On Meher mah, Meher roz, the busiest day at the Aslaji Agiary, Soonamai painstakingly lowers her rather large self and does not lift her head from the threshold of the sanctum sanctorum for a good seven minutes, utterly oblivious to the devotees lined up behind her waiting patiently to pay obeisance to the holy fire until one irate Bawaji asks: "Sui tau nathi gaya ni (she hasn’t fallen asleep, has she)?” Sorabji showers saliva laden kisses on the threshold of his favorite atash behram, the latest variant of Covid be damned. Hormusji fires the mobed who forgot to mention his sister-in-law’s name in the Tandarosti just recited. Dorab orates the prayers in a voice so loud that many think he has swallowed a microphone, shattering the silence desired by others praying in the fire temple.
Then there is Muncherji who ignoring the prohibition against cell phones carries out derivative trading with his broker, irritating others savoring the resonance of gongs marking the change of Rapithvan gah by the priest. Gool argues with the panthaky (managing priest) about the substandard food in the satum (food offering) performed for her Dorab who, being a foodie, must be terribly disappointed with the measly offerings. "I told you a million times that he was allergic to guvar phari (cluster beans) yet you insist on placing that accursed veggie in the satum tray,” she says. Her sister castigates the chasniwalla for bringing overripe bananas, tasteless oranges, extra salty papdi, insipid malido which looks anemic.
Illustration by Farzana Cooper
If the laity behaves atrociously, some of the priests too are not far behind. We knew of a panthaki who ran a tight ship, sneaking behind a mobed praying too slowly during the super busy muktad days, and poking his joro (pointed shoe) in the hapless fellow’s buttocks, to accelerate the pace of his rendering. A few commercially savvy ones imitate the behavior of waiters in posh restaurants who favor high tipping customers for good service. If the ashodad (gratuity) is measly, then expunging a few paras from Adarbad Marespand’s Khordeh Avesta text is permissible. Others know how to please their patron; raise your voice by several decibels while naming the dear recently departed ("naam chesti anushay ravan ravani Behdin Pestonjee, Behdin Cowasji”), then it is fine to inaudibly drone the rest of the prayers.
Rusi goes around the hall touching every photo from Zarathushtra to Dastur Kookadaru to the former panthakiyof the agiary; often trampling upon the feet of others sitting and praying. Then he removes a white handkerchief and cleans the bottom of every lamp container hanging from the ceiling. He proceeds to theatrically flail his arms as if he was directing the traffic and completes his visit by liberally applying enough ash on his forehead and neck to make him look like a sadhu.
A fire temple is neither a kitty party nor a club to exchange gossip. Not preserving the sacrosanctity of silence is disrespecting the holy fire, a living entity of high spiritual status, for those who believe. Also, not being sensitive to your coreligionists who are there to seek solace in quiet contemplation. In places of worship, it is critical that conversation is limited to the absolutely essential. Jam-packed Hindu temples, mosques, churches and synagogues rarely witness the spectacle of garrulous devotees disturbing quiet moments of reflection.
After performing his kusti, Burjorji does not think twice before nonchalantly lowering his trousers to tuck in his sudreh, shirt and whatever else. If his fellow kusti performers find the beatific vision offensive, Burjorji is least bothered. Khurshedji is greatly offended when told not to park his car in the compound of the atash behram to enable him to buy white butter from Parsi Dairy Farm just across the road. In the Navsari Atash Behram, a busload of people gather opposite the sanctum to gawk at and animatedly advance their pet theories about how the image of the First Dastur Meherjirana is visible on the wall. The mobed helplessly watches this daily occurrence. Does it increase faith? May be. Is it very annoying? Certainly.
Of course, one cannot forget the vigilantes. They are the self-appointed guardians of the faith. In some past incarnation, they must have functioned on the committee to exorcise demons. Wearing socks is a must; wearing all white is desirable. No leather items. No electronic items as they interfere with the circuits of the fire. In some agiaries, they have managed to disconnect electricity; so read the prayer book by sunlight or recite by rote, while the priests are treated to a free sauna while praying. If your finger touches the trellis surrounding the sanctorum, they will loudly crack their fingers to signal that you forthwith remove your offending digit as it tantamounts to your unauthorized entry into the sanctum. They hate carpets in the fire temples. Why? To explain this, we will require another column.
Outside the Iranshah in Udvada, a laundry list of commandments is listed as how one ought not to behave in the temple. Hardly anyone bothers to read it. Many openly flout the recommendations. Devotees were aghast when a girl of five from an interfaith marriage solemnly bowed before the holy fire and loudly exclaimed "Ganapati Bapa Morya (hail Ganpati)!”
Berjis Desai, lawyer and author of Oh! Those Parsis and Towers of Silence, is a chronicler of the community.