The Offering: Honoring Your Vow.
Of Faith.
Please read Part 1 first:
Months passed since Savithri’s visit to the temple. She returned to her household duties, steadfastly observing her fasts. One spring morning, her heart soared with joy as she discovered that her prayers had been answered—a tiny life was growing within her.
Delirious with joy, Savithri thanked the Lord a thousand times, visiting all the local temples, and offering her heartfelt prayers. As she joyfully embarked on the long wait to cradle her baby in her arms, the days seemed to pass slowly.
Even though time passes slowly at times, it passes surely. The day finally arrived when the first cries of Savithri’s baby resonated through the air of the local hospital’s maternity ward.
Nights at Savithri’s household became long vigils, attending to her baby’s needs. The days passed in increasing happiness as each new act of the baby sent Savithri’s heart soaring, watching her miracle grow in front of her eyes.
As the baby marked its eighth month in Savithri's life, she embarked on preparations for her annual visit to her family deity. Gratitude filled her heart, and she felt compelled to express her thanks for this incredible blessing. Savithri's journey aligned with a significant religious festival at the temple, featuring the much-anticipated annual chariot festival.
As Savithri reached the temple, she noticed it was crowded with a festive air. In the evening glow and the temple's lights, people prepared for the ceremonial procession of the deity. The large wooden chariot, tethered by ropes, would soon be pulled by hundreds of devotees around the ancient temple's perimeter.
The air echoed with the sound of conch shells, and the temple elephant trumpeted loudly, heralding the arrival of the smaller idol representing the inner black stone Deity. Following the proper ceremony, the main priest, responsible for the evening rituals, carefully positioned the deity on the adorned pedestal within the chariot. Taking his place inside, the priest arranged the deity's seat with due reverence.
After ensuring the proper positioning, he signaled to his ground helpers to commence the procession. These assistants then guided the waiting devotees, instructing them to pick up the thick ropes attached to each side of the chariot in a coordinated sequence. The air resonated with chants of "Govinda, Govinda" — another name for the Preserver-God — as the devotees took up the ropes and held them waist-high in two parallel lines.
Upon a signal from the priest, the hundreds of devotees holding the ropes applied all their strength and pulled. However, to everyone's shock, the chariot did not budge. Despite continued efforts for nearly thirty minutes, with more people joining and stronger individuals stepping forward, the position of the chariot remained unchanged. The crowd began to sense that something was amiss. This had never happened before.
Perplexed, the chief priest in the chariot questioned the deity, contemplating whether he had made a mistake in his worship. This unusual and inauspicious occurrence left him deep in thought as he gazed at the expectant faces of the crowd.
Suddenly, a memory sparked in his mind—an ancient belief passed down by his predecessor: the chariot with the deity wouldn't move if someone in the crowd had not honored a promise to the Lord.
With a sense of urgency, the priest rose and addressed the crowd, "Is there anyone among you who has made a promise to the deity and failed to honor it?"
The priest’s words hung in the air and at the same time, reached the ears of Savithri who was waiting patiently in the crowd with her child.
Upon hearing the solemn request, she could recall, hesitantly at first as though it may have been a dream, and then vividly, that fateful morning when she had last visited the shrine and prayed fervently for a child. In those moments of despair within the inner chamber, she had offered to return the baby to the Lord in exchange for the blessing she sought.
The thought, once retrieved, refused to disappear, and her mind grappled with the implications of her own promise. "No, no!" it screamed.
She shuddered to think of it. How could that be ? No, No! She cried to herself again. She had not meant it that way - surely the Lord, the omniscient Lord, realized it. He could not expect her to sacrifice her child that she had gone through so much penance for and a gift He, Himself, had blessed her with.
There must be some mistake. She could not accept that God would ask such a thing of her. She hugged her baby tightly, unwilling to give up the darling of her heart. The child was hers.
In the ensuing silence, the priest’s words echoed, "If there is no one who will speak up, then I am going to assume that it was my own worship of the deity that has caused the Lord’s displeasure. That leaves me with only one alternative. I shall have to take an oath to forever give up the tradition of priesthood that has come down from my forefathers. Not only that, no one in my family, after me, shall follow this tradition."
