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Yann Martel: Life of Pi
Father looked at me for a second, as if to speak, then thought better, said, "Ice cream, anyone?" and headed for
the closest ice cream wallah before we could answer. Mother gazed at me a little longer, with an expression
that was both tender and perplexed.
That was my introduction to interfaith dialogue. Father bought three ice cream sandwiches. We ate them in
unusual silence as we continued on our Sunday walk.
CHAPTER 24
Ravi had a field day of it when he found out.
"So, Swami Jesus, will you go on the hajj this year?" he said, bringing the palms of his hands together in front
of his face in a reverent namaskar. "Does Mecca beckon?" He crossed himself. "Or will it be to Rome for your
coronation as the next Pope Pius?" He drew in the air a Greek letter, making clear the spelling of his Mockery.
"Have you found time yet to get the end of your pecker cut off and become a Jew? At the rate you're going, if
you go to temple on Thursday, mosque on Friday, synagogue on Saturday and church on Sunday, you only
need to convert to three more religions to be on holiday for the rest of your life."
And other lampoonery of such kind.
CHAPTER 25
And that wasn't the end of it. There are always those who take it upon themselves to defend God, as if
Ultimate Reality, as if the sustaining frame of existence, were something weak and helpless. These people
walk by a widow deformed by leprosy begging for a few paise, walk by children dressed in rags living in the
street, and they think, "Business as usual." But if they perceive a slight against God, it is a different story.
Their faces go red, their chests heave mightily, they sputter angry words. The degree of their indignation is
astonishing. Their resolve is frightening.
These people fail to realize that it is on the inside that God must be defended, not on the outside. They should
direct their anger at themselves. For evil in the open is but evil from within that has been let out. The main
battlefield for good is not the open ground of the public arena but the small clearing of each heart. Meanwhile,
the lot of widows and homeless children is very hard, and it is to their defence, not God's, that the
self-righteous should rush.
Once an oaf chased me away from the Great Mosque. When I went to church the priest glared at me so that I
could not feel the peace of Christ. A Brahmin sometimes shooed me away from darshan. My religious doings
were reported to my parents in the hushed, urgent tones of treason revealed.
As if this small-mindedness did God any good.
To me, religion is about our dignity, not our depravity.
I stopped attending Mass at Our Lady of Immaculate Conception and went instead to Our Lady of Angels. I no
longer lingered after Friday prayer among my brethren. I went to temple at crowded times when the Brahmins
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