When God Went Silent

Does God exist? Where are they? These are questions that believers often avoid. Instead, they ask, “Tell me where they aren’t! What don’t they know? What can’t they do?” Some saffron-robed gurus claim to be their true devotees and have thousands of followers. Large crowds flock to them, offering money and spending days at their ashrams. Despite their busy schedules, these gurus inspire belief and convince followers that they are not just humans but incarnations of God.

But has God ever seen or met anyone? The likely answer is "no." Yet, both gurus and believers insist they exist. We are told through generations that God does exist. Then we hear of Rishi as their successor. The Rishis are renowned for their legacy of writings. These vast volumes are filled with miracles of gods and goddesses. They explain Gods and Goddesses as the creators, protectors, and destroyers of the cosmos and all living beings.

There is no evidence of them appearing or disappearing. Nor have they ever met or interacted with humans. They are said to be invisible, with no true form or shape—volatile as water poured into different vessels. Eventually, shrines came to represent them; they are in idols adorned with gold.

Being from a family of believers, I also follow and visit them as a pilgrim. Some of their shrines are nearby, while others are in remote, rugged areas. There, I worship and pray to the idols for blessings, often with my elderly parents. My mind wanders as I reflect on the idols. I wonder why worshippers embark on adventurous journeys through such challenging terrains.

The more renowned a shrine, the greater the physical challenge to reach it. It becomes exhausting after long, gruelling days and hours of walking. My curiosity grows: why aren’t they nearby, within easy reach? Why are the shrines mostly in far-off places? Is the difficult journey part of the spiritual experience?

Then a childish fancy takes over, transporting me back to a time when they lived together with humans. In that era, humans—rich or poor—were their cherished and close associates. God visited individuals, families, and homes and blessed all with happiness and joy. Back then, nobody suffered grief or sorrow under Their protection and care.

A time of separation

An incident caused a separation between them and humans. A demon named envy planted a seed of Avarice, stronger than God’s power. Avarice fostered a desire to surpass neighbours in pelf, power, and prestige. Humans became its victims. Observing this mischief, God smiled sadly, realising how deeply it had gripped human souls.

As humans lost interest in them, they withdrew, vanishing into no form or shape. Humans were left with only a sheer belief in their existence. Meanwhile, Avarice spread discord, consuming humanity. Wisdom and peace were lost, replaced by cravings for pelf, power, and prestige as the ultimate dreams of happiness. Humans had strayed far from true life.

“This is too much,” Gods and Goddesses said, then chose to punish humans by blessing them with a fantasy of dreams. Next, they retreated to rugged terrains, where only the most devoted could reach them. That’s why shrines are found in remote regions.

As they retreated, humans sought them out by hoarding wealth, believing it would win their favour. But their misguided desires delayed their search for God. In penance, they built grand shrines adorned with gold and precious stones, hoping for a closer connection. But they didn’t know that God valued neither wealth nor grandeur. Thus, they were present only in dreams. Consequently, shrines with nonlife idols became the communication medium.

Shrines were then God’s portal, transforming their invisible forms into visible ones. This concept intrigued me: imagine them as a wilderness animal in captive breeding! What if a buffalo imagined its God? Would it envision Them as a human or as a giant buffalo in its own version?

Evil's influence

Now, the true divine identity confuses me even more. Shrines depict their forms as well-crafted human images. However, a human appears differently depending on their geography. For example, Mongolian in one region, Buddhist in another, and Sanatan Hindu Brahmin or Chhetri in yet another! As I visit a shrine, they reflect the place, race, and face of the region. In Hindustan, they appear as a South Hindustani in the south and a North Hindustani in the north. I pray and worship, seeking Their blessings anywhere, whether the idol is small or giant.

Evil was a seed of vice, mischief, and discord in homes too. It spread when a man boasted to his wife, “I’m bigger than you, and you’re my woman!” He argued that the "w o" in "woman" signifies "wife of." But the woman retorted, “Yes, you’re right because a woman is barely a robber, terrorist, or criminal!” Their nonstop ego and revolt disquieted and divided families further. Evil thus reigned supreme over divine spirits.

Since envy had wings of further evil, they preferred being distant—unseen, unheard, and silent. 

However, their distance does not mean they don’t exist. In truth, human selfish actions and desires were the reasons why they chose remote places. As humans age and grow frail, belief holds that difficult journeys reconnect with them.

The search for God continues for generations. Nobody knows which nearby or distant shrine they dwell in or if they have truly disappeared. I’m left wondering: is God still a child, as I once was, or have they grown old like me, with weak eyesight, struggling to meet their devotees? I fear the passage of time and worry for them, just as they worry about me. This morning, an incident of death happened, and all prayed—he was in heaven with him!

(Baral is a retired lecturer of English.)