It was dark inside, save for a few oil lamps dimly lighting up the natural cave. The crowd seemed endless. They all chanted the name of the Lord and held flowers and sweets as offerings. I was a part of the long queue, and when my turn came up, I saw the Lord's head, and it was glowing. When I bowed and offered the flowers, I accidentally bumped against it, and the head fell off! It turns out it was made of clay. I felt that people were lazy these days and couldn't take the time to make an entire statue out of stone.

A million thoughts came into my panic-stricken mind, but the foremost was people would point at me and say, "Look, that's the girl who broke God." The crowd didn't seem like the kind who would take this in the right spirit, and I felt I might get lynched! This was a time to think on my toes, and I went into survival mode. I discreetly put the broken head into my oversized handbag and walked out with overconfidence.

I could hear the faint murmur of anger and confusion coming from the background. Oh yeah, they were out for blood. Their beloved statue had been stolen; the mob went into a frenzy. There I was, not too far away, sitting at a roadside café, sipping on my cappuccino, with a clay deity in my bag. I knew that they would construct another one, and besides, the God I worship is indestructible and does not live in manufactured statues.