The temple is dark. Noisy with chants. Crowds press through. Men, women, children bowing before multiple idols.
Shiny cloth drapes several of these gods. Gods of stone and clay and metal.
I watch a father guide his young son from one graven image to the next. Showing him how to bow, what to say, where to place the offering.
A way of life. Inherited. Passed down from one generation to the next.
Standing there in the dark, I feel the weight of it.
