An amazing and strange new experience.
Entering for the first time a fatherless house,
An emptiness so musty and so vast.
Familiar objects spoke of earlier lives,
Yet curiously, seemed unfamiliar too.
Discarding travelling clothes, I wore an old
Loincloth of father’s, left hanging out to dry.
And freshly bathed and dressed, sat down at prayer.
Reflected in the mirror was father’s face,
Marked with sandalwood and ashes. I arose
From mid-day sleep—father’s habit—athirst for mail.
Slept in father’s cot that night, his very mattress.
And clearly saw my bier, my blazing pyre.
I saw my body burn; I my father!
Translated from the Gujarati by Suguna Ramanathan and Rita Kothari