She sat at the banks of holy Ganges. Belonging to a small town called Kashi and being confined to the city right since her birth she knew a lot what Ganges did to her and little did she know where the river ran ahead.
She knew that her prayers would be heard, maybe hoped so.
Her father had consumed poison, succumbed to pressure. He sought to poison and was resting behind green curtains in a dilapidated hospital, and the daughter prayed for a speedy recovery.
Cool evening breeze brushed her face as she tried to light the lamp. Then let the lamp with jhenda float in the river. On the other end, sages recited hymns and offered evening prayers to the river.
The sound reverberated in the afterglow and she stood up with some hope rekindling in her.
On the banks of Godavari, came a middle aged man. He came with a pot. It was no ordinary pot; it had reminiscences of his beloved. Eyes were moist and he tasted salty water after many years.
When she was alive, he seemed dead for her and now that she was no longer alive she seemed more alive and surreal. He spent half his life in accumulating the fortune and the riches no longer seemed relevant. The bed no longer lured him nor did the wheels of his BMW.
The grandeur of his mansion and the lawn adorning flowers froze in time.
With a heavy heart he immersed her ashes and prayed that may she find happiness in the astral world.
Survived by their son, he promised her that he would spend the rest of his life in make a living out of
Together moments in the living room.
The ashes and jhenda from the diya met at the confluence, Bay of Bengal. The source was one the rivers knew, their courses were so many.
The prayers from these rivers moved along the course and finally became one.
Abysmal dreams and sorrowful hearts found their solace ultimately in Thee.
Wherever these folks prayed, all river knew was to reach the destination.