O MASTER !
I write this with a heart rent apart by pain and dilemma.
Those were the days of the desert. Sanddunes overtook me, whichever way i set forth, and engulfed all horizons. The desert erased my footprints, and obliterated all the tracks ahead.
The desert had its own temptations: resentment and self-pity. I was angry with the world, and guilty within. I judged the world, and hurt myself. Sandstorms growled around, till all that was left was my sandy sepulcher.
Then thou uttered thy word to me. Thy word was my redeemer. Thy word saved my soul from the damnation. Thy word was the raison d’etre to hold on. Thou were no flesh and blood, thou wast a word, the Word. The Word resurrected me a phoenix.
And i was not the only one. Thousands and millions were the forlorn travelers, each of them lost in a desert of his or her own, and thy word pointed to them the inward oasis.
Thou gave us a simple prayer or object to meditate upon. Thou spoke to us through books, through audiovisuals, and, to the blessed few, in person. Thou told us simple things with profound meaning, intended to make us likewise. We indeed were the lumps of clay that we were, bound to our orbits, but now waxed and waned in and out of thy light and the earthly shadow, with occasional glory of the full moon.
And then, O Master, the same media, which lent us access to thy noble self, said that thou, our Sun, too had thy spots, thy eclipse, and worse. For our simple devout minds, it was blasphemy. It pained us.
More and more scandal mongering went on. The spate was unrelenting, the storm violent. For us thy name spelt peace, hope, and piety; it shocked us to see it dragged in alleged crime, felony, misdemeanor, bail, and arrest. Accurst be he, who would even think of thy ashram, the site of our pilgrimage and annual holy congregations, to be also a broth teeming with virulence and vice!
We are simple folk with simple faith, O Master! Our eyes can’t penetrate stony walls. Our naïve innocence builds for us simple illusions, and these illusions suffice to illuminate our little space. May we not be disillusioned; that will orphan us, that shall kill us.
Bewildered followers are hurt, confused, and pained. Their anguish is expressed through protests, demonstrations, fasts, and by courting arrest. They take to streets to defend thee. Their simple faith makes them rally around thee. With all sympathies for their feelings; with prayers and hope that the allegations are baseless, i am sorry, O Master, i cannot join them. I believe, as thou only have taught me that Truth is no subject to numbers. Let the facts speak for themselves. I won’t take sides. I won’t comment on a matter that is sub judice. I respect the law of the land, and i believe in the law of the Lord; thou only taught me the equanimity.

Whatever the verdict of the law, i am no one to judge thee. I won’t blame thee if thou too come out to be mere mortal flesh and blood; i, in my naivety, and in my faith, am too indebted to thy Word to do so.
I would only be pained at thy fallibility, O Master! i would silently mourn my spiritual loss.