Prayers for 2026
1 January 2026: Greetings from Bhopal
Last night, went
to bed at 10.00 PM as usual. No year-end partying. How very dull and boring!
But the revellers at the nearby BAR, adjoining a hospital and dazzling with a
million Chinese lights, had other plans. They ushered in the New Year with loud,
prolonged, and raucous cracker-bursts. Jolted awake, checked the time. It was
11:55 PM!
Why herald
the New Year with so much cacophony? Is the transition from 31 Dec to 1 Jan so
momentous that it must be celebrated with lights, sound, and action? Drinks,
dance, and binge-eating?
How about a
little pause for thought?
A more
expansive perspective of TIME?
Two Seconds on a Twelve-Hour Clock
A simple
metaphor illustrates our place in Time.
Imagine that
the entire 4.54-billion-year history of planet Earth is compressed into just
twelve hours. No dates, no epochs, no footnotes—just a clock on the wall,
steadily ticking.
On this
clock, the Earth materialises at 12:00 noon: a violent, molten sphere battered
by cosmic debris. For hours, nothing remotely resembling life exists. The
planet cools, oceans form, continents drift like slow thoughts.
By about
9:00 pm, the first life appears—single-celled organisms floating quietly in
ancient seas. They are humble, microscopic, and extraordinarily patient. For
nearly three hours, life remains invisible to the naked eye. No forests, no
fish, no birdsong—only bacteria slowly learning how to survive.
At around
10:30 pm, something revolutionary happens: oxygen begins to build up in the
atmosphere. It is a biological accident that reshapes the planet.
Only in the
final hour does the Earth begin to look familiar. Plants creep onto land.
Insects buzz. Amphibians crawl. Reptiles rise. Dinosaurs dominate the stage—but
even they appear and vanish within the last twenty minutes.
Mammals
emerge in the last ten minutes.
And then
comes the moment that should give us pause.
Human
ancestors arrive in the final five seconds.
Everything
we call human civilization—language, agriculture, cities, scriptures, science,
philosophy, art, and industry—fits into the last two seconds of this
twelve-hour day.
Two seconds.
In those two
seconds, we have told ourselves stories about gods and origins, written epics
and constitutions, built empires and destroyed them.
We have
carved caves, painted majestic murals on cave walls and ceilings, constructed magnificent
abodes for gods and kings, composed songs and symphonies, and mapped the
genome. We have learned how to heal—and how to annihilate. We have warmed the
planet, polluted oceans, and driven countless species to extinction, all in the
blink of geological time.
This
perspective does not belittle human achievement. On the contrary, it makes it
astonishing. What we have done in two seconds is miraculous.
But it also
calls for humility.
We are not owners
of the Earth, nor its divinely-ordained stewards. We are new arrivals—bright,
clever, inventive, arrogant, conceited, noisy newcomers. The Earth did not wait
for us, and it does not depend on us for its existence. If we disappear, the
clock will keep ticking.
What does
depend on us is the future of those next few seconds.
The danger
lies not in our insignificance, but in our giant-size ego and misguided self-importance.
When a species that arrived two seconds ago behaves as if it owns twelve hours,
trouble is inevitable. Climate change, ecological collapse, and reckless
technological power are symptoms of forgetting our place on that clock.
Perhaps this
metaphor is best read not as a reprimand, but as an invitation—to rethink
progress, to temper our arrogance with humility, to replace domination with
responsibility.
If our
entire story so far fits into two seconds, then wisdom demands that we spend
the next seconds carefully. With restraint. With compassion. With a sense of
proportion.
With
remembrance of forgotten prayers.
Universal Prayers
When we reflect on the core prayers from
different traditions, we note how very similar they are, and how little they
argue or quarrel with one another. These prayers do not demand allegiance to a
prescribed faith, or ritualistic worship of designated deities or icons. They invoke
peace, prosperity, health, and happiness for all - not limited to the human
species and encompassing all of creation including the inanimate world.
Upanishadic prayer:
सर्वे भवन्तु सुखिनः
सर्वे सन्तु निरामयाः ।
सर्वे भद्राणि पश्यन्तु
मा कश्चिद् दुःखभाग्भवेत् ॥
May everyone be happy. May everyone be healthy. May everyone see goodness.
May no one suffer.
A Shanti mantra with the quiet hope
that everyone, without exception, is blessed with fulfilment and joy.
Buddhist prayer
The Buddha’s
teaching offers this prayer:
सब्बे सत्ता सुखी होन्तु
सब्बे सत्ता अवेराः होन्तु
सब्बे सत्ता अनिघाः होन्तु
May all beings be happy. May they be free from hostility and suffering.
Jainism
परस्परोपग्रहो जीवानाम्
All living beings
are connected. All life supports other life.
Christianity
The Bible has a line that reads less
like a creed and more like timeless human advice:
“What does the
Lord require of you
but to do justice,
to love kindness,
and to walk humbly?”
(Micah 6:8)
Islam
The Qur’an
has a brief yet powerful supplication:
“O God, guide us to the straight path.”
Sikhism
Every Ardas concludes with a moving invocation: sarbatt da bhala.
May peace
and prosperity come to one and all.
What is significant about these
prayers is that none of them demands a prescibed faith as an essential condition for human
goodness and virtue. They do not ask us to agree, convert, or conform. They
simply remind us that happiness is shared, suffering is shared, and so is
responsibility.
As we step into 2026, perhaps we may
remember to carry with us: a little less noise, a little more listening; a
little less anger, a little more forgiveness; a little less hatred, a little
more compassion; a little less greed, a little more generosity.
Different faiths, different tongues—
but one quiet, persistent hope:
that we may all live with dignity, peace, and a bit of joy.
Sarvesham Svastirbhavatu.
***
