She wanted to desert her gods, a small idol of Krishna, a metallic head of Shiva made from five metals, under the shade of some temple tree, next to the stand of slippers. She had often wondered why people dumped their private idols in a public place of worship, now she was one of them. The knowledge of their presence among her nail polish , sawed her soul.The letters EROS should be spelt backwards for SORE, a sight to sore eyes…….she reversed some other words like MADAM, EVE, they were the same, “backwards’ she said to every other word, reversing them. Those who impressed her with their consistency were jotted down in her book. There were more flowers, some more bouquets of roses sent, by Rake, hoping to overwhelm, Madhu was annoyed. She had no breakfast, she had no appetite, her mother ignored the flowers, and so did Madhu. The house was tense about the elections of her father. Madhu did not bathe; she picked her gods, took some money and went to college.

She went to the blood bank, attached to the Victoria Hospital she wanted to donate some blood. She signed the form and laid on the cot covered with white bedsheets with no prints.The sight of her blood in a neat bottle, for some unknown anaemic woman or man, made her feel strong, human and sexless not like a torn female rabbit, thrown out of the moon. She felt slightly cleansed by this act. She went to the book shop bought some murder mysteries, of Agatha Christie; it would be consoling to read about murders, she chose Miss Marple as the detective. She felt less alone with the books in her hand bag; she had to get rid of the gods.

She went to the near by Ganesh temple, she sat on the stone bench, in the temple. It was afternoon, so the main door was locked, the temple was deserted, except for one old woman circling the Banyan tree, she would go one round clock wise another anti clockwise. Madhu watched this for almost half an hour, she felt faint. At the end of it she walked up to the old woman stopped her, and said “ I think you should stop this, have you eaten some thing?” that lady meekly followed Madhu to the bench, then she  slept, on the bench which was so hot, because of the winter sun. Madhu felt utterly helpless, looking at this woman, it was too hot to sit there, and she removed the book ‘death’ by drowning and read, it was a very predictable story of a young girl being murdered by her lover’s woman friend.  What was this old woman besides her attempting? To reverse some life, to reset the clock?  Madhu’s gods were three; Krishna was the love of life, Shiva to conquer death, Christ to forgive life. Madhu did not want to discard Christ; his prayer book was at home. May be she would require Shiva, she was in a profession to conquer death. She felt sorry for Krishna, like her lost innocence, she decided to give it to her sister. She watched the sleeping figure of the mad woman, there was such vulnerability and so much faith in those circles, whose wife was she? Where was her child? May be her parents were dead.  She believed in that tree. Why the compulsion to reverse a cycle? Once the speed is on which is up or down in a cycle? Like the motion of the wind, or water in the ocean, cycles moved undirected, inspired by the universal energy. The temple was closed, no stone idols or perfect statues, not even a glimpse. But this enormous mad faith in the living tree, sleeping like a child on this hot bench, head full of silvery hair. Madhu patted the sleeping head, she had rescued her gods. When she reached home, it was almost five in the evening.






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