The Final Offering (600 words)

 “Appa, I've planned a small puja at the Hanuman temple tomorrow evening. I want you to come with me,” Pankaja said.

“What’s so special, Pankaja?” Rama Rao asked.

“It’s nothing big. You haven’t been sleeping well for months. Even the tranquilizers haven't helped. I prayed to Lord Hanuman to cure your insomnia and promised to offer two garlands made of vadas and betel leaves,” Pankaja replied.

“Foolish girl,” Rao said with a chuckle. “Why trouble the Lord for petty, age-related problems? But I'll come along.”

The temple was wedged between two tall textile shops on a bustling road. Though small, its presiding deity was known for granting boons. Only eighteen steps led to the temple, with a rope separating the paths for ascending and descending. The idol of Lord Hanuman, standing with a hillock on his palm, seemed ready to fly. An aged priest performed puja twice daily, and the temple was mostly crowded in the evenings when the bazaar was busy. Devotees would bring offerings of butter, garlands made of betel leaves, Tulsi, and flowers, sold by vendors at the entrance.

The next day, Pankaja prepared 108 vadas on an empty stomach and was ready by 5 p.m. She called to her son, “Nandhu, can you hold Grandpa’s hand and bring him to the temple by auto at 5 p.m.? I'll go ahead to buy the puja materials. Take care of him on the staircase; it's usually slippery.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. I promised to play in a cricket match and can’t come,” Nandhu replied rather curtly.

“Don’t worry, Pankaja,” Rao reassured her. “I’ll be careful.”

They reached the temple on time, Rao holding the basket of vada malas. “Appa, hold the basket carefully. I'll be back after getting the flowers. Please don’t climb the stairs alone; they're often wet,” Pankaja cautioned.

“Don’t worry. I won’t climb if it’s crowded,” Rao promised. “And I’ll hold the rope if I do.”

As he climbed, the priest met him halfway. “Swami, are you sleeping well these days? Your daughter mentioned your insomnia a month ago. Please go to the sanctum carefully. I'll be back shortly.”

There was a group of students at the temple, noisily waiting for the priest. The results of their annual exams were due the next day.

As Rao carefully climbed the steep steps, a mild tremor shook the temple for a few seconds. Panicked, the students hurried down both sides of the rope, creating a stampede. Rao lost his balance and fell, the students trampling over him in their rush.

“Appa, Appa!” Pankaja screamed, rushing up the stairs with some vendors. She found her father lying unconscious, his body twisted, legs above his head. Someone tried to lift him, but his head lolled to the side.

Pankaja’s piercing scream echoed through the temple and down the busy street.

A voice exclaimed, “Look at the miracle! The vada garland he carried has fallen perfectly on the nail holding Hanuman’s picture. It’s as if the garland is adorning the picture.”

The aged priest, wiping his eyes with his upper cloth, gently consoled her, “Pankaja, do not grieve. He has attained Mukti here at the temple, after fulfilling his vow. He is truly a blessed soul, destined for Sadgati. Only Lord Hanuman knows what is best for the departed. I will ask some vendors to help you take him home. If you give me your husband’s number, I'll call him.”

Turning to the vendors, the priest requested, “Please help this grieving lady. Your kind act will surely bring you blessings. I need to perform some rituals after the body is removed.”