SAMPLE 1

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It does not take very long for me to experience the reeking realities of life as a beggar on the roadside. The physical challenges and uncertainties are only a small part of the pain. Here in the streets, I come face to face with the darkness of human nature, the one that crawls out into the open when people encounter others who have nothing to give them.

To the majority of people rushing through their days with grim determination to the great nowhere, I am invisible. In my current mindset that does not bother me. But there are some who are possessed by monsters- monsters that find validation by inflicting pain on those that cannot fight back.

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I wake up with searing pain in my ribcage.

A policeman is towering over my crumpled frame, his hard-capped shoe raised to deliver yet another kick.

He needs no reason or excuse. He could have vented out his frustration on a tree. But the tree does not show pain. He wants to experience the fleeting whiff of power that happens by meting out pain to the ones down the ladder. A beggar sleeping on the roadside is certainly the lowest on the ladder, as far as human hierarchies go.

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Thwump!

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The sickening crash of the boot against an empty stomach.

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I reel in pain.

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A scream involuntarily escapes my mouth.

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It makes the policeman happy. He is possibly a constable, the lowest rung of his chosen profession. He has probably been meted out pain by the one above him, who in turn has received pain from the one above. He is simply a conduit of pain- passing it on. I fold my hands in obeisance, begging for mercy, curled in a fetal position.

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He takes his wooden lathi and crashes it on my head, and I scream some more. A street dog that was sleeping a little distance away yelps and runs away. I had shared my food with him last night. He barks at the policeman from a safe distance. The policeman has a new object of domination- something more alive than this whimpering unresisting human crawling on the floor. He picks up a rock and throws it at the dog. The dog dodges. He barks more loudly. A bunch of other dogs join in. They surround the policeman. He picks up more rocks to throw at them.

He will not be outdone by dogs. After all, he is the superior species.

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I crawl into the shadows behind a cement garbage bin, every inch of my body on fire from the pain, trailing blood and vomit.

People come out of their huts awakened by the clamor.

Someone yells at the policeman.

A screaming match starts.

The dogs continue to bark. I am forgotten in the melee.

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Dogs have a remarkable way of showing gratitude.

I remind myself to feed more dogs.

And not to sleep in the open.

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After all, one has to stay safe from the protectors of the land.

 

SAMPLE 2

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Krishna’s cave

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Our collective consciousness flows like a river.

Its banks are time.

Origins forgotten,

it carries stories and hurts of the past

digs up drama and dreams in the present

barrels toward the unknown with hope.

 

We, tiny drops of that river

tumble along with the writhing masses for a while

shaped and reshaped by the experiences of our time

Each of us clinging to the silt of the past,

digging up drama in the now

Wailing, laughing, Hurting, Healing.

We write our own stories

And make ourselves the heroes of this play.

 

Once in a while,

a drop of that river becomes aware and realizes that it does not have to be the river,

that it has no attachment to the silt from the past or the drama of the present.

Its hopes are not the hopes of the river.

And in a leap of awareness and mindless courage

it splashes out of the river

Toward the searing sun

and becomes cloud

From its vantage view, it sees the struggles and hopes of the surging waters

It witnesses laughter and tears,

It remembers but remains unfettered.

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Krishna is a drop of the river that chose to become a cloud.