All my life I have heard tales about the pond that this temple is built on. It was where children came to swim, travellers came to rest, men came to converse and women came to get water for their daily chores. The pond was the throbbing heart of the village, a little sun in the miniature solar system of the village which kept everyone together with its gravitational pull. Around it revolved the social lives of villagers. Then development happened – water pipes came to homes, the need for the pond declined and everyone receded into isolated corners of their private spaces.
So one night my uncle had a dream and in it he found himself back to the once throbbing heart of the village that now lay in neglect. With deep reverence and missionary zeal he set about to build this temple. Rupee by rupee he raised the money from even those who thought of the temple on water as a fanciful idea. And through persistence and sheer strength of his will he turned an impractical idea into a social movement – a collective dream.
Whether God resides here or not, I don’t know. All I know is that this temple is the symbol of the greatest human quality – that of selfless action in the pursuit of a collective dream.
