Memory’s start is the start of that call too,


‘ Bothivratha!’

Mother called, Father called, Teacher called, friends called. To them all I replied ‘’I am coming! ‘’

Wife called, son called, daughter called. All those calls confirmed the self knowledge of Bothivratha of   “I ‘’.

Every night when about to fall asleep the very last thought was this .This is ‘I’. Night and day followed each other. This languid repetition became familiar to Bothivratha

But one night turned unique Bothivratha knew. From the leafy canopy outside a strange voice called out,’ Bothivratha!’

Bothivratha didn’t reply. Bothivratha wished the night ended and daybreak grew, but it didn’t. Voice from the dark foliage repeated.

A tenuous spider net like silk thread kept tying itself up on Bothivratha despite all his efforts to push it off .The stranger from the tree pulled the thread. Unstoppable, Bothivratha moved towards the thicket of trees.

Trembling Bothivratha told the stranger ‘’ This is not I. ‘’

Stranger smiled mercifully.

Stranger told ‘’ I called you to make you understand exactly that. ‘’