In Search of God
The whistle of the train lingered long enough to disturb the calm in the city. After being away for
so many years, I felt like a stranger returning to my hometown. It was an early morning in
January. I wrapped a scarf around my neck, headed out of the station and walked towards my
home. In my childhood the city awoke by the dawn chorus of the singing sparrows and
squawking of crows, but now buses and rickshaws hushed the sounds of nature. The early
morning light drowned out the dim lights from the street lamps. I missed those street lamps that
the neighbourhood children and I used to play under at dusk.
I reminisced on the way home. Instead of walking into the house, I knocked on the door.
This was the proper way to enter our house. After a night out with friends, I remembered my
mother was always there to open the door. Oh my dear mother! She never complained about
being disturbed. This time was no different. She was there with her familiar warmth as if she had
been there all along, waiting for this day to welcome me home. My mother was old and weak
now, but her love for her son was as fresh as the day I came into this world, never diminishing
over time. She took me to my room where my old things and bed remained the same. She
wouldn’t let anyone into my room.
She brought me a hot cup of tea she knew I wanted first thing in the morning.
“Look your picture is still there,” she said with a smile. “There you were so young, eyes
full of dreams and now you’ve returned after chasing them.”
I only nodded. I didn’t have the strength to look into my mother’s misty eyes. In a hushed
voice, I said, “Yes, Mom, these dreams brought the man from Heaven to Earth.”
“Do you remember the dancing man in the background of the picture?” Mother asked.
I looked at the picture again and said, “Yes, Mom, he is Dewaia Malang, the mendicant of
our village, dancing with his drum. That time we lived in our village and he was Malang there.
We moved from the village to this city a long time ago, when I was very small. Baba brought us
here for good education. Since then, I haven’t seen Dewaia. Where is he now?” I was curious.
“I do not know about his exact place but someone told me he left the village and now lives
here in our town near the saint’s shrine. I think he has become a religious mendicant,” Mother
replied.
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