The Champion Saga. Chapter Three. The Heroic Pooja.

The Day of the Heroic Pooja

On the day of the Heroic Pooja I woke up at dawn. I had decided that because everything happening today was for my benefit, that I would experience as wide a girth of the pooja as I could. Before leaving, I began with a light breakfast. I had seven assorted fruits and a glass of hibiscus tea. I didn't want to fill myself too much before the greatest feast of my life.
I strapped Moonshah to my person, and headed out.
Even this early there was a hum of excitement, as the nation prepared for the tens of thousands of people visiting Gaja for the pooja. I started my tour on the outer rim of it. Though this area is politically not considered to be part of the pooja, it is still very much involved. I admit this reluctantly because the activity here tends to be more illicit and unbecoming. Those who set up tents here are the ones we allow into Gaja because it is too difficult to keep them out while allowing so many others in, but we can and do bar them from entering the pooja area itself. There is an understanding of mutual profit between these outliers and Gaja. They profit from the large crowd, and are popular though lesser spoken attraction of the pooja. We profit directly from them as well. Because we forbid them from entering the pooja space we send out gold collectors here, and the vendors do not argue with how much gold they are expected to give.
But even though their participation lies between taboo and forced, they are still easing my burden tremendously, so I will give them some thanks in spite of the temptations they barter in. It is still difficult for me to rationalize spending too much time here. Aside from disapproving of the temptations they barter in, it is their cooking of meat that makes me physically ill. I thank them under my breath and move closer towards the actual pooja.
Between this area of outsiders and the inner rim of the pooja is a couple miles of field where herds of our totem namesake graze. It serves to remind everyone that our fate will always be intertwined with theirs. Aside from the odd security unit and herder, this area is almost all a natural environment for elephants. Their happiness and contentment under our care will bring us good fortune tonight.
My first hint that I am within the sacred space of the pooja is the fragrance. Sanctioned flower vendors sell the sacred scents of the pooja to people who delight in becoming olfactory beacons. The buildup of music is gradual the deeper you get, but to myself and other lahks with exceptional hearing, there is a mathematical harmony to the arrangement. Musicians are set up in specific areas of the site. Key guests who have pledged to give generously are seated where the precision of the music is at its finest. This has gone on for hours, but very soon now the tempo will change to focus on the center chakra of the heroic pooja.
Though I am officially not affiliated with the pooja, my ordinary rank is high enough that I am afforded a prime seat. I take my place on the wooden steps built into the hill above the chakra space. Below is makeshift forge- an arrangement of fire, metal, tools and blacksmiths. In a sequestered chamber within the chakra is Thopahsha. Among other responsibilities to the the temple of Saljigah, she is also its head chef. She gives her consent, and the pre-ceremony begins.
The Priests begin praying to the known deities of abundance and ask them to bless everyone who gives here today. Then a loud welcome from a randomly chosen representative of the ten member government council. Next the royal horns blow, and all attention is given to Thopahsha who addresses her question loudly to the speaking council member. Everyone hears her opening line "How many are the first and most generous givers of today's pooja?" "Ten!" replied with authority. Behind every member of the council, including the speaker, stand attendants who carry shallow dishes full of the council member's gold.
Encasing the forge, are four metal sheets sloped upwards that are shaped like petals- with the points of them at the height of the slant. The ten carriers approach the petals from all sides, and toss the contents of their dishes above it. Gold coins, jewelry, and small nuggets, topple down into stone basins above roaring fire. Thopahsha in her kitchen chamber cooks a meal for ten. In the time it takes for the gold to melt, she finishes cooking the savory grain pudding and serves it back to the council on the plates that carried their gold. A troupe of cooks then join her so they can make a stockpile of food. Everyone who gives gold today will receive this gift of food that was prepared in the very heart of the heroic pooja.
The drums begin with a slow beat, and quicken their pace as more and more are allowed their turn to toss their gold upon the petals where it topples down. The gold is melted into quick cooling globs that are carried by the blacksmiths to the giant stone disc at the center of the forge. The lumps are layered on top of each other, the dripping gold cooling into a solid upon the gold below it.
I watch this manifestation of generosity and trust build before me as I step in line. I feel my own heart whelm with love and hope, while also feeling cursed that I cannot express my elation. I want to shout to everyone here, that no matter how large this mountain of gold becomes, that I will not waste a single scrap of it. I approach the petals when it is my turn and bring out hollow gold shaped egg ornament I purchased that is stuffed with gold fragments and the piece of red gold at the center of it. I toss it in, and it rolls down where it clashes with the other gold gifts before it is melts into them. I lose track of it already as I watch the smiths toss it all onto the mound. I clasp my hands together and offer silent prayers, blessings, and promises to everyone here.
As I unburden myself from the weight in my head, I become more aware of the wondrous scents wafting past my nose. It clears my mind of my responsibility. I have been waiting for this moment for weeks, the opportunity to give into the desires of my stomach, and submit myself to the joys of the day's feasts. The source of the scents is the banquet kitchens built farther out from the chakra forge and Thopahsha. Teams of chefs at Gaja are working together to provide all of Gaja's best dishes. This will be my last feast at Gaja, and I will not withhold any space in my stomach from enjoying it. There are five other banquet kitchens in other areas of the pooja. They have earned their place here with the quality of their vegetable centered cuisine. But I will be eating foreign foods for years to come, so I venture to the Gaja banquet kitchen to gorge on the foods I will miss most.
The atmosphere at the Gaja food camp is as loud as the chakra forge. Instead of roaring forge fires, the clang and handling of metal, and the beating of drums, is the many sounds of the cooking, distributing, and consumption of food and drink, and the pleasurable exclamations that come with it. I let myself go and immerse my senses in the feast of the moment, in the sizzling, the boiling, the celebration, the cheers, and even the gnashing of teeth. Thanks to the wandering kitchen workers carrying serving plates, food surrounds us at all times. We sit cross-legged at large short tables where dishes are eaten and shared. I start with herb steamed root vegetables and a tureen of spiced soup with broken leafy greens stirred in. At the center of each table is thick spongy bread, a Gaja favorite that is best when eaten with the savory yellow lentil pudding, or to contrast with the fried corn sticks.
Drink is also flowing like a river. Giant cauldrons of flowery and sharp tasting mint tea are on every table by the bread. It is an elixir good for digestion, and so as we feast, these cauldrons are continuously consumed and refilled.
I stand up satisfied, the vow of pleasure to my stomach fulfilled, and stroll back to the chakra forge. The day is ending, and the last people giving gold to the pooja are in line. The gong is struck three times, indicating the finishing of the ceremony. When the last drop of gold solidifies on the mountain, trumpeters blow their giant horns. Everyone becomes silent and puts their hands together. They silently bless me, the champion of the heroic pooja, without knowing anything about me except that I have Gaja's trust. I thank all of them for their generosity, and swear that their faith in me will hold me to my vow. I will bring together the five Brimhurs and we will save Adijari from the curse of the Isikas. Before me is a mountain of gold ten times my height. Many people bow to it in prayers of gratitude, allowing me to do the same.

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