Where were you when they crucified my lord? (In a Bubble of Time.)

“Then why didn’t you?”  John stepped in. “I’ll tell you why; because you believed the Master. We all did.... That's why we chose to stay.”

“But what good has that done us now, boy?” Matthew who had been brooding in silence now joined in. “We left all to follow him. And now he is dead. I don’t even know if I have a profession to go back to. It’ll be easier for you, Sons of Zebedee; your father will allow you back into his boat. But will the authorities re-employ me?  I am considered a rebel, along with the Master. I cannot hold another public office. I have given away much of my wealth - that which I had saved before I met the Master - I have nothing to go back to, no security.

“No future” he moaned. “Don’t look at me like that; think of yourselves,” he said sharply, “what have you go to go back to?  Will our lives ever be the same again? And for what?” with that, he lapsed back into his dark silence. And infectious silence. The others looked at each other.

“The Master promised us much.... In his kingdom we would have had a hundred times as much of all that we have given up - and eternal life in the age to come.” John remembered.

“What will your mother say to that now, John?” Simon the Zealot asked, watching as the younger man cringed in embarrassment.

“Leave him alone,” Andrew warned.

“Do you still want to sit, one on the Master’s right and the other on his left?” Simon taunted, encouraged by the others’ laughter.

“We weren’t the only ones who wanted a position in his kingdom,” John defended, angry, “you were all equally interested or you wouldn’t have been arguing about who was the greatest. What did you expect to be, Simon? Commander in chief of his army?”

Simon sprang to his feet, his dagger drawn. He had always carried it with him though well concealed from the Master. Simon knew Jesus wouldn’t have approved of his physical violence. He had almost used it at the Garden but skillful as he was with it, he knew he was no match alone against the soldiers, their swords and the Pharisees and their sticks and clubs and slaves. He had put it out of sight again then, and had regretted it ever since. He should have tried, done something. Given Jesus a chance to escape; at least he could have died trying. His moment of cowardice would always haunt him and now it goaded him into drawing it against the fisherman.

There was a gasp from the others as John got to his feet too. Simeon hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. He wished he hadn’t been so rash but he wasn’t going to be a coward a second time.

John, Son of Thunder, faced him. John’s eyes blazed. There was no fear in them. He who had wanted fire from heaven to come down and burn up a whole Samaritan village in his anger, now was itching for a fight. All the pent up anger and pain at having to stand by and watch helplessly as his friend had died - was now seeking release.

It was to John as if he had been in agony too. Yet he hadn’t been able to leave the foot of the cross. Couldn't leave Jesus. And in the darkness that had strangely enveloped the land, John had stood vigil in the flickering torch light. With nothing else to do, he had remembered. Remembered other days when he had leaned on those shoulders now stretched out so cruelly. Those hands that had reached out to those no one else would; picked up those children who couldn’t walk his pace and yet who wanted to walk the distance with him. Jesus.....

John had heard Peter’s declaration to the Master that he, Jesus, was the Son of God, and John, in his heart had believed it too.

Those hands that had flung the stars across the sky, shaped the mountains, painted the wings of a butterfly, now were outstretched, bleeding. Why didn’t he unleash his power?  What kept it in check, why was he allowing Man, whom He had created, to humiliate Him?

John couldn’t understand it. Couldn't accept that Jesus’ death was part of some great, mysterious plan of God. What good could possibly come out of it?

And young John, had allowed himself to cry. Who would notice anyway?  Who cared?

And now these men talked. Where had they been, he would have liked to ask. It was only his love for Jesus that had kept a control on his tongue. He had to force himself to remember that Jesus had loved them too. So for his master’s sake.....Till now.

But Simon had goaded him beyond control.

 “Oh stop it, the both of you.” Matthew commanded. “Start a fight and you won’t have to wait in suspense for the authorities to arrest you. Now sit down! And calm down. There is nothing to be done till the Sabbath is over. The Master is dead; The Kingdom is never to be - at least not in this generation and we had all better be thinking of our future plans.”

