The Divinity Outside the Temple Gate (468 words)

 The temple was not far from my house—large and serene, yet neither as famous nor as rich as Tirupati. Still, it drew many devotees. I made it a habit to visit every Sunday, walking along the short road lined with small shops on both sides. As with many temples, the entrance was flanked by beggars, young and old, blind and maimed, pleading for alms in their shrill voices. The security guards at the temple gate were firm—they kept these destitute souls from entering.

On Sundays, I didn’t rush through my prayers. Instead, I liked to sit and observe the worshippers—the way they prayed, the way they called out the names of their deities, the intensity of their devotion. I found it fascinating how their body language revealed the depth of their faith.

One particular Sunday, I noticed a middle-aged man ahead of me in line for the prasad, dressed neatly in a white kurta and pyjama. He looked well-to-do. The temple, known for its generosity due to large donations, offered prasad in unusually large portions—unlike most places, where a small spoonful was the norm. Here, the prasad was the size of a large orange, rich with ghee. After collecting my portion of the sweet ksheera, I sat in a corner to enjoy it.

That’s when I saw the man again. He emptied his prasad hurriedly into a shining steel vessel and rushed to wash his hands at a nearby tap. I watched, curious, as he returned to the line to collect another portion. He did the same thing—emptying it into the vessel without tasting a bite. Again and again, he repeated this strange process, at least half a dozen times.

My initial reaction was anger. I thought, how could someone be so greedy, hoarding the prasad while others waited in the line? I almost confronted him but decided to hold back and observe him further. What happened next left me speechless.

With the vessel now filled with prasad, the man didn’t leave the temple to enjoy it himself. Instead, he went outside to where the beggars sat, patiently waiting. One by one, he offered each of them a generous portion of the prasad, along with a five-rupee coin. His smile was warm, genuine, and filled with compassion. The beggars’ faces lit up as they received his offering. He cared little if anyone saw or judged him; for him, the act was sacred.

I stood there, deeply ashamed of my hasty judgment. This man wasn’t greedy—he was giving, more than any of us inside the temple. In the joy and gratitude of those beggars, he saw the true essence of divinity, a vision far beyond the temple gate.

It was in their smiles, not the rituals or offerings, that he found the Gods.