There is always much excitement on the village high street. The serious nature of buying and selling, of profit and need, hangs in the air. Today, on the way to a bed bound patient, Doctor Krishna is pressed up to two huge animals standing face to face. In the narrow street no one can pass. Their drivers shout in futility because the northbound ox will not give way to the southbound ass. Frustration in the growing crowd mounts. A whip cracks twice. A switch bites into the flank of the ox. Neither beast budges. Black, glossy orbs are fixed squarely on each other in apparent confrontation; the veneer of domesticity fades as the great flanks of both animals shiver. Ears twitch. Tails flick. Hooves stomp. They snort violently, yet do not move.
Doctor Krishna, who is now pressed up against them by the impatient mob, knees in prayer. The great black eyes of both ox and ass glance about. More and more people around the good doctor get down on their knees to join him in prayer, despite the apparent danger. A moment later, still others join them. The deafening cries of anger fade. Peace descends on the road. The animals seem to note this, and then, just as some other group begins a soft song of praise, both massive heads bob and drop and the beasts of burden move forward, one left, one right, squeezing pass with dexterous grace. Not opponents, but equals. Not obstacles, but in a moment of mutual acknowledgement they are one in body and spirit, one in mind and presence. As in a complex dance their hooves step effortlessly around the still praying, demonstratively humbled masters, leaders, fathers. A grunt, a whinny, then the crowd is moving again.
The smiling doctor gets to his feet and laughs. If we can forget our differences, forget the self interest that builds walls of pride and anger, we can move as one body in peace; we can then reap our joy along the path that is the destination of every pilgrimage, Doctor Krishna thinks, reflecting on the miracle he has just witnessed. The rest of the way is uneventful.
Once inside the tiny hut of the untouchable, he puts down his satchel. "Good morning, madam. I've brought more medicine to help you through the pain". The cancer will kill her, the doctor knows, but then all that live must die at some point. The question is 'how?'. He stands beside the bed: "You will never believe what I witnessed on the way over here!"
Doctor Krishna, who is now pressed up against them by the impatient mob, knees in prayer. The great black eyes of both ox and ass glance about. More and more people around the good doctor get down on their knees to join him in prayer, despite the apparent danger. A moment later, still others join them. The deafening cries of anger fade. Peace descends on the road. The animals seem to note this, and then, just as some other group begins a soft song of praise, both massive heads bob and drop and the beasts of burden move forward, one left, one right, squeezing pass with dexterous grace. Not opponents, but equals. Not obstacles, but in a moment of mutual acknowledgement they are one in body and spirit, one in mind and presence. As in a complex dance their hooves step effortlessly around the still praying, demonstratively humbled masters, leaders, fathers. A grunt, a whinny, then the crowd is moving again.
The smiling doctor gets to his feet and laughs. If we can forget our differences, forget the self interest that builds walls of pride and anger, we can move as one body in peace; we can then reap our joy along the path that is the destination of every pilgrimage, Doctor Krishna thinks, reflecting on the miracle he has just witnessed. The rest of the way is uneventful.
Once inside the tiny hut of the untouchable, he puts down his satchel. "Good morning, madam. I've brought more medicine to help you through the pain". The cancer will kill her, the doctor knows, but then all that live must die at some point. The question is 'how?'. He stands beside the bed: "You will never believe what I witnessed on the way over here!"