The moment was diffused. Simon put away the weapon and sat down. Cautiously, John did too, but never taking his eyes off the other man. It had taken him by surprise and he wasn’t sure if Simon could be trusted again. The others too shifted nervously, sure of only one fact - something was happening to what they had always thought was an unbreakable bond between them - a brotherhood - more than mere blood-ties between natural siblings; they were falling apart, coming undone at the seams. Their common thread, it was now obvious, had been Jesus.

____l-----------l___

“Mary, Susanna and I are waiting out the Sabbath. But where were you when the Master needed you?  Where was your loyalty to your ‘King?  You ran away when they arrested him in the Garden, and have been hiding ever since. You,” Joanna's pointed finger swept over the men. “You weren’t there when they brought him out to Herod. If your loyalty to him was as you boast, that was when you should have tried to free him. The people were all there - your loyal subjects. They had seen the signs and miracles - they would have followed you, surely.

“You fought over who was the greatest, who should sit at the Master’s right hand, but which one of your tried to set him free?  What happened to the Promises of the Kingdom?  Wasn’t it enough to prompt you to defend your king?  And you were expecting to be ministers in his kingdom?  Matthew, you a High Priest, maybe?  Being of the lineage of Levi?” her tone, scathing.

“Where were you, ‘soldiers of Christ’, when they brought him out bloodied and torn?-   his eyes trying to blink away the blood that ran down his forehead and caked on his lashes?  Did you wipe them away for him?  Did you help him to carry that heavy crossbeam?  Did you help him to ease its load, lift its rough wood off his back and shoulders where it rubbed into his torn and tattered back?  Did you even see it?  His flesh was ripped to ribbons where the bones on the whips’ tips had dug in.” She took in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to control her voice through the threat of tears..

“Bartholomew”, her anger had not yet abated, “you have moaned and grumbled . Where were you when Jesus stumbled on the stones, his legs weak; did you pick him up, steady him?  Did you try to offer him a cup of water?  Did you notice how parched his lips were?”  Her tears flowed freely,  “How…  How dare any of you even think of how much you have lost!. What have you lost?  Jesus gave you the best three years of your lives but he lost his life. What have you ever done for him, that you should boast?”

“Where were you when they crucified my lord?” she beat her chest with a bunched fist, her agony evident. Joanna stood there trembling, her eyes blazing with fury, with frustration at the disciples, at the unjust authorities, at her own great loss.

She finally sat down, her legs weak. She sat close to Mary, and put an arm around her friend who was yet to say a word. Surely Mary’s loss was much greater.

The men looked sheepish, uncomfortable. 
The knock on the door made them all jump.The knock repeated, persistent, authoritatively.

Simeon drew his dagger out and moved forward cautiously.

“Don’t.”  Suzanah pushed him aside. “I’ll open the door. We don’t know who it is. It may not be trouble.”  but she didn’t sound convincing, even to herself.

She lifted the latch, and opened the door a fraction; Simeon hid directly behind it, ready to pounce at the first sign of danger.

The Strange darkness... (In a Bubble of Time.)

chap 65:

Golden Gate, Herod’s Temple:

Another beggar pushed Elkanah, trying to get closer to Bartimaeus and his story.  . Elkanah shifted to make place.  . It was crowded.  . Most of his friends had come to hear the tale.  . Bartimaeus had had to repeat himself more than once, for the sake of the new comers, but his story had never changed.  . He had put his newly regained sight, to good use.  . But, to Bartimaeus it would have been better not to have had it back, than to witness the horror he had come to narrate about.  . Jesus, crucified!

 “Why didn’t he listen to me?  He could have saved himself, if only he had believed me.  . I should have been more convincing.,” he remonstrated himself.

Pilgrims streamed past into the Temple, but for once the beggars were too distracted to hold out their bowls.  . Some coins however dropped in automatically into the bowls on the floor, but went virtually unheeded by their recipients.

