Chapter Twenty-Five
Crying she-buffaloes with heavy udders,
hungry calves bound by rope.
The earth is soaked with milk and we
stand ankle-deep in the mire
Tiruppavai 12
Vasur would always have fresh milk in a small copper vessel covered with cloth. I learned to like the taste of it. He taught me to drink without touching my mouth to the vessel’s rim. After Kattalagar, he refused to eat anything except prasadam. He said those first meals we had in the marketplace were an exception. Our meeting was a kind of destiny, he added.
Rarely did he come to the temple and it was only my impatience—all right, desperation—three days after our forest trek, and no sign of him, that I walked like a woman possessed to Thirumukkulam, past its teerthum and blue pavilion, and through the gate to his ba
