The adventure of being human

The adventure of being human                                                                            
 
A young Arangaon boy, years ago,
would come for morning Arti,
 
feet bare, dressed each time
in the same ragged clothes,
 
waiting patiently in the queue,
taking darshan, receiving prasad.
 
Befriended by a few Western pilgrims
who would joke and jostle, teach him
 
bits of English; occasionally offering him
fruit, laddoos, a trinket or a rupee.
 
But it was not what they gave him unwittingly
but what was taken from him inevitably –
 
for he no longer came up the Hill
solely for the Godman’s darshan and prasad
 
but for the adventure of being human,
introduced outside the glow of the Tomb
 
to the enticements of pleasure, self and world,
their irresistible seduction and subversion.
 
O child of God, to witness worldly corruption
look no farther than your own heart.