“You should have warned him, Elkanah, when you had the chance.”  Bartimaeus turned his focus on the man who leaned against the wall, his eyes closed, his face drawn.

“If he didn’t believe you, whom he knew, why should he have believed me?”

“Whether Jesus had believed you or not on that day, it would have made my warnings more credible later.”  Bartimaeus said.

Elkanah’s eyes flashed open.  . “Don’t you dare try to pin the blame on me!”, he glared.

Before either could say another word, the sun was blotted out.  .

Cries of fear, surprise and shock was all around them. Then pandemonium.

 Footsteps pounded down the steps.  . People pushing.  . Someone fell, bringing down others in his path, with him.  . Shouts of anger.  . Curses.

Elkanah moved himself as far away from the Beautiful Gate as possible, pushing his friends, forcing them to move aside.  . He didn’t want to be trampled on in the confusion.  . There was no point in asking anyone what had happened to the sun.  . It was obvious no one knew.

He saw the faint flicker of torchlight.  . It grew steadily brighter as its bearer came running out of the temple.  . The gold on the leaves of the massive doors reflected it greedily, lighting up the entrance.  . The priest’s face however didn’t seem to benefit from the glow of the fire.  . It was ashen, his eyes huge.  . As if he had seen a ghost.

  “The Veil.”  He gasped, to no one in particular, “The Temple Veil has torn!  From top to bottom!  It has been torn!”  With that, he ran off down the stairs, in the general direction of the High Priests’ house.  . And with him, went the light.

The silence his torchlight had brought with it, disappeared, swallowed up in a torrent of more confusion.

“Who tore the Temple Veil?”

 “No one but the priests are allowed into the Holy Place.  . Which priest would dare?  It would be tantamount to sacrilege.  . Blasphemy, even.”

“But no one man could have done it.  . It must have been a conspiracy.”

“What do you mean?”

“The veil is two inches thick and taller than the height of two houses, one on top of another.  . No man could have done it by himself.”

“Maybe it wasn’t man, but God Himself.  . The priest said it was torn from the top to the bottom.”

“Would God desecrate His own Temple?” came the scornful reply.

Maybe, Elkanah thought to himself, maybe God is showing his displeasure at Jesus’ crucifixion. But he kept his thoughts to himself.

It was evening as the horses’ hooves pounded into the city.  No one stopped them; no one would, not a Roman Centurion in full regalia.  . Where should they go now?  To Herod’s Palace in search of Joanna or to the Praetorium, to Pontius Pilate?

“I’ll take you to the Palace,” Marcus decided. “Try to locate your friend.  . See if there have been any new developments on the matter.”

“No Marcus,” she interrupted.  . “It’ll be too late.  . I don’t know where Joanna is.  . She may not even be at the Palace tonight.  . She may be with Mary, anywhere.  . Please, just go to Pontius Pilate and find out directly from him.”

“Woman, one can’t just barge in unannounced on the Prefect, even if he is only of the equestrian rank and I out rank him, technically.  . There is certain protocol to be observed; the meeting with Pontius Pilate will have to wait till morning.”

Deborah groaned.  . “But what if Joanna isn’t at the Palace?”

“It is a chance we will have to take.  . You have met your friend’s husband, haven’t you?  Didn’t you tell me he is an official of the Court?”  Deborah nodded. “Well, announce yourself and ask to meet him.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be your escort.”  He grinned.  . “There is nothing else for me to do tonight anyway.”

Deborah didn’t smile back.  . She was irritated.  . The journey from Galilee had been long and tedious. The strange darkness had lifted long ago, but the daylight had none of the comfort she had hoped it would bring. Now the day had given in to its natural night. The deep shadows inside the carpentum only compounded nerves stretched by Marcus’ proximity.  . She had deliberately maintained a stoic silence, barely answering any questions, till Marcus had also lapsed into his own silence.  . Now, she had to spend even more time with him.

