He had lived for scores of years,
Gathering punya and his dakshina.
Muttering the holy scriptures,
Living an existence elevated from the commons.

Fitting pride did adorn his being,
And fitting scorn, his treatment of others.
On air and not on earth he walked,
The resting place of all his brothers.

His sacred thread he carried about,
As it were a weapon, mighty and strong;
The work of his life was great and true
To mark and rectify others' wrongs.

He lived a life of unprecedented success
Harsh words, penance, punishments and criticism galore;
He purged his society with words and whips,
And cured man's infidel desire to the core.

When his time came he died a holy death
Even then not touching the commoner's heath.
Treading the air on shoulders four
Flowers and incense all around and more.

While the people all around watched the pyre in awe
A little kid on the riverbank, a strange sight saw:

While the scholar ascended on his final trip
And the followers took the holy dip
Nobody saw where the Awed ashes did slip.

Down the stream, the remnants flowed
While the setting sun on it glowed.
Till at last, it strayed to the burial grounds
Where mounds marked life's last bounds.
No raging wrath or curse followed its wake
Where the stream had made a great mistake.

And when the sun his last breath did take,
A sight truly great and warm it did make.
Two halves separated by man's wise deeds,
At last entwined in Nature's last creed.
With no fear or hatreds or reasons to weep
Enjoying their everlasting brotherly sleep.