After finishing his dhamal, he stopped and collected the money people threw toward him
while dancing and then came over to me.
“How are you, Watni? It has been so long that I have seen you around?” He called me
Watni, as if I was his real native.
He gave me a warm hug and playfully punched me in the shoulder. But I found
something alarming while hugging him. He was shivering and burning with fever.
“Dewaia, are you sick?”
“Yes, I’ve been for the last several weeks.”
“Why haven’t you gone to the hospital?”
“Hospital? Oh, Dear Watni, you know we don’t have the money. We get a fever and pray
we get well on our own.”
“But you are suffering terribly, Dewaia.”
“Watni, for us everything is terrible, I have spent my whole life in shame, suffering and
illness. My wife had difficulty in delivery so we put her in a big blanket tied between two sticks
and we carried her for eight kilometres to the hospital. She died on the way along with the baby.
I tried my best to cure her with taweez, for that was the only thing I could afford. But even that
sacred thread, taweez, could not save her life.”
“Okay, fine. Come with me. Let’s go to my home, rest, and then I’ll take you to the
hospital.” He agreed. My mother gave him a home medication of hot milk and then he went to
sleep.
Once, when younger, I got very sick and remained in bed for a month. When I recuperated,
in celebration Dewaia played his drum slung around his neck. His drumbeat had a great healing
power. He immersed my heart into a thankful vibe. Now Dewaia was sick but I had nothing to
soothe him.
At night when I sat with him for a chat he said, “Watni, I want to adopt religion now.”
“Religion, now? So you have been living without religion until now?”
“I’ve been performing a role until now. Now I’m confused about different sects in the
religion.”
“Dewaia, don’t think much about the sects. Listen to your heart and get close to God.” I
pointed to my heart by placing my hand on my chest.
“I’ve been seeking and searching God for as long as I can remember. Sometimes I find him
near and sometimes far away, leaving me lost. But now I want to find Him and rejoice with
Him.” Dewaia’s fever was increasing and he was in search of lasting experiences and an end to
sadness and pain.
“Why did you leave the village?” I asked.
“I didn’t want to leave but they kicked me out. So I came here and started living in the
courtyard of the saint.”
“Who kicked you out?”
“The people of the village,” he replied.
“But why?”
“You know there are different sects of religion and they all claim to be the true followers of
God. You also know that they all have different rituals and festivals. Dancing or mourning is my
art and my livelihood. I even cherished the Christmas and Diwali of Hindus. People of different
sects and religions have been living in our village for centuries, accepting each other, but now
they’ve become intolerant. They tried to force me to accept one sect but I could not. I kept
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