It is lucky to have faith in God. Nobody among us has ever seen Him. We just pretend to believe because many people talk of faith in God; we believe because many people narrate stories of faith, substantiating their words with the stories of devotees who witnessed miracles in their lives. We listen to them very attentively, which are lost with the wind like the stories told by a grandma while the child is lying on her lap.
Our hearts and consciousness are overcast with the clouds of fear, clouds of insecurity and even of our lust, that intercept the rays of faith emanating from the elegant and eloquent speeches in form of parables, in form of true incidents delivered by the spiritual teachers.
Since the days of my teenage I have been thinking that it is proven that there is justice, there is security on this earth, though what we observe as injustice is merely ostensible.
I made experiments not for money, not for fame and name but for the search of the truth. My first experiment was with my grandpa who was 82 and I was only 12. I asked him if he had fallen from a tree. He replied that he had never fallen from a tree. At the age of 86, when he was working on a tree with an axe he fell off the branch down to the earth to break his leg. He survived for a few months when he said the boy had told him this thing. The poor gold grandpa died.
Remember, my friends that it is not my job nor it is to gain any popularity. Before long I too will disappear from the scene.
Once again, I assert that whatever I write is true to my memory. To my understanding there is no fabrication even to create humour. I have been sometimes humorous too, to clean away from the chain of thoughts whatever is dull, drab and insipid.
Let us come to lighter side. A decade and over ago, I was in a north Indian train bound for Bareilly. I needed somebody to pass my time. Yonder was seated a middle aged old man. I looked at him and took his palm to read. I narrated certain things of his past. He was happy but wanted to check out if I really knew something. He said, “can you tell me how long my wife will live?” I checked the heart line running between the index finger and little finger and calculated by observation a figure of 56. There are several techniques but I think I may have used this technique. Heart is hurt when you are bereaved of a lover either by death or otherwise. I asked if he had completed 56. He happily told that I was correct. He wanted to know more and more. A young man in his early twenties interrupted, “Do you believe in such baseless things. The elderly person tried to shut up his mouth. I spoke lovingly,”I need to pass my time, I don’t say it is a science. You tell me how to pass time?
We both continued palm analysis. In the meanwhile I had a stealing look at the palm of the boy lying open – I did not have to touch him. I spoke to the boy, “You have already got your heart broken by two girls, why are you preparing for the third break? The boy was deeply impressed and asked me, “What is your address?” I asked him to write my address and told him that he would always be welcome.
The elderly person now got the point and spoke forcefully to the young man,”Why do you ask now?” I asked him to forgive and forget.