The Shrine Poem by Ananta Madhavan

In the village there was a sacred shrine
Hewn out of rock. Folks went to worship there.
The sanctum was bare, bereft of idols,
Garlands and ornaments. No lamps were lit.

Pilgrims came with bowls of sesame oil.
They painted the walls with oil,
Using long locks of hair
As a brush to paint a wall,
But one wall was left fallow.

Another wall, caked with dried oil,
Was for scraping. Some would scrape away
With their long fingernails.

One day, they found the fallow wall
Smeared with blood. A man lay dead,
His body clawed and scratched all over.

Thenceforth, they gave up the rites
Of smearing sesame oil on the wall
And used human blood instead.

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