Kiran lay on his stomach on the cool stone floor of the verandah, chin in
his hands, while Thatha read aloud from the worn old book.
Outside, the afternoon was thick and golden. A koel called from the mango
tree. Thatha's voice rose and fell in the singsong way he used for the
sacred verses, and Kiran half-listened, half-drifted, watching dust float
in a bar of sunlight.
Then he sat bolt upright.
"Wait. Thatha. Say that again."
Thatha looked over his spectacles. "Among the Pandavas, I am Arjuna."
"But — Arjuna is the one he's *talking to!*" Kiran's eyes were wide. "Krishna
is sitting right next to Arjuna in the chariot. And he says one of his
greatest glories is... Arjuna? The boy he's talking to?"
Thatha set down the book and smiled the slow smile that meant a good
question had been asked.
"You've caught something most grown-ups miss," he said. "Yes. Krishna names
his dear friend in the very same breath as the sun and the ocean and the
holy mountain. Why do you think he does that?"
Kiran thought hard. He picked at a loose thread on the mat. "Because... Arjuna
is the best of the brothers?"
"That's part of it. But there's more." Thatha picked up his Kalamkari pen
and dipped it in the iron-black dye. On the cream cloth stretched before him,
he drew two figures in the chariot — one with a crown, one with a flute. "Krishna
is telling Arjuna a secret. He is saying: the spark of God is not only in the
far-off, blazing, untouchable things. It is also right here. In your friend.
In the person next to you. In someone with a name and a face and dusty feet,
just like you."
Kiran looked at the two little painted figures. "So the divine spark could
be in... my friend Ravi? Who eats too many guavas and can't catch a ball?"
Thatha laughed out loud, a warm rumble. "Especially in Ravi who can't catch
a ball. The greatness Krishna speaks of isn't far away, kanna. It's wearing
the face of someone you already love. You only have to learn to see it."
Kiran looked out at the mango tree, where Ravi was, in fact, at that very
moment, dropping a guava. And for a moment, in the golden light, his ordinary
friend looked just slightly like a glory of God.