Snapana (Ablutions)

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