He watched them immerse the idol. Soon a goddess would be reduced to clay, the same clay from which she was fashioned, a month back, by his hands. It’s a huge responsibility to give shape to people’s faith, especially if you are an atheist.
It‘s strange, he thought, that people would rather believe in a clay idol made by him than him. He had promised that he would pay back the cost of the operation, had he not? They didn’t believe him. They let his daughter die, her ashes immersed in this very river.
And with them, his faith too.
I know of only one true form of worship. The ‘let’s-make-the-world-a-better-place-to-live-in’ type. Everything else is just a belief, an ego or an excuse.