Watching Moonrise at Hazaribagh Lake with Dr. Subramanian Swami

by Mihir Vatsa

We take off our shoes and follow the cows.
The graceful moon slowly ascending the sky.
When we sit, we pick stray sachets of Tulsi,
press them between our teeth.
On the opposite shore, somewhere
near the cafeteria, Anuradha Paudwal
sings for the goddess — and, observing
soulful lights over water, I make
a joke about Menaka and the sage.
We laugh because it is funny and organic.
Within the culture. I ask if he knows
the country the prime minister
is presently touring, but he hasn’t heard
from him in a while. None of us have.
So we stare at the water and think about
bhaagya. How, after the end of time,
no one will remember a poet,
or a politician — no one will look over
our sudden honours and controversies.
This makes us pensive in the quiet;
the stillness of silence threatening
its meaning. From Noora, the imam
initiates his azaan. It descends over us
like an angel; and, in this rare symphony
of faiths, we lose ourselves to gods
and take each others’ hands.