The priest choked, unable to bear the thought of such an action.
"Wait, please!" Savithri screamed loudly, shaken out of her indecisiveness by the strong words uttered by the priest. She could not let him take the blame for her action.
The priest peered into the crowd, trying to locate the owner of the voice. People parted to let through a woman with a baby in her arms. He got down from the chariot and met her halfway.
Savithri stared at the wizened priest, unable to speak. He asked her in a kind voice, "What is it, my child?"
Savithri slowly answered, "Revered sir, it is I who am the cause of this inauspiciousness. It is I who have gone back on my word to the Lord." Her voice broke.
The priest reassured her, "Have faith, my child. Trust in God. He will take care of you. Do not worry. He is the ocean of mercy, forgiving everything. Speak without fear—what did you offer to the Lord?"
Savithri’s eyes filled at his words. Slowly, the course of action open to her, and the path became clear.
With a full heart, she prayed inwardly, "Lord, have You known anyone as foolish as me? I have waited patiently for a child for years, praying and fasting ceaselessly. Yet, in one moment of unthinking passion and impatience, I offered You the very thing I desired. Now, I must reap the consequences of my hasty action. Lord, others may have offered You many riches and fine goods, but I am giving You my most precious gift. Forgive me."
The priest looked at Savithri with concern.
Savithri’s face tightened in resolve. She removed the child from her waist and kissed the baby on the forehead.
She then handed the baby to the priest, taken aback, exclaimed, "Mother, what are you doing?"
Savithri explained everything to him—her unfulfilled wish and her foolish vow.
She concluded by saying, "I had forgotten all about it, happy as I was with His gift. But the Lord wants me to keep the promise. So, here is my baby."
A single teardrop fell from the priest’s eyes. He reflected on her words for a few minutes, torn between the desire to protect the baby and honor the faith he had sworn to protect. Finally, he decided to trust in the Preserver-God and surrender.
He consoled her, "Who can fathom the ways of God? No one has been able to understand Him to this day. He takes with one hand but gives with a thousand.”
He then reluctantly received the eight-month-old baby and proceeded towards the chariot.
Savithri stifled a sob with the end of her saree.
By now, the story had quickly spread like wildfire through the crowd, casting a somber mood over the gathering due to these unfortunate turn of events. Sides were formed, and the baby garnered sympathy. Silence prevailed, with some whispering among themselves, questioning Savithri’s wisdom.
Some were teary-eyed as they observed the innocent wonder on the baby’s face.
The priest halted as he reached the front of the chariot.
He sought mercy and forgiveness, praying that both the mother and the baby be spared.
Gently placing the baby ahead of the chariot, he stepped back, surrendering to God.
Lying on the ground, facing the sky, the baby gurgled and pointed her little fingers at the stars, blissfully unaware.
Many in the crowd shook their heads and turned away, unwilling to watch the scene any longer. Savithri sobbed into her saree.
Suddenly, a strong gust of wind whipped up the dust from the ground, carrying it high into the air. People began to sway against the wind, and the dust flew into their eyes, forcing them to protect their faces with their hands and any available cloth. The sky grew dark. Scared, some ran to shelter.
A dust storm had descended upon the temple without warning.
People were pushed back by the strength of the wind, and it became challenging to see anything within a few inches of their face, the wind and dust blinding them. Those close to the chariot—the helpers, the priest—all had to retreat further due to nature's onslaught. A few cries began to pierce the air as some started to sob at this unseemly disaster.
Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the storm abated. The wind was hushed, and the dust began to settle down into the ground slowly.
Some people still coughed from inhaling the dust. Those who had fallen in the storm now rose to their feet, groggy.
Suddenly, a man yelled loudly, "Look, the chariot, the baby."
Immediately remembering the baby, all eyes swerved to the chariot. They stared in amazement.
The enormous chariot had shifted as though of its own accord, though "jumped" was a more appropriate description, and now sat a few feet ahead of its previous location. It seemed as though, in the storm, the chariot had been lifted and set down a few feet ahead.
