Snapana (Ablutions)
There are some things -
Things, which are unique
Certain things we buy, barter, acquire
Some things, we just receive ’em
Through pure luck
They come into our homes
No, we may not have asked for them
But they arrive at our doorstep
They come into our midst
On their own, they enter our abodes
Several such things are with us
The one-of-a-kind cactus is
One of them
Till very recently
I simply considered it to be
Just a plant, rather a succulent one
But a plant is Siva too
So says: The Yajur-veda
So proclaims the white Morinda
In Srisailam
Once I was giving
A misting, to its lustrous green stem
And gentle watering to its roots
Always I try to use
Cool, clean water sans the minerals
Either directly from rainwater or
The basement dehumidifier
Its dark green succulent exterior
Would hold not even a droplet
Not even a tiny one
Everything just rolls down
Like the water we pour over a
Siva-linga
Throughout the 365 days
Through all the phases of moon
Through the twenty-four hours
Through all time
This cactus shows no external signs
Of life, it is wrapped into itself
Lost in some
Deep meditation - like a sthanuh
Yet
It is full of life
And you can observe it
If you watch very carefully
If a stray twig hits it
Pricks it by accident – it gets bruised easily
Leaving a scar
During summer
When I leave it on the deck
I often notice -
Invariably it gets wounded with
Wind tossed branches from the
Big maple, walnut overhanging trees
With a cut here and a nick there
It bears all such abuse with calm demeanor
Not once, never in its entire life
Did it complain of any abuse
Water or no water, light or no light
Food or no food
More than twenty years
It has stayed with us like a
Very obedient Indian daughter
When it came to us
Barely it was a two inch ball cactus
Now
A green fluted column
Of fifteen inches
Resembling the Linga of
Daksharama, near Kakinada
What I give it – is very minimal
A peach colored clay pot
And a handful of dirt
I repot with utmost care
And of course infinite love
It has no thorns, only remnants of
Long gone needle bases,
(Like long forgotten personal grudges)
I mix loose soil, perlite
Sand, and at times a bit of bone meal
At times with a pinch of lime
And then, I just leave it to
Soak in the sun, near the south facing glass door
That’s it, that’s all. Then it does not ask
For anything, neither water nor fertilizer
Like our thirsty tropical flowering hibiscus
Weeks, even months would go by
Without a drop of water, even without a glance
From its caring gardener
In early spring
I see its awakening
Waking from dormancy
I witness fresh growth on its crown
The glistening freshly formed soft
Green succulent tissue, and of course
Several flower buds too sprout
Then suddenly on cool summer nights
It gifts us delicately fragrant white
Trumpet like flowers
It is as if Siva Himself
Is in our midst
With a cool shiny crescent moon
Effusing sweet aroma all around
It came to us
From far away south America
Via Albuquerque
Through a friend
In a shriveled sunken state
They call it – Echinopsis seminudus
Unasked, it came into our home
It brought us hope, happiness
I learnt more about life
About religion and meditation
From it, than through any number of
Books and tedious discussions
It taught me patience
“Be content with whatever
you’ve, be devoted
and a miracle may happen”
Copyright by the author 2013
