the homecoming

This is perhaps the last visit. The one everybody talks about. It's not something useful, what they're doing to him, and he lies down maybe watching us with his eyes closed. He can see us better than we can see him. Tears don't explain what the day is all about. The shiva statue stands tall, stoic, as if collecting the last dues. It is surprising how soon the mood changes with the pyre still burning brighter every second. They were plastering him with ghee, as if preparing him for a beastly ritual. The disbelieving eyes shield all the grief from spilling out. They look coolly assorted, like a bunch of rotten insects crawling about. The self is broken in two halves, the believer and the enraged.