                                               

That first Palm Sunday...(In a Bubble of Time)

Chapter 61: Jerusalem

 And the Zealots congregated in a secret room, above the bakery; they had been there a week, waiting, watching.

Jesus had ridden into Jerusalem on a donkey, which had puzzled them - a horse was better suited for war, surely - but no matter, the people’s shouts of welcome had the ring of triumph.

The Zealots had listened in glee as Jesus had defeated the Pharisees at their own game of words. They knew what he meant when he declared for all to hear, “As for these things which you see, the days will come in which not one stone shall be left upon another that shall not be thrown down.”  They had looked around to see if the Romans had guessed, but none had advanced to arrest him. And Abner and his friends returned to their Safe House to sharpen their swords and to string their bows.

They waited for Jesus’ command to attack.

Bartimaeus was the new beggar from Jericho. He had joined them barely three days ago.

“Do you believe what they are saying of Jesus?”  one of his friends was asking.

“It would depend on who you had been listening to,”Elkanah replied.

“He is a prophet,” said another.

“The leaders say he is a trouble-maker.”

“But the people follow him.”

“Some say he is Elijah the prophet.”

“Who does?” Elkanah asked.

“They that follow him around.”

“They should know, I suppose.”

“Why do the Pharisees call him a trouble-maker, then?  They should be the first to identify a prophet, but they don’t believe in him. So he must be a fake.”

“The Pharisees would call anyone who didn’t think the way they do, a trouble maker. As for identifying a prophet, I doubt if they could even identify the Messiah if He were to come amongst us!”

This was greeted by hearty laughter. The bond among them was forged by their poverty and their profession.

“I heard there was quite a crowd at the procession.”

“Tell us about it.”  That procession had the whole city in an uproar.It had shaken Jerusalem.Even the most impassive, neutral bystander had an opinion on it, and the city was unevenly divided."“The procession.  Aah…  It started in Bethpage, we were all coming from Jericho;. I thought Jesus would go directly to Jerusalem, but he stopped here. Most of us had gone off in search of food,” Bartimaeus was saying,

“But not you” observed Elkanah.

“No, not I.  I stuck to Jesus. I wanted to follow him anywhere he went, and I wasn’t the only one. Anyway, he instructed his disciples to bring him a colt, a donkey colt; and he got on it. Believe me – was I surprised.”

“But why should you be?” Elkanah asked. “Maybe the man was tired.”

“Well, I was not the only one who was surprised, let me tell you,” Bartimaeus wagged a bony finger at him. “Jesus had never accepted a ride if his disciples had had to walk. He’d rather walk too.”

“How would you know?  You’ve only been around him for a few days.”

“Five days to be precise, but who’s counting?  Anyway I heard Mistress Mary talking to her companion about it; that’s how I know. Just because I have my sight back doesn’t mean I have lost my hearing you know.”

“Who is Mistress Mary?”

“Where have you men been?  Don’t you know anything?  You really should keep up with current events. The most important man in Israel’s history is here with us and you know next to nothing about him.”  Then seeing Elkanah’s face darken, he quickly changed track. “Mistress Mary is Jesus’ mother.”

“His mother!  What is she doing here?”

“Well,” Bartimaeus  was bursting with superior knowledge, “First of all, it is the time of the Feast, you know, secondly,… er… she was telling Mistress Joanna, her companion, that this would be Jesus’ last journey to Jerusalem and so she  wanted to be with him.”

“What does she mean – Jesus’ last trip? Where is he going after the Feast?”

“Maybe he is going far away, maybe even to Rome.,”  one of the beggars piped in, “I don’t blame him. What with the Pharisees, the Sadducees, the Herodians and whoever else who feels like it at the moment, snapping at his heels, criticizing him at every turn…. I would leave too if I were him.”

“Did he say where he was going?” Elkanah felt a strange sadness.

“Well,” Bartimaeus scratched at his beard, “He said he was going back to his father.”

