I stand before the statue. It is one of those hot summer afternoons. But Buddha’s face is smiling. His face ever so benign, ever so calm, as if it is saying, ‘you are welcome.’
‘So Siddhartha,’ I ask. ‘You are sitting up there on that high pedestal. Or is it that they have made you sit up there. They have made you God. Just imagine, you who remained silent when the question of God’s existence came up, himself becoming a God and worshipped. They seek your support and your guidance and what do you do? Just smile?’
‘O Siddhartha, I pity you because you cannot do anything. You cannot even run away.’
‘You had everything a man could dream of even in his wildest dreams—a prosperous kingdom, thousands of men to die at one command, a doting father, …show more content…
It is still benign but his eyes are indifferent. Looking nowhere in particular, they convey a sense of detachment, participating not even in the worshipper’s travails.
‘Tell me Siddhartha, why are you so indifferent? Have you grown weary of your seekers? I remember your last words—be light unto yourself—and they come in hordes seeking guidance from you. They unburden themselves before you and then leave.’
‘I am sure you must have become tired of your worshippers. Listening to their problems day in and day out is an uphill task—the foolishness of day to day existence and the wearied haggard souls crying for solace in any form.’
‘But don’t you feel the need to unburden yourself? Don’t you have any friends, Siddhartha? It could be quite lonely at the top and mighty boring listening to the absurdities of your seekers. But I wonder if you have a choice now.’
‘So be remain seated on that high pedestal which has become so elevated that everything below looks small, even petty. And get bored to death?’
Saying this I leave. It is still very hot outside but Delhi’s road is as usual busy. I feel dizzy not with nausea or with the heat but from the utter foolishness of living. It grips me by my neck. I want to speak, scream and shout my throat out, but the sound hardly
‘So Siddhartha,’ I ask. ‘You are sitting up there on that high pedestal. Or is it that they have made you sit up there. They have made you God. Just imagine, you who remained silent when the question of God’s existence came up, himself becoming a God and worshipped. They seek your support and your guidance and what do you do? Just smile?’
‘O Siddhartha, I pity you because you cannot do anything. You cannot even run away.’
‘You had everything a man could dream of even in his wildest dreams—a prosperous kingdom, thousands of men to die at one command, a doting father, …show more content…
It is still benign but his eyes are indifferent. Looking nowhere in particular, they convey a sense of detachment, participating not even in the worshipper’s travails.
‘Tell me Siddhartha, why are you so indifferent? Have you grown weary of your seekers? I remember your last words—be light unto yourself—and they come in hordes seeking guidance from you. They unburden themselves before you and then leave.’
‘I am sure you must have become tired of your worshippers. Listening to their problems day in and day out is an uphill task—the foolishness of day to day existence and the wearied haggard souls crying for solace in any form.’
‘But don’t you feel the need to unburden yourself? Don’t you have any friends, Siddhartha? It could be quite lonely at the top and mighty boring listening to the absurdities of your seekers. But I wonder if you have a choice now.’
‘So be remain seated on that high pedestal which has become so elevated that everything below looks small, even petty. And get bored to death?’
Saying this I leave. It is still very hot outside but Delhi’s road is as usual busy. I feel dizzy not with nausea or with the heat but from the utter foolishness of living. It grips me by my neck. I want to speak, scream and shout my throat out, but the sound hardly