The man had a striking appearance. He was tall, with a flowing beard and long hair. He wore spectacles but he was dressed rather shabbily with a bag slung over his shoulder. If he was slightly better groomed and wore a robe, he would probably resemble the Bard of Bengal.
As I sipped my morning tea, standing on my balcony, I could not help but notice him. More so, as he was standing still and staring at the ground for a long time. After some time, he knelt down at the spot where he was standing and kissed the ground. He then folded his hands, looked to the heavens and prayed. I sat upright now on my balcony ledge and gave him my full attention. The man’s mental stability was in question.
The man by now had finished his ritual and got his bag off his shoulder. He started walking and turned ninety degrees after every ten or fifteen feet. As if to define a rectangle of sorts. He did this three to four times. Finally he took out something from his bag and marked the corners of the rectangle and started drawing it’s boundaries. Having done that, he stood with a piece of paper in his hand, again still like a statue for a long time.
It was time to get ready for office. I left my perch at the balcony ledge and got ready. As I left for the day, I noticed him again kneeling down, now within the perimeter of his rectangle, huddled over something. It was a busy day at the office and before I knew it, the day was over and it was time to get home.
As I got home, I saw a small motley crowd gathered at the same spot where my friend from the morning was measuring his steps and praying. I had to run a few errands for the house so I got down from the car. Out of curiosity I decided to take a peek at what was going on.
To my utter astonishment, I saw a beautiful painting. The canvass was the road and the frame was the size of the rectangle that the man was drawing this morning. I drew closer. It was the twilight hour and I could make out a huge footprint, inside which was a world of miniature art. I had not seen anything like that before. Like the others I stood quite spellbound for a while. I reached into my pocket and donated to the cash box kept on the side. The creator, the man I assumed to be insane in the morning - sat by the side of the painting, almost oblivious of what was happening around him.
It was getting dark and I headed back home. It was the evening before Mahalaya and I wanted to get to bed early, so that I could wake up at the auspicious hour and hear the Chandi Path. The pandal across the road was ready, to welcome the Goddess the next day. Rows of twinkling lights lit up the street in anticipation of the event. It started drizzling and then it became a downpour. I thought of the man and his painting on the road and felt bad for him. “The rain would ruin that work of art” I thought as I hit the bed.
I got up late and missed hearing the Chandi. I was hugely disappointed as in all these years, I had hardly missed hearing this. I looked out of the window, and I saw him again. He was huddled over his painting and working feverishly. The rain had probably washed out most of his work. As the sun lit up the eastern sky, I could see more clearly. He had probably recreated the entire footprint painting all over again. It looked even better with the morning light.
I dropped my son off to school and was returning home. Since there was no crowd, I decided to stop over and have a closer look at his work. It had a divine touch to it. “Whose footprint is this ?” I asked. He looked up and smiled “Lord Vishnu” he said. “It’s beautiful. Why Lord Vishnu’s footprint?” I asked. “For me, the Lord is walking all over India. Right now the Lord is in Mumbai. The next footprint will be near Siddhi Vinayak. I have been all over India and drawn his footprints everywhere. The last two years I have been covering Mumbai and Pune.” he said.
“I saw you recreate your entire art work from last night. That must have been really tough” I said. “Yes, I did. How can Lord Vishnu’s footprint be washed away by mere rain on the first day of Navratri. This only vanishes when I leave this place” he smiled and said.
You can call it instinct, but I somehow folded my hands and bowed my head in reverence to the painting. As a tribute to his perseverance through the night, I stood for a while and then again proceeded to donate some money to his cash box. “No, please don’t. Most of what I earn goes to charity. You prayed, that is enough. Most give me money, very few pray.” he said.
“What is your name?, Where are you from?” I asked. “I am from the South of India. Since I started drawing the footprint of Vishnu, the villagers called me Krishna. What about you?” he said. “I am a Bengali. I live up there” I said, pointing to my balcony ledge. “ Ah ! Shubho Mahalaya. Did I say that right?” he asked. “Yes. Thank you” I said. “God Bless” he said.
As I walked away, the pandal across the road began to play a portion of the of the Chandi, invoking the power of Durga. The chant of “Ya Devi Sarva Bhuteshu…..” rang through the air. It made my day, having missed it in the morning. I knew Mahalaya was here again.
I got home late and my wife asked me “What took you so long?” I was silent, as I walked up to the window ledge. He was still there. Coincidentally he looked up and waved. I waved back. “And who are you waving to?” she said. “Lord Vishnu dear” I said. “. It’s not funny. You always say strange things on Mahalaya. Come get breakfast.” she said.
Mori Road still has it’s magical moments. Vishnu’s footprint will be gone when Krishna departs. But the magic will still live on for the next few days.
I wish all of you a great Puja ahead.
Comments
Enjoyed reading.. sam..