“Where is his father?”

“I don’t know, he wasn’t there at the procession. Now, do you or don’t you want to hear about that procession?  Then stop interrupting me with so many questions.

“The people cut down palm branches and waved them shouting ‘Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!’, and the children ran on beside the donkey, and people even lay their outer garments out on the road for the donkey to walk on!

“Some of us ran slightly ahead of Jesus, shouting out that Jesus was coming, and what a crowd came!

“Then Jesus went to the Temple and you know the rest.” Bartimaeus concluded.

“Just like Judas Maccabees.”  Elkanah muttered.

“Judas who?”  Bartimaeus asked.

“Never mind; it was a story my mother used to tell us - Judas saved Israel from the Greek yoke of conquest.”

“I’m sure Jesus has come to save us from the Roman yoke of conquest” one of the beggars said.

“Do you think so?” Elkanah was interested.

“Sure! Jesus performed all those miracles, remember?  It was to prove his power.” The beggar said, nodding his head in conviction.

“Where is his army then?  He has only twelve disciples.” Elkanah was silent. He didn’t know what to think. “They are going to kill him.”

All eyes turned to Elkanah. Silence.

“Who?  Who is going to kill him?!” Bartimaeus caught hold of Elkanah in his agitation, shaking him for an answer.

“The Pharisees. I overheard them talking the day after the Money Changer’s incident.”

“What did they say?” Bartimaeus’ voice was tight.

“That they’d arrest him before this week was over.”

“What are they planning to do to him?”

“Crucify him.”  Elkanah looked down, unable to face the stunned looks on his comrades’ faces.

“Why didn’t you tell someone?”

“They said they’d do the same thing to anyone who tried to help Jesus.”

“Today is the fifth day,” Bartimaeus spoke into the shocked quiet. “Tomorrow will be the last day before the Passover; it will either be today or tomorrow, that he is arrested. We must warn him!”

“If he really is meant to be the next king of Israel, surely God would not allow his servant to be taken.” One of them said.

“And if he wasn’t, and is arrested, then….”

“You can sit and debate over it,” Bartimaeus rose to his feet. “I am going to look for Jesus. I must give him at least a chance to escape.”  He ran down the steps.

Barabbas and Jesus (In a Bubble of Time)

Chap 59: Jerusalem – A.D. 29

Abner surveyed the cave: twenty men were gathered for a central figure; tense and alert - he could feel it though he did not share it; Abner was not really one of them anymore, his age separated him from them; no, not really his age – it was more the mellowness that had come with having lived for so long- twice as long as most of the others gathered here. Andrew was standing by him - age had not mellowed him - the fires still burned just as brightly as it had in the beginning. Abner could see it in Andrew’s eyes as his friend listened to the man who had captivated the attention of his listeners. Barabbas. The Rising Star, The Rebel. Barabbas would lead them to victory; his daring exploits and reckless manner in confronting the enemy had granted him spectacular victory after spectacular victory. The younger men flocked to join his army.

But Abner and some like him had withheld their admiration, for Barabbas wasn’t above stealing from the Jews either to finance his army. Often enough caravans of rich patrons would have to relinquish their goods on dark, moonless nights on roads too far away from the towns to fetch help in time, but the damage Barabbas did to Roman patrols on these same roads was by far much worse and that is why Andrew and his kind stayed with their leader.

Abner had been brought for this meeting by Andrew and his security clearance vouched for by Andrew; Abner had come out of curiosity and loyalty for his friend, but mainly out of curiosity. He had to compare- would Barabbas be anymore successful than Judas?  But more importantly, did Barabbas have any connection with Jesus? 

Abner’s son and his friend had returned to Jesus after a year back at the farm. Abner had had a hard time in convincing the lads to return to Emmaus with him at all, after John’s death. The boys were determined to become followers of Jesus. Finally, both sides had reached a compromise: return to Emmaus and help with the harvest, then after a year if they still felt as strongly, then Abner would let them go. And the year had passed too quickly.

