ANGULIMALA

 

V. Lalita Kumari

 

He came to a place where people informed

Him of Angulimala, a dacoit and robber

They asked him not to take that path

He simply smiled and moved forth.

 

Anon there stood before him

The very thief carrying an axe

He held up the weapon in his arm

The kind one put up his protective hand.

 

Scared at the sight of the horrid archer

The swami’s followers screamed in fear

As the fellow laughed harsh and loud

The swami returned a gentle smile.

 

Under the pull of the powerful smile

The huntsman’s axe fell to the ground

Under the spell of his loving looks

The wretch prostrated at the lotus feet.

 

“I am a Villain, a sinner, a savage

Be kind, O Lord’, bemoaned the thief

The pious one stroked the fellow’s head

And kindly took him into his fold.

 

His looks must have been magnetic

His hand must have been alchemic

Or else how can Angulimala, a ruffian

Change from a sinner to a saint?

 

The highway man with a heavy heart

Sobbed and sobbed as his eyes brimmed

Squatting near his merciful mentor

His woeful tale he began to relate.

 

‘Lord 1 was born of parents poor

My aged father could work no more

To feed himself and all of us

He had to go begging for alms.

 

‘But a famine deprived us of the dole

My mother took to bed with grief

We the kids hungered for food

Our father could not bear it any more’.

 

‘He broke into a house for rice

But fell into fell and cruel hands

They cut off his fingers in haste and anger

They were too rich to know hunger.

 

‘When my father writhed in pain

All the villains laughed again

They hopped and danced in great pride

They saved the town from a ‘scourge’ they said

 

‘I was but an urchin then

The scene hurt me deep within

I turned a felon from then on

To avenge my sire, took up this weapon.

 

‘I cut the fingers of those townsmen

and wore them on my neck as chain

I waylaid among hills and woods

And robbed the greedy of their goods.

 

‘Thousands of fingers collected thus

Hang day and night around my neck

But, Lord, why can they not assuage

The spite that within me doth rage?”

 

“Fire can never put out fire.

To cool it down water is used

Hate but be gets and whets hate

which love alone can satiate.

 

 

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