On Venkataraman’s Journey…
August 29
Time waits for no one but the saint
and so the train delayed until
Venkataraman came at midnight
to take his seat.
Leaving his home in Tirichuzci,
he traveled for three days
in the winnowing eaves of August.
A handful of rupees, heart full
of God, he followed the path
laid out for him.
Lit from within, nothing
could stop him, not hunger,
not fatigue, not fainting
on the ground, scattering
loose rice like wild seeds.
Not thirst, though no one
would offer him water.
He was freeing the last
of his old life
– pears that could no longer feed,
two ruby earrings, every last
lock of his hair –
so he could arrive
empty.
Chilled to extremities,
he walked on, miles
piling up behind him,
Arunachula now breathing
inside as he approached,
burning and hollowed.
The boy who would be sage
laid down before his father,
saying, “I have come,”
and the rains wept tears
of the gods for three days,
as they sang, “Welcome,
My Own Son, Welcome.”