Our Homeless Neighbour

Bhaktiyana, our village, had a regular visitor – a teenage boy who came daily to spend his entire day under a huge banyan tree by the way side. He was not a Buddha and obviously not meditating. But nobody could gather what his eyes meant and his thoughts passed. Everyday he came carrying a wet sack with a heavy bulge of nobody-knew inside and sat through out the whole day, endlessly talking to himself. He carried his load back in the evening to another banyan tree 2 Km away where he slept.

Raju, (it wasn’t his name. He didn’t need one. But the people needed) was one of the many homeless, kinless and thoughtless friends Srinagar (city of grace) owned from only-heaven-knows-where as speed-brakers in the highway traffic along with the highway settled cattle.

Raju needn’t had to worry about his meals while he was in our village. Most homes will have something in store which they used to offer him without Raju asking or even stopping at their doorsteps for it. Every one seemed to love Raju who befriended only the Banyan tree, the mark of our village. They loved him because he was homeless, kinless, thoughtless, voiceless and very particularly harmless.

On the day of festival Holi, Raju gathered some bright color dust on his shabby clothes. A pet dog in one of the homes wasn’t very much amused at this. It made a fury advance at him which he defended with his sack and challenged with a blow on the dog’s face. The owner, having learnt of his pet’s defeat was in rant and rave and more furious than the dog as he shouted at Raju.

That incident, obviously, was harmful to the sympathetic impression Raju was enjoying from the people. It was then the people in Bhaktiyana leant that Raju had the capacity to harm. With the changing impression of the people Raju’s visits turned frequent, occasional, rare and at last nil. It seemed his feeling-less mind discovered that the people loved him less or no more.

Recently, I saw him under the other banyan tree, 2 Km away from our village. He had the same dirty wet sack with him. His eyes were just as they were before, meaningless. But to me they seemed talking:
‘You can love anyone. But can you still love when you know the person you love has the capacity to harm you, to shame you, to betray you or even crucify you? If not, you don’t call it love.’