Why pray?
Ironical question to ask in the month of Ramzan when the Maker’s khoi bag of bounties is – supposedly, supposedly, supposedly – waiting to be pricked.
Because since everything has been pre-written (‘The Moving Finger writes and having writ moves on…’), prayer will not change a word or tear.
Some believe that since destiny free-flows, and nothing has been ordained, intermittent divine sifaarish can transform realities.
How would I know?
So I swing.
Between Krishna’s battlefield sermon (‘These warriors have already been slain by Me; you are merely My instrument, Arjuna!) and Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s ‘More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.’
My garbled mind has generated conclusions.
One, I find it embarrassing that every ‘conversation’ with my Maker is but a charter of demands (Booker Prize shortlisting, Magsaysay on second thoughts and a billion rupees in debt mutual funds).
Two, if my Maker has demonstrated core competence in complex cosmic realities then my relatively simple destiny must have been meticulously curated as well.
Three, the Dalai Lama may have been right: ‘If your prayers are not answered, that may be a stroke of luck.’ Harivansh Rai Bachchan added: ‘Jo mann ka ho to achcha; jo mann ka na ho to aur bhi achcha.’
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Four, there are three lines at God’s Audience Hall. One winds interminably around the block; the other has a dozen people waiting; the third just one. In the first line standees hold petition sheets marked ‘urgent’; the second comprises those dropping by to say hello and little else; the third – treated deferentially by the gate angels – has that one person affected by misfortune but who has anyway turned up to say ‘Don’t worry, I will manage.’ I can almost visualise an angel sidling up, a cupped mouth set against the Maker’s ear: ‘Lord, he went bust in this stock market crash and has turned up to say he couldn’t be happier. Bring him in?’ God steps off his throne and walks down to meet.
Five, the standard polite-ism is to pray for someone’s long life. I appreciate the sentiment, but I start thinking: at a time when humankind is struggling to fill post-work hours with Netflix and Amazon Prime, shouldn’t people add two prayer words: ‘And happy.’ There is a Rajesh Khanna dialogue that everyone quotes but don’t quite get: ‘Babumoshai, zindagi badi honi chaahiye, lambi nahi!’
Six, most worship places have been reduced to petition-receiving depots (based on the speed and extent of wishes supposedly granted). I have yet to come across a Temple of Gratitude, with no wish lists secreted into walls, black ‘mannat’ threads around trees, locks on altar grills, milk bribes or donation boxes.
Seven, most pray or distribute alms for a departed soul in the hope that God will upgrade that person from Economy to First Class (in my community they call this post-exam inspiration ‘Aa amal nu sawaab ehna rooh ne pahunche’). The marginalised will never get an upgrade because the relatives will never be able to feed the poor enough (or feed enough poor).
Eight, my father recited the Quran when I batted during club matches. I now wonder: was that dropped catch the result of my father’s tilaavat (recitation); was a snicked four on account of the selection of a particular Surah; presumably God have refrained from dispensing any favours to my non-striker because his father had not prayed for him. I am beginning to wonder: what karmic justice was delivered when second slip dropped my catch? His qusoor?
Nine, does God get swayed by Salim-Javed emotions or does telepathy still work? If God will be perpetually swayed by baritone (‘Aaj khush toh bahut hoge tum! Dekho, aaj pehli baar maine tumhare mandir ke andar qadam rakkha hain… meri maa ko waapas kar do!’) then millions of destinies may need to be redrafted. I heard the other day that the angels’ team recording abruptly changed destinies issuing a collective guzaarish: ‘Lord, you can’t keep entertaining adjustments all the time; we are short-staffed; we will need to place an ad for more kismet rewriters.’
Ten, when Prophet Abraham was cast into fire by Nimrod, he refused to SOS the Creator. He is supposed to have diplomatically replied that ‘Allah is sufficient for me, and He is the best disposer of affairs.’ If he were to perish, he would not embarrass his Maker with a prayer. The fire cooled. Or take the case of Husain, the Prophet’s grandson. Fatigued and depleted, he rested against a tree at the end of the Battle of Karbala. Angel Gabriel appeared with the Maker’s message: should He stir a storm and scatter the enemy? Husain asked, ‘What does Allah desire?’ Gabriel whispered: ‘Martyrdom.’ Husain replied, ‘Then so be it.’
I long stopped petitioning God for incomes, promotions, assignments, grandchildren, multi-baggers and vacations.
I ask instead for two people to smile at, two people to help, two whacko ideas, two people to praise and two people to thank.
‘Bahut diya dene waale ne tujh ko,’ wrote Shailendra. ‘Aanchal me na samaaye to kya keeje.’