We need a miracle. We pray for it. We beg and plead. We bow down to forces we cannot see. We drive over a hundred miles, from Jaisalmer to Tanot, to do just that.
We chase faith to find belief.
We gather around in an assembly hall with a thousand other devotees, clap our hands and sing our prayers. The temple reverberates in the vigour of our voices. For these seventeen minutes, we devote all of ourselves to Tanotrai Mata.
We raise our arms in hope. We know what lies ahead – a gruelling month of the real deal, the show behind the show. It is going to be a goddamn battle. A glorious time of chaos and creation.
We remind ourselves that a bunch of spirited men can indeed overcome all odds.
We kneel. We think of the countless legends dedicated to these four walls. After all, it’s not every day that we visit a temple widely regarded a war idol.
We choke in reverence.
We close our eyes and reflect on the astonishing past.
It is so said, even documented, that in the India-Pakistan war of 1971, Tanotrai Mata Mandir not only withstood the fury of more than 300 Pakistani bombs, it also somehow managed to prevent them from exploding.
We pray together, asking for a helping hand – asking Her for an encore.
We pause and get up. The way out is a slow walk through the temple premises. As we amble by, perhaps still lost in the echoing sounds of our claps, army men gaze upon us, their hearts burdened with debts they think they still owe the deity. We smile back.
We are quiet now. We are confident, content and strangely buoyant. We are ready.
Our prayers have left us. We now await the miracle.
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