Doors of Faith

by Rajas Godbole (Ireland)

Making a local connection India

Yes, my bag is safe. Every now and then my sleepy eyes inspected my bag on the top shelf. Throughout the bus journey, my insecure mind harassed my innocent sleep. Every sound was imagined as an attempt to steal my bag. The thin chain and the little yellow lock on my bag, were charged with a responsibility far greater than their might. I relieved them of their responsibility once I reached Shani-shingnapur. Shani-shingnapur is a doorless village. No doors on any structure. Houses, schools and surprisingly Banks too. “Hello Sir”, said Govind. A tiny old man, handing me a glass of sugarcane juice with ginger and lemon. Lovely. My shorts, T-shirt and camera gave away that I was the tourist he was waiting for. We started walking through the village lanes towards the temple. Rural India...! Mooing of cows, barking stray dogs, distant temple bells, screams of hawkers selling garlands, the fragrance of Mogra (Arabian Jasmine), stench of cow-dung and a hell lot of people. Too much for my senses to take in. Too much action in front of my eyes. Yet my eyes were stubborn. Stubbornly looking for one thing. Doors... “It’s true, there are no doors” I mumbled, in local Marathi language. A wide grin appeared on Govind’s face as he heard me speak Marathi. “Lord Shani protects the village of Shani-shingnapur. He punishes anyone who steals. So there are no doors in the village” he said, beaming with pride. I could sense the intensity of faith in his voice. With few missing teeth, Govind’s grin resembled the houses with missing doors. Without doors, the houses looked weird. We kept walking through these lanes with toothless houses before we reached the temple. Honestly, the temple was disappointing. No roof, no intricate stone carvings. In fact, there was no structure at all. Just a few metal grills guiding towards a tall rectangular stone. The stone was the deity, Lord Shani. We were back at the bus stand. It was dark. Holding the cups with piping hot Chai, we were waiting for the bus. “The stone was found by shepherds”, Govind said, trying to break the silence. “When the shepherds poked the stone, it started to bleed. Later, that night lord appeared in dreams of one of the shepherds and asked him to build a temple without roof…” “All this is nonsense”, I interrupted him. The educated, rational me, was angry. I was angry to see the blind faith in my country. “Do you really think Lord Shani protects you? I feel not having a door is a stupid thing” I said, unable to hold back myself. The old man smiled. Perhaps, he was expecting it. “Maybe it is a stupid thing. Yet, the ones with the strongest doors, have the weakest sleep. They have so much to protect. Still, thefts happen. We humans have so many doors. But we forget that doors not only stop others from coming in, but they also stop us from going out” I boarded the bus. In 200 years of history of Shani-shingnapur, there have been hardly any cases of theft. No complaints of theft, rape or homicide registered in police stations. All this in a doorless village. A phenomenon, unimaginable in any ‘developed’ or ‘educated’ part of the world. May be blind, but faith has done wonders. Doors. Abandoning the doors, the villagers earned peace. They transferred the responsibility of security to the lord. They were free from the fear of losing. They gained a peaceful sleep in a doorless house. “Doors not only stop others from coming in, but they also stop us from going out”. Perhaps, 'Doors' imprison us. ‘Doors’ stop us at “I am fine” for every “How are you?”. ‘Doors’ don’t represent safety. They symbolize a lack of trust. Because the ones we trust, always have keys. The villagers triumphed the most basic instinct of mankind. Insecurity. I was lost in my thoughts. Mindlessly, I looked at my bag on the top shelf in the bus. The thin chain and yellow lock were again guarding my bag. I took them off. Maybe now I will get better sleep. Feeling small, somewhat ashamed. I dozed off.