Watchman.

Koels were cooing overhead and the evening had descended in delicious coolness as I read out the history of Chola's ,from Rajaraja Chola onwards to a blind student who was preparing for his M.A. practicals when I heard a haunting song. I glanced up and saw the old frail watchman of the premises seated on the edge of the cemented boundary of flowering and ornamental plants ,few yards away ,singing to himself.

I couldnt make out the language or the words but the intonations or 'gammakams' were as good as any trained classical singer. I stopped reading ,to hear this soulful music,ignoring the restless movements of the student at this interruption.

The song was full of pathos ,a surprising sensitivity was residing in a man ,I had so far seen either shooing errant children housed in the hostel or directing visitors!

He had no audience save me and probably the creator. He was pouring out his longings and clearing his mind.In that brief instant of time I knew that he was in direct communication with the creator.

The spell was broken when a visitor approached him seeking directions.