Her hands shook as she arranged the earthen lamps on the mud walls. There was barely enough oil for the wick to glow when lit. Whether Diwali graced them in the beginning or the middle of the month, it hardly made any difference; oil that brought light into many lives was hard to find in their single-room house. Kamala always tried to store a little oil for Diwali, but she found the stores depleting each time for one reason or another.
The irony was that her neighbour borrowed oil to light the lamps. Kamala knew lending oil in Hindu culture was a bane, but considering the festive occasion, she couldn’t say no to her. But since then, a weird feeling has gnawed at her. What if some untoward incident happened? She prayed silently - ‘Let this festival of lights drive away the gloom in our lives. Let not my ‘act of kindness’ harm my neighbours.’
‘Kamala, let’s light the lamp and say our prayers.’ Her father’s voice broke her reverie.
“Baba, the little oil we had was barely enough for the mud diyas. Is it a must to light the lamp near the idols?
I thought diyas on the wall would illuminate our neighbourhood. I will offer prasadam to Goddess Lakshmi.” She sounded apologetic.
“Kamala, God is all-pervading and blesses us irrespective of our offerings. An honest heart is what matters. An act of kindness is the best offering to God Almighty. Whatever we can offer, within our means, to a needy person is a generous deed. But remember, going beyond our means to fulfil our promise is the highest act of generosity -like the asura king Bali Chakravarthy. He sacrificed his kingdom and surrendered to Vamana, Lord Vishnu’s avatar. Diwali, the festival of lights, has many connotations.”
Her father’s words comforted her troubled soul.
“Baba, mythology and traditions related to this festival are so intriguing. Some celebrate it as Sri Ram’s return to Ayodhya with Seeta and Lakshman; others laud the slaying of Narakasura by Lord Krishna and Satyabhama. Good has always prevailed over evil, and every festival celebrates this triumph of virtue over vice.”
Kamala lit the lamps. The glow on her face was brighter than that of the lamps. Her father felt a surge of affection for this little girl, trying to find happiness in life's small joys.
“Kamala, the light that glows within is what illuminates our lives. Festivals and celebrations are a part of our culture that try to minimize the differences and the divide. Stories and how we celebrate may vary, but the essence is to bring harmony and a sense of togetherness. It is not why we celebrate but how we share our joys. Your small act of sharing ‘the oil’ is the true celebration.”
Kamal’s fears were assuaged.