The lamp light flickered in the scones; the cave was warm even inspite of  winter outside.

“This carpenter has an awesome following” Barabbas was saying,”the crowds would do anything he bid them do. He has them eating out of the palm of his hand. We could do with him on our side.”

“But it would be difficult to manage such a large number” one of the men pointed out.

“Yes,” agreed Andrew. “They are mostly from the villages – I’ll bet none of them have actually engaged in combat.  . They’d only get in our way.”

“We won’t have to use them within our ranks; if the carpenter could use them in a diversion, their sheer numbers alone would keep the Romans busy; giving us the opportunity to hit where it hurts most.” Barabbas argued. “We need to find out more about Jesus, especially what his mission is.”

“He may not have any specific mission,” a young recruit joined in.

“My spies tell me otherwise,” his leader snapped, clearly irritated at being contradicted.

The young man cringed, but no one was surprised. Barabbas had a volatile temper and an unpredictable nature. His mood could change easily even without provocation. The only dependable, consistent thing about him, as Andrew had said, was his fighting spirit - Barabbas would plunge himself into any fight, and rarely backed off. Amazingly enough, though, his men suffered few causalities; Barabbas was a good commander, he would not expose his troops to unnecessary risks. This very contradiction of natures only served to enhance his charisma: rebellious, unpredictable, volatile, reckless, brave.

And his soldiers were not the only ones who were attracted to him, the women found his easy roar of a laughter, the wicked twinkle in his dark eyes, and his never-to-be-tamed aura, quite irresistible. Barabbas, on his part, never turned away “a damsel in need of comfort.”

“Simon,” Barabbas addressed the boy, “join Jesus; find out all you can about him, his goals, what he plans to do with this rabble that he has congregated around himself, find out how the man thinks, and report to me here in a month.”

The boy was clearly relieved at being reinstated in his leader’s favour and proud at being singled out for a mission of such import.

Abner watched without comment.

“Barabbas,” Andrew called for his attention, “Abner’s son is already in Jesus’ camp. Abner could introduce Simon to him. It would make his entry into Jesus’ confidence all the easier. Jesus  wouldn’t suspect anything.”

Barabbas and Abner viewed each other silently. Then Abner nodded slowly; there didn’t seem to be any harm in this.

“Good.”  Barabbas said. “Don’t tell your son anything either. His innocence in this matter will help matters greatly. Of Simon, I have no doubt.”

Simon beamed.

Abner resigned himself to accompany the young Zealot on the long journey to Capernaum. It was a good thing that work was at a minimum at the moment on the farm.  . He mustn’t tell his wife too much. He had promised her a long time ago not to get involved in anymore fighting; well, this wasn’t exactly a war that he was going to, he reasoned with himself; well, not yet anyway. He’ll tell her he was going to check up on their son.  . She would readily agree to that and it wasn’t entirely untrue after all.

Barabbas had been arrested!  This was a real blow; just before Passover too. His betrayer had been swiftly executed, but his death did little to lift the gloom; their leader still languished in jail. They had to organize his escape, but how?  

Andrew had called for this meeting - Abner had important news!

Abner had left Jesus’ group post haste, his heart thudding, his mind racing faster than the wind that beat  his cheeks as his donkey’s hooves’ trotted on the hard gravelly roads, not the paved roads laid by the Romans. How he wished he had a horse instead.  He hoped the rebels would all be assembled by the time he reached them; the news he had for them was much too important for further delay. They had to be ready for Jesus!

            The months Abner had spent with this man had convinced him of his authority, his leadership qualities, but beyond that, Abner was fully convinced that Jesus had come as part of God’s plans.  He, Abner, was convinced of the New Kingdom that Jesus had come to establish - Jesus was the Messiah!

