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                          Papa Priest tells little Unni,
“Unni Unni, dear little sonny,
Do conduct the worship today
As some work takes me away.”

Unni bows to papa’s appeal,
Conducts the worship with zeal.
Though six only in years,
Does the puja without fears.

“Krishna Krishna sweet little kanna,
Do come down and accept my manna.
Else papa dear will be furious,
Will call my worship spurious.”

The compassion filled Spirit of the Deity
Understands the little boy’s piety.
That his Innocence makes him believe really
Krishna would consume the pudding literally!

Seeing the child’s tear-jeweled face,
Krishna himself manifests apace.
Appearing before Unni as a little boy,
Krishna eats the pudding to Unni’s joy.

Like a kid, the Lord plays with the priest’s son,
Unni forgets everything awhile in the Divine fun,
Till Krishna says, “Now I must leave”
And, Lo! He disappears like water through a sieve!

When Unni relates the story to papa in joy,
The priest thunders, “You have eaten it, my boy!”
Unni’s pleas fall on deaf ears.
Papa thrashes Unni to tears.

Then both hear his Voice from above,
“Stop this beating right now!
“Seeing Unni’s faith and love,
To his prayers I had to bow!”


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Gulping down a glass of liquid fire, he roared, “Now! Shoot her now!”
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Drowning in rum, he attempted to raise his head,
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“Beware if you show any mercy to that unfaithful wretch!”
Growled the beast, spitting out shards of glass in disgust and adding,
“Be a man, take the sharpest knife and plunge it in her heartless heart.”

He cried out loud and pleaded with folded hands,
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Loveliness is not all about physical beauty,
It is also
A smile shimmering through tear- stained eyes,
A widening grin ironing out an elder's wrinkles,
A mother's joy seeing her child eating well,
A couple embracing joyfully in reunion,
A calf jumping about in joy around mother cow,
And many more...


Seeing her eyes glow in excitement,
Obviously though she has it all wrong,
I rush to grab the correction opportunity,

Till I have another look at the gleam in her eyes.

Hell, I think, let me be wrong a hundred times over,
If only to preserve that glorious joy,

Rather than prove her wrong
And watch her enthusiasm wither.