Day 42 - Hanuman

A few days ago, during a scorchingly hot afternoon, I stood at the feet of a massive statue of Hinduism's monkey deity, Hanuman, friend and helper of Rama and god of strength. The statue, or idol rather, stood almost a hundred feet tall from head to toe and was painted a crimson red. He had the body of a man - chest bare and muscular -  but the head of an ape. The only clothing he was dressed in was the loin cloth that reached the middle of his stout thighs.  Also, on his head sat a large pyramid-shaped crown and in his left hand he held a magnificent mace. He held the weapon in a way that did not seem to impose threat, for Hanuman relaxed the crown of the mace on the ground near his giant, sandaled feet. His other hand was held out chest high, palm faced outward, expressing peace to his spectators. 

It was the largest statue I had ever found myself staring up at - a red giant frozen and captured from another world, foreboding yet borderline ridiculous to behold. For as intimidating as he appeared - given his size and the fact that if he were to come alive, the weapon he possessed could easily erase a house with one sheer blow - I could not help but think he would be kind and even gentle in his own way. His face carried the expression of cool friendship and timeless contentment, like the face that has experienced many years of peace after many years of war; a face that tells the heart,"The bad years are over. Let us forget them and now rest and be glad." Looking deeply into his face, I couldn't help but think Hanuman would let me climb his arm and find a seat on his broad shoulder. 

Sarah expressed vehemently to me, yet in a hushed tone, that she would like to topple this statue if she could, this statue that so many revered and prayed to in India and turned people away from the living God. I imagined the huge red thing coming crashing down, falling as if in slow-motion and hitting the ground with a resounding, earth-shaking, thud. The sound of splitting rocks would briefly fill the air and then silence would ensue as a god met its death and lay in pieces on the ground . I imagined this and tried to find sympathy in the sentiment, but in the deepest parts of my heart I could not. I did not wish to see the death of Hanuman. 

Hanuman is part of a story, a human story, or to be more precise, a human myth. Stories and myths are extensions of the human soul that when without God are searching for meaning in the dark; they are frantically reaching out to grab something to hold on to in a world veiled by the evil one. Hanuman is a crystallized expression of the power of the imagination and creativity of mankind, but a fallen imagination. What I mean is that Hanuman, in part, represents the depravity existing in the human heart; he is a leap across the chasm and in his fall and in his rebellion he became what he is. 

But I do not think this means Hanuman should be crushed.  I think he ought to be humbled and remade - that is, his story needs to be remade and then told as it should always have been, when mankind's imagination was not polluted and bent toward idolatry. Therefore, just as the hearts of men and women need a Savior, so do the stories of old and new, and their many characters - which are the children of men and women's imagination - need a Savior. In other words, the myth needs to be told the great Myth; if books are people then myths are people; and if the person can be saved so can the myth. The myth needs to repent and be changed according to the ultimate Myth of Christ - the myth humans have been waiting for since the fall but could not create on its own. 

Remake the myth of Hanuman. Remake the myth of Krishna. Remake the myth of Shiva. Over Hanuman's heart carve a cross and around his great mace engrave the words of the living Myth. Standing there in the orange heat of summer, I did not wish to see Hanuman fall, but I wished to see him bow underneath the cross of Christ where his story belongs.