You have to have unusual luck
With belching cows and barking dogs
To set decisive feet within
A fifteen meter radius
Of where his hut is squatting land
Belonging to cremation grounds.

And then you have to stop yourself
From bending down and retching up
The moment sunset breeze arrives
With dozen years of decadence.

They say the man can see your fate
As clearly as you can’t his face
Behind the years of sewage grime
He daily rubs on waking up.

They say he sees the Universe
And cannot hold it in his mind.
They say he cannot hear at all
For he has heard Eternal Peace.

They say no man, no team of men,
Has managed to evict him yet.
They say the animals attack
With fury of a thousand storms.

And then there are the ones who say
He’s just a madman feeding beasts.

I’ve come, despite my fear of dogs,
Because a dead man’s notes insist
I come and bring him food prepared
In honour of the dead man’s death.

“Look, look, Professor’s son has come,”
I hear a crystal in my head.
“He wants to know so many things.
Too many, many, many things.
He must come back with quieter mind.”

I leave the packet near the well
And, with a namaskar, return.

“Ah ha! You have your father’s mind.
You’ve figured out my tricky trick.
Come back again with larger meal.”

I haven’t yet finished the thought
And here he reads it crystal clear.
Or maybe it’s an easy guess.

He’s not as scary as he looks.
“Ah ha! You have your mother’s smile.”
No wonder Father liked him much.