The Devotee

This is an event of a particular devotee,
Of none other than the 'Greatest',
'Richest' Lord, Venkatesha,
The Lord of the Seven Hills, etc, etc,
The owner of a countless other names.

Walking the arduous path, over the hills,
he used to chant incessantly,
govinda govinda govinda.......
watching people of all ages, shapes and sizes,
envying the kids, pitying the aged,
he used to step higher and higher.

Once he reached the top, every time,
he diligently went for the ritual,
to shave his head, dip in the sacred pond,
and then emerge with the conviction,
that all his sins have been cleansed.

Then began the stint at the long queues,
A sea of humanity, a hundred different tongues,
Walking on sticky floors, made so by,
The millions of sweaty trodding feet,
Being packed tightly, but cushioned comfortably,
By the Common Indian Abdominal and gluteal Fat.

Nearing the sanctum, with its golden roof,
Coins pasted all over, on the walls,
In the crevasses too, No one knowing why,
Finally standing beside the dwarapalakas,
Who guard the Lord who guards us all.

Entering the Womb, and glimpsing Him,
with the trademark vertical White patch,
covering most of the face,
the devotee thought, what to do?
Should I Chant more? or Should I only see?
Shouldn't I ask for something,
Sigh, I shall just chant and View.

Once Outside, Nothing, no sensation of Divinity as usual,
Just a feeling of emptiness, which eclipses our thought,
When we feel all the hard work, has gone in vain.
'NO! NO! This is blasphemy! This shouldn't linger!'
The poor devotee quickly reverted to his chants.

And then a final Queue.
He received it in both his Hands,
Closing his eyes, another ritual, another chant,
He ate the Ladoo, its sweetness melting,
Relishing it, bit by bit, almost in a meditative state,
He realized, ambiguously, not knowing whether to be happy or sad,
'This seems to be the only tryst of mine with anything divine'.