Prose and Poetry

One of the most endearing pictures of the quintessential Indian loser in love is walking crazily across the road, with a bottle in hand and speaking in his mind to his girl back home.

So yesterday I was in a similar situation with a few minor details changed. I had a benadryl bottle in my hand, I was walking unsteadily due to a hurt toe and I was on phone with my grandmom with the headset on. But anyway, my similarity with Dev D is a matter of a different post.

One of the many reasons I love talking to my grandparents is that they are the last remaining lexicons on Bengali poetry in my life. So as the Benadryl was beginning to have its effect on me and the taxis seemed to not notice my sizable bulk, she reminded me of a poem by Kalidas Roy.

Here’s the gist – The master and his disciple decide to go all the way on Rameshwaram to Tribeni to bring the sacred waters and pour it on the head of their deity in Rameshwaram. For days they walked and finally reached Tribeni, filled their container with water and started their long journey back.

On the way they meet a donkey almost dying of thirst amongst parched lands. The master stopped and asked the disciple to give the water to the donkey. A devoted disciple that he was, the disciple agreed without a question. But he wasn’t happy. 

After walking for a few more hours, the master asked, “What happened? You don’t seem to be happy.” 

The disciple burst out, “We went all the way, undertook all the hardships and now we are going back tired, dejected and empty handed because we gave the holy water to a donkey!”

The master smiled and answered, “Don’t you see how lucky we are? Because we were so tired, our Lord himself came all the way from Rameshwaram so that we could give him the water here itself. He did not want us to carry the water all the way with our tired bodies.”

Merry Christmas everyone. Spread the joy.