Blood, Bread and Wine!

Three Stories!No big deal.  Three simple stories.  Or rather, three incidents from the life of an individual.  Some might have read/heard these stories.  Some might have witnessed it.  And some might have actually been part of it:  I’d like to stretch things beyond one’s imagination and go overboard.  Now you know what to expect.Eons ago, let’s say somewhere around 7–2 BC/BCE (30–36 AD/CE), a baby is born.  History has it thatLegend has it that the baby is miraculously conceived in his mother’s womb, a virgin, by the Holy Spirit.Talking about artificial insemination, sorry, divine intervention, our hero wasn’t alone.  Heard about Aarumugan?  He was a product of such artificial divine intervention too!

Coming back, this boy, the one born of a virgin mother, grows up and forms a pack, or something like a cult.  As the story proceeds we see our hero living and travelling with his set of loyal disciples.  The loyal disciples aren’t really as loyal as we’d expect them to be, evident from the incidents that follow.

Days, weeks, months, and years pass and our hero manages to cover quite a lot of land and gather a good amount of followers, all with the help of his disciples and his charisma.  (This charm was actually the result of him having lived and travelled in a country that spanned from the Himalayas to the Hind Mahasagar.  Or some believe.  Debatable.)

It is said that the number of enemies you have is directly proportional to the fame you enjoy.  You also ought to know you are being owned when your folks turn foes.  The case wasn’t any different for our hero either.

Now onto the scenes!

Scene #1
I don’t know the time of the day.  I don’t know where this happens.  Heck, I don’t even know if this is true.

Let’s assume that it’s dusk and our hero approaches his living quarters.  There, near the doorstep, he can see his disciples standing in a neat file, waiting for him.  Waiting to wash his feet, their Guru’s feet, and to drink that water and attain salvation. Or so he thought.  A brisk walk is all it takes for him to reach the door, with dirty feet and an aching back.  He so wishes that one of his disciples would come forward and clean his feet.  He so badly wishes.  But the good ole saying goes, expectations always lead to disappointment.  Ain’t any different here.  The wait is futile.

“Never mind my dears, I’ll take it as my honour to wash your feet.”

“No, my lord.  You don’t have to do this.”

“Nah, never mind. And once I’m done with washing your feet, you can take turns and wash each other’s feet… and this way I’ll get someone to wash my feet too,” he finished the line in his mind.

Scene #2
The pack proceeds indoors, to the dining hall.  Our hero is now fully aware that he has been pwned by his own pack.  He tries to hide  his anger, to play it cool and act as if nothing has happened.  He fails; after all he’s just as human as any of us!  You are free to disagree here.

“Buggers, how dare you sell me off?”

“Lord, what do you mean?” Comes the reply.

“Oh, quit acting.  You know you aren’t that good.”

“*Oh crap. Now we are screwed.*”

“Here, take this loaf of bread,” he starts shredding it into tiny pieces “eat it. This is my flesh.  Isn’t this what you all really wanted?  You wanted my flesh, didn’t you?  Isn’t that why you sold me off?

“This bottle of wine here,” he starts serving, “drink it. This is my blood here.  Drink it and quench your damn thirst!

“Now tell me, are you happy?  How do you feel after having feasted on my flesh and blood?  Content?  Liberated?  Exuberant?”

Scene #3:
Our hero is being nailed to a big wooden structure, akin to a huge cross, for crimes against the royalty, for fooling millions through his teachings and false propaganda, and for acting like the son of God himself.

“Take this final nail, you **********”

“Hey, you, over there in the crowd,”  shouts a Royal.

“Me?” asks a man, a man who was, utill that very moment a disciple of our hero.

“Yes, you. Come here.”

“I remember seeing you…  Yes, I clearly remember.  I have seen you walking along the countryside with this man,” he points to our hero, who seem to resting, held together by few nails and a plank of wood.  “I have seen you interacting with our men, poisoning their minds with your corrupt beliefs.  Tell me, aren’t you one of his men?  You are both are in this together, aren’t you?”

“Oh never, Your Highness.  I’m just a passerby who stayed back to see what is happening.  I don’t know what you are doing or why, but you seem to be doing it right.  This man here, he deserves to be crucified.  You are always right, Your Royal Highness.”

The look in our hero’s face explained it all.  That was the final nail in his body.

—————————————–

Pardon me if I’m wrong, but we still have people accepting pieces of bread and ounces of wine, while loudly proclaiming that it’s the flesh and blood of our hero.  Aren’t we missing the point here?  Reread Scene #2.

Our hero’s stories are widely circulated these days in the form of flyers, pamphlets, and books.  Who wrote them?  His set of disciples.  Yes, the very same who were in the scenes above.  They sold off our hero and then decided to make money by selling his story too! Irony anyone?

If you doubt the neutrality or secularism in my argument please refer to this.

PS:  This post, product of an argument with Vishnu and a lending hand provided by Aparna.