Where Rivers Meet.
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He stood at the edge of the boat at Sangam,pressing the urn to his chest,the remains of his dear father.The priest’s chants faded into the rush of water.He had come by flight to Prayagraj the day before.All through the journey he had kept the silk wrapped urn on his lap and remembered his soft and steady advices when he last visited him , before exactly a month of his sudden demise.Though he then looked fit ,he somehow could know they were his last advise.
But for weeks after the kirya and karma of his father,he couldn’t go to Sangam.He had to short out many things about the home and his mother.The urn sat on a pedestal like a weight he couldn’t lift.Untill one evening he said, “Maa I am leaving for Allahabad tomorrow .”
Now ,knee-deep in the sacred water, he opened the lid.His hands trembled, not from cold, but the ache of Goodbye.He poured slowly, letting the current carry him to heavenly home.
The rivers met before him.And with them his grief began to loosen.Taking a dip, he turned away from the water, lighter than he came.
(200 words excluding the title)