Lying behind the chariot was Savithri’s baby, now on its stomach, busily playing with some object in the mud that had caught the little one’s fancy.
Savithri, who had rushed forward at the man’s cry, stood rooted to her spot, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Her child had been unharmed. The Lord had accepted and returned her offering. She had been saved from her own folly.
As the enormity of this blessing dawned on her, she ran to her baby, and watching her, sank to the ground crying with hands folded.
The priest rubbed his eyes to rid any lingering specks of dust and moved closer to the back of the chariot and the baby. There was no doubt that the chariot had jumped over the baby.
A miracle had indeed taken place.
Joyfully, the priest exclaimed, "O Lord, friend of the unfortunate. You test us and then help us pass the test yourself."
"Govinda, Govinda," the beloved name of the Deity, and the Preserver-God echoed loudly through the cool October air, carrying the glory of a Power that surpassed human comprehension to the outer world, miles from the temple.
As the tale unfolded, news of the incident spread far and wide, eventually turning into a legend. The story, passed down orally across generations, narrated how a foolish vow was redeemed by the Lord and then reversed in a Divine act of mercy.
Thus, a cautionary lesson emerged: beware of toying with the Lord of the Seven Hills. Pray earnestly, but be careful with your promises, for He does not forget to collect, and the price may prove too dear for you to pay.
Notes:
However fantastic it may seem, many believe that this incident happened not as a tale of ancient Indian mythology but in pre-modern times when perhaps, history started to be recorded.
Orally sharing stories is a long-held tradition in the culture, spanning thousands of years and this is how I first heard this story.
Among the various forms of the Preserver-God, people are cautioned against recklessly making promises to this Deity.
Wooden temple chariots have been used for thousands of years to carry processional forms of temple deities around temples, both large and small. This practice continues even today in temples. Sometimes, the deities are carried atop elephants associated with the temple. One of the most famous processions happens annually in Mysore.
If you enjoyed this original and modern take, kindly leave a comment! Thank you for reading.
Jayshree, Excellent retelling of a story from time past. Well done! D
Holy Dust Storm!! 🙂
This reminded me of this story from the Hebrew Bible. Your story has a happier ending(it's a little long):
Judges 11:19-40
Jephthah’s Tragic Vow
29 Then the Spirit of the LORD was upon Jephthah, and he passed through Gilead and Manasseh and passed on to Mizpah of Gilead, and from Mizpah of Gilead he passed on to the Ammonites.
30 And Jephthah gmade a vow to the LORD and said, “If you will give the Ammonites into my hand, 31 then whatever1 comes out from the doors of my house to meet me when I return in peace from the Ammonites hshall be the LORD’s, and i will offer it up for a burnt offering.”
32 So Jephthah crossed over to the Ammonites to fight against them, and the LORD gave them into his hand. 33 And he struck them from Aroer to the neighborhood of jMinnith, twenty cities, and as far as Abel-keramim, with a great blow. So the Ammonites were subdued before the people of Israel.
Then Jephthah came to his home at Mizpah. And behold, his daughter came out to meet him lwith tambourines and with dances. She was his only child; besides her he had neither son nor daughter. 35 And as soon as he saw her, he tore his clothes and said, “Alas, my daughter! You have brought me very low, and you have become the cause of great trouble to me. For I have opened my mouth to the LORD, and I cannot take back my vow.”
36 And she said to him, “My father, you have opened your mouth to the LORD; do to me according to what has gone out of your mouth, now that the LORD has avenged you on your enemies, on the Ammonites.” 37 So she said to her father, “Let this thing be done for me: leave me alone two months, that I may go up and down on the mountains and weep for my virginity, I and my companions.”
38 So he said, “Go.” Then he sent her away for two months, and she departed, she and her companions, and wept for her virginity on the mountains. 39 And at the end of two months, she returned to her father, nwho did with her according to his vow that he had made. She had never known a man, and it became a custom in Israel 40 that the daughters of Israel went year by year to lament the daughter of Jephthah the Gileadite four days in the year.