A Lamppost and a Beggar

That lamppost on the sidewalk, sleeps whole day but wakes up with the Moon. It lit none but itself, glowed weak but consistent.

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The light was His only companion who never failed him. He showed up every dusk and it lit up all the same.

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After Maghrib, he'd sprawl on his mat spread under the lamppost and would wait for the namaz to get over. Tinkles of coin hitting the steel bowl would follow.

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But this day it rained mercilessly. His spot went muddy. Standing under the lamppost with the mat tucked under arm, he waited. His calloused feet was ingrained to the muddy foot-walk and his unkempt hair dripped rain.

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He thought: "If I can be here for little alms then all those people who arrive for God's grace will surely visit the mosque. This rain cant stop them."

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Time slipped but he heard no exchange of Salam, no footfalls and not even a single coin hit his bowl this evening. The silence, was unusual. Thrusting his back on the lamppost he called it a day and resolved to return home.

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Upon turning, he was stopped by an old man. He smelled of a beautiful admixture of wet Earth and attar. The beggar exchanged the first Salam of Maghrib and received a crisp note from him.

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He was blind but could feel the high currency. He left afterwards.

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After the beggar left, rain receded. The elderly spread his own mat under the lamppost, from under his bag he pulled out his own bowl and waited for the Isha's azaan. Waited for coins to hit his own bowl.

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