In the land of Odisha, bathed in golden sunlight, where tall trees whispered secrets to the winds and rivers hummed ancient tunes, there reigned a king with power vast and unmeasured. Close by his side was a minister whose spirit was as vast as the sky. This minister was not only dedicated to the realm, but his soul danced with devotion, often journeying to sacred lands, orchestrating melodious kirtans and palas, and sharing his wealth with those less fortunate. “Whatever God does, it’s woven with purpose,” he’d often say, even in the midst of despair, firmly believing that every shadow holds a ray of light.
One sweltering summer afternoon, when the sky was painted in hues of orange and gold, the scent of ripe mangoes wafted through the palace. The King, with a weakness for this succulent fruit, eagerly sliced into one. But fate had other plans; the blade slipped, and his little finger was lost. Word reached the minister, who hurried to the palace, his eyes brimming with genuine concern. “Fear not, dear King,” he consoled, “This too, by God’s design, is for a higher purpose.”
However, the King’s heart wounded deeper than his finger, boiled with anger. The gentle words of his minister felt like venom. “How can losing a finger be for my good?” he thought bitterly, vowing to teach his minister a lesson.
One day, the King asked his minister to join him in hunting. Amidst the verdant expanse of the forest, with sunlight streaming through the trees, the King, pretending to be thirsty, pointed at an old, almost hidden well, draped with thick green tendrils. “Is there any water in it?” he asked the minister. And as the unsuspecting minister peered in, with a swift gesture, the King’s men pushed him into its dark abyss. The King looked down, a smirk playing on his lips, “Let’s see if your God comes to your rescue. If not, then maybe this is what’s best for you. Accept your fate!”
As their hunt went on, they soon spotted a stag and pursued it, venturing further into the dense forest. Suddenly, from a grove, the ‘Savaras‘ emerged, shouting loudly. They had bows and arrows, colorful feathered headdresses, and coral bead necklaces. Their bodies were covered in tattoos. They looked so intimidating that the King and his men ran away in fear. But the King wasn’t as fast, and the Savaras caught him. They tied him up, planning to offer him as a sacrifice to their goddess, Chandi.
Following the Savaras’ tradition, before sacrificing a victim, they’d prepare them. The King was bathed and covered in turmeric paste, with red marks on his neck and forehead, and adorned with a red hibiscus garland. They then checked the victim for flaws since their sacrifice had to be perfect. Noticing the King’s missing finger, they said, “We can’t offer a flawed man to the Goddess. She’ll be angry.” So, they released the King. It was then that he realized his missing finger had saved him, understanding his minister’s wisdom: “Whatever God does, it’s woven with purpose.”
Upon his release, realization dawned upon the King. He raced back, his heart heavy with remorse. Hastening to the old well, he had his minister rescued. With tearful eyes, he recounted his ordeal, expressing his newfound understanding of the minister’s wise words.
The minister, ever graceful, responded, “My King, every twist and turn in our journey, be it joy or sorrow, is but a divine orchestration. Had you not cast me into the well, I would’ve been the perfect offering for the Savaras. Truly, every act of God is for our ultimate good.”
Thus, in the heart of the kingdom, amidst the whispering trees and humming rivers, two souls deepened their understanding of life’s mysterious tapestry.
