Earth Revisited

He got a day to revisit this earth, to meet the men
He so loved. The goodness of whom he believed in,
He wanted to go under cover. He knew, that people feigned
Devotion to his words when he was around.

So he came in the guise of an old man, although a bit different,
From what he looked like when he himself was an old man.
He wore no glasses and carried no long sticks,
But had a long white beard and turban to match with.

He wanted to see if his dream of Ramarajya had come true,
As he had been promised on his death bed,
So he visited his beloved Ram’s supposed birthplace
The old, yet dynamic and of late, turbulent city of Ayodhya.

He got into the main artery of the city and merged with the locals,
Unperturbed by the queer glances people threw at him,
He walked along the roads, believing that he walked in a free and united India.
An India where Hindus and Muslims walked hand in hand.

He was sweating profusely, it was a sunny day.
He looked up at the clear blue sky and lowered his head,
His eyes shot up into the distance, something was wrong,
Something was missing in the familiar Ayodhya skyline.

A dome, an old battered yet monumental dome, was missing.
He tried to check his memory to see if he had forgotten,
But no, he had definitely seen it when he was last in town,
It seemed just like yesterday, though from a different life altogether.

Nevertheless, the dome was missing, and the man knew it.
His curiosity broke his initial resolve against speaking,
He went to a bystander and enquired, after describing himself,
Not as a father figure, but as an alien who had been living under a stone,

The man looked at him in an intriguing fashion, then replied,
He told him about the bloodbaths the country had faced,
Where brother had killed brother and torn the fabric of amity,
Where hammers and hands broke more than they had built.

The listener was deeply pained; this was not what he had expected,
He had thought that his death would be the final sacrifice on the altar of unity
And that there would be no more bloodshed in the name of God.
He had given up his life willingly, but in vain.

When he heard that a handful of fanatics broke what he had built
With his sweat and bones and blood, he shuddered,
An overwhelming sense of helplessness passed through him,
He stood aghast at what he had fathered and what it had come to.

He was a martyr, and believed in his cause to the core,
And yet he was a victim to the very fanaticism he fought to end,
It had instead ended his life, and more importantly, his efforts,
And still he believed in his cause of non violence.

The speaker continued talking about the clashes and counter clashes
Stories of revenge to avenge blood through more blood,
Fights in courts and on roads that had been equally ineffective,
Saints and Sufis who had begged for peace.

The old man felt hot iron poured through his ears,
As though this news was nothing, another explosion ripped his drums apart.
It shook the soul inside his temporal body,
The innate soul in him strived to get to the centre and save lives.

His new acquaintance told him to leave the area,
He reasoned that the man’s dubious looks were prime prey
To the explosive brew of young vigour and old dogmas.
The man begged to disagree, he rushed in to find out and help.

The blast was at the temple site, which was built on the site of a mosque,
This allegedly was built over a temple, in the spot where a god was born,
A god who preached tolerance, brotherhood and love for all creatures,
And people fought in His name, trying to obliterate each other.

Saffron turned red with rage, and tried to burn up the green,
No colour cared about the nameless girl, who lay bleeding on the ground,
The man picked the girl up and begged for help, he was unaware
Of how things worked fifty years into his future.

None turned up, people busy with sticks and spears
Had no time for sympathy or good sense,
He carried her on his shoulders, to anywhere there was help
To save her before all was lost.

He weaved in and out of the mob, solely intent on rescuing her,
Depositing her in a van that had arrived to help,
He went back to stop more death and damage,
As he had done all his life.

He lifted a man out of the debris,
The man was priest in the makeshift temple,
Despite his injuries, the man shrugged him off,
And began chanting, to cleanse the touch of a Muslim

Our old man was perplexed, he was not a Muslim
Nor did he belong to any of the millions of religions,
He was a man of Men, a man who was love and sacrifice.
And yet he faced rejection from everybody he tried to help.

Aghast and horrified, he moved out of the mob,
A cocktail of religion and hatred was being stirred
He wanted to get away from it all, breathless and stifled,
He walked aimlessly down and away, calling out to the Lord.

Whether his calls reached the lord or not,
This we may never know, but it did reach
The ears of another gun-toting fanatic
Who believed that he was fighting the war of God

He appeared in front of the man, called him an infidel,
Told him that he had to die, so a warrior could reach Heaven,
The old man was ready to die, if he’d be the last to do so,
But all he heard was a sarcastic laugh and a deafening gunshot.

A second time, he went to the rigor, of shock and pain,
Nothing had changed, he still believed in the goodness of man.
Nothing had changed, Man was still a beast led by emotion
He felt life rising out of his body, though not for the first time.

As he ascended the steps, to reach his heavenly abode,
He had already petitioned for another chance,
To go amongst men and teach them the lesson of truth and justice,
For he still believed in the basic goodness of Man.

The men he believed in, sang his glory, on his birthday every year,
They shut his eyes with garlands, to hide the billions they embezzled,
They shut liquor shops for a day, to sell it in the black market and earn more,
They circumambulated him religiously, perhaps to appease him.

Perhaps he was appeased and even blessed them, by smiling
On every piece of currency they looted right under his nose,
Or perhaps he has been shocked to a coma, by their plunder,
And stands frozen in stone, holding a helpless stick in his hand.