An undulating voice rises up, and the congregation timidly rises with it.
I sit and watch as the morning sun streams into a Christian church in a little village a few kilometers from Guntur. English and Telegu dance to and fro, intertwining, weaving delicate patterns as the hours slip away, and all dwindles to silence.
A final prayer, and the worshipers move to commune with one another. In the swirl of sudden motion, a solitary figure stands out to my young eyes, and one thought overwhelms all others.
Why does he draw me so?
Perhaps it's because those who live so close to the hereafter wander down paths of thought that those who cling to the earth cannot hope to comprehend. Perhaps when eyes are veiled for the last time new sight may awaken. Perhaps those who whisper to the world have more power than those who roar and wail. So it was that a frail figure shrouded in white drifted along beside me unto a door beyond...