            The runner had just come with the news of Barabbas’ capture, when Jesus announced his impending trip to Jerusalem for the Passover Feast, and something told Abner this was to be a significant trip for Jesus. He had overheard the talk around the campfires as Jesus had confided in his closest companions, “Behold, we are going up to Jerusalem, and all things that are written by the prophets concerning the Son of Man will be accomplished.”

Abner’s heart had leaped within him when he had heard that; his mind bursting with the knowledge that this was IT!  And he, Abner, was around to witness it! Abner had known then that Simon had made the right decision, and though it had initially been a disappointment, Abner would not dissuade the boy any further. In fact, he told him to remain with Jesus till he, Abner, returned, but he didn’t elaborate his plans to the boy.

Of his own son however, he was not too sure; his boy was a pacifist, claiming Jesus’ teachings as the basis of his convictions. Ah well, the boy would hear only what he wanted to hear, I suppose. I’ll give him time to realize the truth behind Jesus’ mission.  . But he’d better learn fast, for Jesus would not take forever to reach Jerusalem.

I moan the tone of 'young' Bangalore

       I love showing off my Bangalore to international guests, and Commercial street is one of the biggest draw for sighs and happy exclamations from them. It gives me a child-like pleasure to see them gaze around in wide eyed wonder at the colours and hues of scarves, shawls and stoles draped over rods in shop fronts, to see them feel the cloth and exclaim at the 'cheap' rates! The jewelry from the Silver Shop is always a big hit, and the sequined bags sold on the lane opposite Transit never fails to make us stop and stare. We wander through the little known bye lanes and hop, skip and dart down OPH Road and marvel at the flavours of Gujjily.

       So it was that when my latest guest, a lady from UK came, I took her  shopping for curtains. The little store on Dickenson road had just what we wanted, but not enough panels, so we agreed to return the next day to pick up our order. When we came there, we were informed by the young store hand that the extra panels were yet to arrive and he didnt know when they would either. We were disappointed. To add salt to the wound, he cheerfully informs us that we may not even get the shade we had ordered, and that if we returned at 8.30pm, we could take a chance at getting what we wanted.
        I argued with him, that if he had told us this yesterday, we would not have walked all the way over from Gujjily on this hope and we would have tried our luck elsewhere. To this he states "then this is not the shop for you, please leave." I was shocked! Never had I met such callous attitude from a shop hand.
"Be nicer to your customer," I told him, irritated. My friend in the meanwhile had collected her bags and moved to the doorway in confusion.
" I bow down only to Allah," he declares,"not to you!"
I was speechless; I hurried to follow my friend who had already made it out of the doorway by now, confused and maybe even a little bit scared, when the elderly gentleman sitting at the cash counter by the door stopped me. "Please madam, dont leave. I apologise on his behalf." I could only stare at him; I was still in a state of shock, and to my horror, found myself fighting back tears. I never cry in front of strangers so this was even more disconcerting.
"Why does he have to use the Religion Card?" I asked this gentleman, "We are cousins in faith, and I have many Muslim friends - in fact, some of my own family members - by blood and marriage, are Muslims and they are very much a part of our family. We have just given good business to a Muslim shop in OPH road, in fact. Why does this boy have to talk to us this way? Why is he so rude?"
     The boy in question, he must have been in his early 20s, butted in trying to justify himself, to which I firmly stated "I will NOT talk to you."
  My friend and I left that shop, crossed over back to main street Commercial Street and found our curtains, at a cheaper price, and in another shop, also run by Muslims. This 'bhaiya' I'm glad to say, was courteous and helpful and even though we had to wait nearly 2 hours more to get all 8 panels, we didnt mind.

   What hurt most was that my happy bubble of 'wonderful Commercial Street' was now coloured by 'Muslim stores' or not. Was it worth it to that store hand, I wonder, to declare something so unnecessary at that point of the conversation? What prompted him - was he trying to impress a foreigner with his ardent faith? He only succeeded in frightening her and in the bargain lost an Indian customer as well.

  I miss my 'old' Bangalore.., where courtesy was the norm and every customer was a guest.