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sudden evenings that swoop westward across the South Indian sky,
turning it gold, then purple, then into a quivering basalt dome studded
with stars. Others were carrying lumps of chalk too, I noticed. Pale
grey, not white, the stuff turned out to be something called vibhuti -
ash, basically. A symbolically pure substance, though - that which
has passed through the fire . . . I collected a ton of vibhuti before I left
India.
'What is bhagavan replying to your question?' a man with smiling
eyes and a huge, happy mouth stacked with opalescent teeth
inquired.
'He told me to meditate more.'
'Oh.' This man nodded knowingly, hauling in his lips around
that bursting smile for a moment. 'You are too much blessed, isn't
it?'
I readily admitted the possibility. Something about these simple
people moved me; all of a sudden, I found myself sharing the man's
explosive happiness.
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