Kusum in Hardwar

Each morning before the sun rises from behind the horizon, Kusum wakes and begins to boil a pot of tea. She sits on the back porch of her flat where she has a priceless view of the Ganges. Every day since she’s been back, she has sat in the same whicker chair drinking tea from the same maroon cup and watching the sun rise to light up the water. Without fail, she spies the same person engaging in his morning routine.

She doesn’t know who he is, but she thought him strange that first morning back in this holy land. She had not slept and stayed in the whicker chair staring into darkness until the first bits of light came from the horizon. She noticed a figure approaching the water’s edge. She watched as the man bent forward and scooped water into his hands. He brought it up over his head and let it fall over his body, his arms stretched up toward the sky. He began his ritual when the farthest edge of sky was still black with tiny stars and he finished when the sun could be fully seen. Kusum was bothered by him at first because she didn’t understand his habit, but each morning as her grief trickles from her eyes, she sips tea and watches him, depending on him to stay the same.