a zero wobbles down link road,
turns a stringy line.
Kali stands at the far end watching
Shiva manages the daily change ---
for autodriver Sitaram.
in Lanka, love nor brick Hanuman saw.
Sitarama wondered about Vibhishan,
Mandodari,
Ravan, the extraordinary Shivite; the name
grandmas conjured to hush adults to sleep
on village nights;
Tulis's Hanuman was Sita's talisman;
none protested on Sita stumbling over
Ram's obiter dicta;
Bhai Bharat gave up Ayodhya;
unlike in Mahabharata - a crime thriller to own
Hastinapura.
yet, Tulsidas is a living charm.
up at 5, to cawing crows,
Sitaram chants the Ramayana.
driving for 12 hours, did twiddle the meter;
Ram and doctored metre do not mix, gave up.
ferries men and women to bars and joints
across the city's illumined darkness.
in a smelly shack on the creek
life hangs by bribes.
after drunken blabber it is loud prayers
for wife Sita.
at Belia village,
nine brothers, nine sisters,
three more born dead,
crowd courts for land in father's name --- Gopal
Singh.
age shakes gopal and his charpoy
as wife withers in another.
bending low Sitaram finger-prints
auto,
link road,
forehead fatelines,
for good business, safe day.
making the last run,
sitaram drops my friend.
refuses the fare.
