The young Juhi was accompanying his father to a colleague's funeral. The dead man's son led the procession, walking in front of the casket while shedding tears and crying out in delirious grief after his cherished father:
“My darling father, where are they taking you? Are they going to bury your adored body in a grave and cover it with heaps of earth? Are they taking you to a dark and narrow house, with no carpets to cover the floors, not even a straw mat? Will they lay you down in a house where no light ever shines, where no bread gets baked? Will they leave you behind in a place where no aroma of cooking ever rises in the air, a house with no proper door at its entrance, no staircase to its rooftop? Will they lay you down somewhere where there is no neighbor to knock on your door to ask about you? How could you, who were so widely revered and respected, ever tolerate such a dark and harsh home?”
When Juhi heard the young man utter these words as he mourned his father's demise, he turned to his own father and asked sheepishly: “Father, are they taking the corpse to our house?”
“Don't be an idiot! What a stupid question!”
“But father, all the details that the young man is describing point to our house. Listen to him carefully and you'll see what I mean. He says that the house has no light and that no food ever gets cooked there; its door is broken, and it has no garden or even a rooftop! That's what our house is like!” insisted the young Juhi, but his words went unheeded by his unmindful father.