I visited many temples in Mumbai. At one temple , a huge crowd had collected . Every person , according to his capacity , was carrying with him a glass, a pitcher or an urn to worship the idol. Every person was a more eager than the next to bathe the deity. They were pushing aside one another to go forward . Who knows the deity was being bathed not with faith but with milk. That same milk , mixed with water , was flowing down the drain. On both sides along the way to the temple , naked , hungry and starving children stood yearning for just a drop of milk and small pieces of bread. And these devotees in their great concentrated devotion ,could see only an imaginary deity embodied in stone . They had no eyes for those children , lying on the road-side ,lying under the shadow of death.
And then I closed my eyes and said to myself , “Just see the greatness of your divine and spiritual country — where the living ones are doled out , death and flowers are showered on the dead . Here it is luckier to be stoned because then you would at least be worshiped.”