Doctor’s Search fo r G od I M I M I I I I I I I I I I I I M I I I I I M I I I I t v I M I I M M t l M I * *
b y D r . S h e e la G u p t a
a s to ld t o M i s s C a r o l T e r r y
T he ache in the heart of a little girl who loses her mother is deep and haunting and sad. When my mother died, I sought desperately for something to fill that vacant spot left in my life. My father, who was a doctor, tried to help me by providing games, sightseeing trips, and the best of schooling; but, although I was only ten years old, these things filled in time and re mained on the surface of my life. Down deep where things matter, I was lonely, heartsick, and desperate for a mother, a friend, or a god, or something real and vital to fill that empty, aching void. One day I heard of a group of people who were go ing to climb a nearby mountain to worship the Hindu god Shiva, as it was his birthday. I was born into a high-class, Hindu family of the Vaishya Caste, and from babyhood had been taught to fear the gods and do nothing that would anger them, for they were great and could be very severe. I had never thought of a god as a friend or helper, but now my heart was so desperate, I felt maybe only a god could meet my need. Early the next morning at dawn I joined the pilgrim group and started up the mountain. Up and up we went, pausing now and then to take deep breaths, but ever looking upward to the desired goal of the temple at the top. Hungry and thirsty, I looked at patches of snow and wondered if I might venture to pick up a little and relieve the dryness of my mouth, but did not dare risk the anger of the god, as one was not supposed to eat or drink on this pilgrimage. Step by step I pressed upward, panting for breath at times, slipping on the wet ground at other times, pulling myself up with the help of a strong tuft of weeds or twigs jutting out of the snow. Weary and exhausted, I wondered if I could manage to reach the summit. When the temple finally came into view, my weari ness and hunger and thirst were forgotten in the thrill ing prospect of entering the sacred home of Shiva, one of India’s greatest gods. There was a long line of people waiting to enter the temple, and I thought my turn would never come. However, as the line gradually short ened and I came closer to the entrance, I tingled with excitement and awe, trembling as I entered the sacred doorway. My eyes watched keenly for the first glimpse of the god, quickly looking here and there inside the temple. Where was Shiva? All I could see was an oblong stone inside a small enclosure in the center of the floor. Sitting by the stone and giving something to every wor shipper was a priest. He received the offering of flowers, money, and other things brought to the god, but where was the god himself? One of the guides motioned me to go forward, and with trembling hands I placed my offering in the place indicated by the priest near the oblong stone. Solemnly
the priest gave me in return a few grains of roasted grain and two pieces of dry coconut. These, he said, had been blessed by the god and I was to eat them with reverence, which I did, still wondering when I would see the god. Then I was shoved along in a line going outside the temple. Bewildered, I asked “But where is the god Shiva?” People looked at me strangely and pointed to the oblong stone. My heart and feet were as lead as I wearily retraced my steps down the mountain. The disappointment and disillusionment were almost more than my ten-year-old heart could stand. The god to whom I had planned to tell my deepest heart’s longings could neither hear nor speak nor feel. Tears blinded me as I stumbled down the moun tain trail. I could tell no one of my disappointment, for to speak thus would be enough to bring a curse on my whole life. As the years passed, that ache in my heart only deepened, and I turned to the god Krishna for help. I went to various temples to worship, but always came away empty, feeling dissatisfied and desolate. As a col lege student seeking truth, I found only blind faith, idol worship, and hypocrisy. When I became a medical student, I visited a famous temple in north India with my father and younger sister. We arrived there at two o’clock in the afternoon and were not allowed to go inside to have a glimpse of the god because he was sleep ing. I could not help but think, “What kind of a god is this who goes off to sleep?” This was the beginning of serious doubts about the Hindu religion. As the years went by, I experienced great unrest. I was enjoying the pleasures of this world, but deep down within my heart I knew there was no happiness and no peace. A hungry and miserable soul was I, groping in the dark, but not finding any way out. In 1954, I received an opportunity to go to Vellore in south India to serve on the staff of the Christian Medi cal College and Hospital. This hospital is famous, and I accepted because I thought it would lead to material gain and medical prestige for myself. At first, however, I was so unhappy at Vellore, that I wanted to leave. My mental turmoil became worse; and, in order to escape from my own wretched self, I started going to movies frequently and reading the filthiest novels I could find. During this period, an Australian staff member, by the name of Adrienne Mocatta, moved into the room next to mine. She soon started praying for my conver sion; and one day, in a very rude manner, I told her that she must not try to force herself on me, as she would never be able to convert me. I thus continued in my restlessness, but she continued to pray, and to quote over and over again to me, “ Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open
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