arrival by the monumental Nandi sculpture. I cast my gaze upon this stone representation, jesting in my mind, "Why, Nandi Maharaj, do you avert your gaze from Mahadev, cloaked in apparent displeasure?"

An unexpected retort resonated within, "I sit confronting my Mahadev. Unfathomable mind, you remain oblivious to my lord's presence!" Whose voice was this? I cast about in astonishment. Could one truly perceive the musings of my innermost thoughts? And who might offer such answers?

"The very entity you address," the anonymous voice persisted, "indeed holds the power to respond."

Startled, my gaze reasserted itself upon the Nandi effigy. It seemed as though the statue itself engaged in this exchange.

"But, a mere stone sculpture—how can it partake in dialogue?"

"If an idol can endure in silence, awaiting its lord across centuries," the voice countered, "it can, in like manner, surmount its silence and communicate."

What unfurled was beyond comprehension; I was engaged in an unvoiced discourse with a stone idol. Even amidst the bustling congregation, this statue directed its utterances solely toward me.

"That's the only oversight you are committing," Nandi Baba's voice resounded once again, a reverberating echo of an ageless presence, "I have remained here since the very day Kashi Vishweshwar cast his divine manifestation upon these grounds. On that day, I was consecrated as a stone statue, an emblem enshrined to endure. I have withstood assaults, bearing witness to cycles of reconstruction, time and again."

This time, my thoughts did not stir into a frenzy. The mind seemed to grapple with the intricacies of this extraordinary occurrence. Yet, the dialogue persisted, Nandi Baba unraveled the formula that sustained this discourse.

"From the perspective of material sciences, I am naught but a lifeless stone. Yet, to those who harbor faith in spiritual sciences, my presence transcends mere matter. Alas, the hearts of you Indians, with your callous and ossified tendencies, remain untouched by this truth.

"Stone-hearted? Insensitive? Are these epitaphs meant for me?" I pondered, as if Nandi Baba's words mirrored my innermost thoughts.

"I am not addressing you alone, but all the inhabitants of this land," the voice continued, a note of somber reproach. "A populace that remains silent while invaders are immortalized. A nation held captive by a mentality of subjugation. You craft thoroughfares and monuments in the names of those who slaughtered your forebears, perpetuating their iniquities upon your own heads."

The weight of these indictments became increasingly unbearable. Was this how Nandi Baba viewed our nation – liberated from colonial chains, yet still restrained by a subtle form of captivity?

"People may believe that I have spent the last three and a half centuries waiting for my Mahadev," Nandi Baba elucidated, his voice steeped in sagacity, "but the reality is, I wait for your self-respect to awaken. Until your self-regard stirs, until you shake off the shackles of mental dependency, you shall remain ensnared in the clutches of subjugation."

"And what steps should we take to liberate ourselves from this psychological bondage?" I inquired, seeking guidance.

Nandi replied, "Cast away the symbols of subjugation. Liberation will flow as water released from its dam. The Germans obliterated every emblem, every monument that bore Hitler's mark. Consider the consequences for those who espouse Hitler's cause in Europe. Then why, in your homeland, do you extol the sultans who wreaked havoc upon your ancestors? Whether it's the Vijaya Mandir of Vidisha, the Rudra Mahalaya of Siddhpur, or the Bhojshala of Malwa, these are not mere remnants of the past; they embody the oppression suffered by your progenitors, they are beacons of the tyrants who ravaged and plundered."

Though Nandi Baba's words carried a certain acerbity, his intonation bore an unmistakable gentleness, an intent that transcended vehemence.

"Your nation, my dear Indians, is ensnared in such a quandary that even the reclamation of your heritage demands an arduous struggle," Nandi Baba's voice resonated, a blend of lament and admonition. "In a quest to attain justice, you find yourselves entangled in legal complexities, expending excessive efforts akin to rolling 'papads'. You possess historical records, documented evidence, and archaeological remnants that cry out for your vindication. Yet, you must traverse the corridors of justice, beseeching for what should rightfully be yours. Reflect upon this: the Goddess of Justice is not blinded by ignorance; instead, she has consciously veiled her eyes." The gravity of these words hung in the air. Nandi Baba's discourse sliced through the layers of complacency, delivering a piercing indictment on our collective consciousness. "Had you acted promptly against the proponents of terrorism," Nandi's voice persisted, resolute in its delivery, "your present predicament could have been averted. These tumultuous times, these snares of uncertainty, might have been forestalled had you confronted the purveyors of chaos and extremism at their inception." The admonition bore a weight that seemed to bow my shoulders. Nandi Baba's words were not just a commentary on the past, but a directive for the future, urging a more vigilant and proactive stance against the forces that sought to undermine our nation's unity and integrity.

The resonant words of Nandi Baba rang with a resolute veracity. From the corridors of academia to the glow of television screens and the grandeur of cinema, our narratives have, regrettably, celebrated these invaders to this day. We have placed those who should have been ostracized upon pedestals of reverence. If only we had reined in the advocates of these aggressors in a timely manner, perhaps the current predicament could have been averted. It is a hypothetical realization laden with a sense of profound 'woulds'.

Imagine, if we had exercised legal restraint over those malevolent entities who plundered this land, inflicting torment and abetting their transgressions. In such an alternate reality, our nation would have reclaimed its cultural edifices with an unwavering sense of self-worth."Whence does your mind wander, sir?" Patience's voice intruded upon my contemplative reverie. There he stood before me, arms outstretched in a gesture of welcome. A surge of emotions overcame me, compelling me to envelop Tripundra-adorned Dhairya in a heartfelt embrace. A tear or two trickled from my eyes, descending onto his sacred fire, as a symbolic offering of my sentiment.