We used to laugh at priests at south Indian weddings when we were young. They were cartoonish characters, half their attention on the cricket commentary from the transistor nearby, and no attention at all on the mantras they recited like someone on auto-play. Career priests were a hilarious part of being a south Indian child.

But years later, when my father passed away, I met one who knew his Vedas and could explain them in excellent English. I was 36, cynical, sharp-tongued and had all the answers. But from him I learned that what sounds like monotonous mumbo-jumbo had a goal far more compassionate than any divine purpose.