That's what we are all trying to do

Taken from Life of Pi, a prize-winning novel by Yann Martel:

After the "Hellos" and "Good days", there was an awkward silence. The priest broke it when he said with pride in his voice, "Piscine is a good Christian boy. I hope to see him join our choir soon."

My parents, the pandit and the iman looked surprised.

"You must be mistaken. He's a good Muslim boy. He comes without fail to Friday prayer and his knowledge of the Holy Qur'an is coming along nicely," so said the iman.

My parents, the priest and the pandit looked incredulous.

The pandit spoke, "you are both wrong. he's a good Hindu boy. I see him all the time coming for darshan and performing puja."

My parents, the iman and the priest looked astounded.

"There is no mistake," said the priest. "I know this boy. he is Piscine Molitor Patel and he's a Christian.

"I know him too and I tell you he's a muslim," asserted the iman.

"Nonsense!" cried the pandit. "Piscine was born a Hindu, lives a Hindu and
will die a Hindu."

The three wise men stared at each other, breathless and disbelieving.

Lord, avert their eyes from me, I whispered in my soul. All eyes fell upon me.

"Piscine, can this be true?" asked the iman earnestly. "Hindus and christians are idolaters, they have many gods."

"And Muslims have many wives," responded the pandit.

The priest looked askance at both of them. "Piscine," he nearly whispered, "there is salvation only in Jesus."

"Balderesh! Christians know nothing about religion," said the pandit.

"They strayed long ago from God's part", said the iman.

"Where's God in your religion?" snapped the priest. "You don't have a single miracle to show for it. What kind of religion is that, without miracles?"

"It isn't a circus with dead people jumping out of tombs all the time, that's what! we Muslims stick to the essential miracle of existence. Birds flying, rain falling, crops growing - these are miracles enough for us."

"Feathers and rain are all very nice, but we like to know that God is truly with us."

"Is that so? Well, a whole lot of good it for God to be with you - You tried to kill him! You banged him to a cross with great big nails. Is that a civilised way to treat a prophet? The prophet Muhammad - peace be upon him - brought us the word of God without any undignified nonsense and died at a ripe old age."

"The word of God? To that illiterate merchant of yours in the middle of the desert? Those were drooling epileptic fits brought on by the swaying of his camel, not divine revelation. That, or the sun was frying his brains!"

"If the prophet - p. b. u. h. - were alive, he would have choice for you," replied the iman, with narrowed eyes.

"Well he's not! Christ is alive, while your old 'p.b.u.h.' is dead, dead, dead!"

The pandit interrupted them quietly. In Tamil, he said, "the real question is, why is piscine dallying with these foreign religions?"

The eyes of the priest amd the iman properly popped out of their heads. They were both native tamils.

"God is universal," spluttered the priest.

The iman nodded strong approval, "there is only one God."

"And with their one God, Muslims are always causing troubles and provoking riots. The proof of how bad Islam is, is how uncivilized Muslims are," pronounced the pandit.

"Says the slave driver of the caste system," hissed the iman. "Hindus ensalve people and worship dressed up dolls."

"They are golden calf lovers. They kneel before cows," the priest chimed in.

"While Christians kneel before a white man! They are the flunkies of a foreign god. they are the nightmare of all non white people."

"And they eat pigs and are cannibals," added the iman for good measure.

"What it comes down to," the priest put out with cool rage, "is whether picine wants real religion - or myths from a cartoon strip."

"God - or idols," intoned the iman gravely.

"Our gods - or colonial gods" hissed the pandit.

It was hard to tell whose face was more inflamed. It looked as if they might come to blows. Father raised his hands, "Gentlemen gentlemen, please!" he interjected. "I would like to remind you there is freedom of practices in this country."

Three apoplectic faces turned to him.

"Yes! Practice - singular!" The wise men screamed in unison. Three index fingers, like punctuation marks, jumped to attention in the air to emphasise their point. They were not pleased at the unintended choral effect or the spontaneous unity of their gestures. Their fingers came down quickly and they sighed and groaned each on his own. Father and mother stared on, at a loss of words.

The pandit spoke first. "Mr patel, Piscine's piety is admirable. In troubled times its good to see a boy so keen on God. We all agree on that." The iman and priest nodded. "But he can't be a Hindu, a Christian and a Muslim. It's impossible. He must choose."

"I don't think is a crime, but I suppose you are right," father replied.

Three murmured agreement and looked heavenward, as did father, whence they felt the decision must come. Mother looked at me. A silence fell heavily on my shoulders.

"Hmm piscine?" Mother nudged me. "How do you feel about the question?"

"Bapu Gandhi said, 'all religions are true'. I just want to love God." I blurted out, and looked down red in the face.

My embarrassment was contagious. No one said anything. It happened that we were not far from the statue of Gandhi on the esplanade. Stick in hand, an impish smile on his lips, a twinkle on his eyes, the Mahatma walked. I fancied that he heard our conversation, but that he paid even greater attenion to my heart. Father
cleared his throat and said in a half-voice, "I supposed that's what we are all trying to do - love God."

I just want to love God too.