Faith Over Fire: How Maya Replaced God and Ritual Replaced Truth

 

Faith Over Fire: How Maya Replaced God and Ritual Replaced Truth

“Mind over body” is not just a motivational phrase—it is a profound spiritual reality, explored deeply in ancient Indian philosophy. The Rig Veda didn’t just celebrate the divine; it questioned the very foundation of existence. Is a person defined by the physical body, or by the conscious mind behind it? What they discovered then is something we’ve forgotten now: that pain is inevitable, but suffering is a choice. Suffering stems from attachment—and when the mind learns to detach from the body, a person becomes truly free.

This isn’t abstract theory. It’s visible in real life for those who dare to reach that depth of faith. Those truly connected to their soul are not deterred by fear or pain. Their belief allows them to separate physical sensation from spiritual clarity. The body may burn, but the soul remains untouched.

I was reminded of this while watching a scene in a film where a warrior is captured and tortured. While still alive, he is carved. Yet, he does not scream. He does not beg. He simply surrenders—not to his captors, but to God. His detachment unsettles his enemy. His calmness crushes the king’s ego. His body may be destroyed, but his idea lives on—and that is more dangerous than any weapon. Because the truth, once witnessed, becomes a mirror the powerful cannot break.

This kind of strength is born out of real faith. And real faith never needs decoration.

Unfortunately, in today's world—especially in India—faith has been reduced to a public spectacle. We have replaced spiritual surrender with performative ritual. Loud prayers, elaborate decorations, televised temple visits—none of it is about connection to the divine. It’s about social status, media coverage, and political branding.

Our rituals have become masks. We now live in a kind of Artificial Lanka—a kingdom of illusion built on the ruins of what was once a culture of deep reflection. We glorify the surface while ignoring the soul. Temples are built in gold, but hearts remain hollow.

The irony is that while we pretend to be deeply spiritual, we live in a state of manufactured fear.

Take the case of Osama Bin Laden. He was killed fifteen years ago. And yet, the world still lives in his shadow. Airports are now high-security zones. Bags are scanned, bodies are patted, suspicion is constant. A dead man has shaped how the living move through the world. That’s the power of an idea—even a terrible one. And that’s also the tragedy of our time. We fear shadows. But we fail to recognize the illusions we willingly embrace every day.

India today is a prime example of how easily people are manipulated by Maya—the grand illusion. We are told we are progressing, even as inflation crushes the middle class and unemployment shatters dreams. We are told we are spiritually awakened, even as criminals are garlanded, and rape victims are silenced. And we accept it all without protest.

We witnessed a sitting Prime Minister drag the entire national media into a Himalayan cave just to film him meditating before an election. Not to connect with God—but to connect with the electorate. That wasn't faith. It was a photo-op. A stage production dressed up as spirituality. And the nation applauded.

This is the India we have become. An India where a girl can be raped and murdered, but the criminals walk free because they belong to the “right” religion or vote bank. An India where truth is inconvenient, and silence is considered patriotism. An India where slogans are louder than facts, and gold is worshipped more than God.

We say we revere Ram. But we have handed power to those who behave more like Ravan—proud, manipulative, and obsessed with control. We don’t just tolerate dishonesty anymore—we glorify it. We elevate leaders who lie, who suppress voices, and who weaponize faith to divide and distract.

And the worst part? We have become comfortable with this dishonesty. We defend it. We justify it.
And we participate in it.

We have shaken hands with the Devil. Not because he deceived us—but because he told us exactly what we wanted to hear.

In our obsession with ritual, we have abandoned reflection. In our pursuit of political identity, we have lost moral clarity. And in trying to appear holy, we have forgotten how to be human.

Faith was never meant to be televised. It was meant to transform. But until we rediscover that faith, and begin to question again, we will remain prisoners of our illusions—chanting freedom while kneeling in front of those who profit from our ignorance.