To the west of Samadhi are the far-side shrines—ten for the parents of Meher Baba, Mehera’s mother, and other Eastern and Western women disciples; and six for pets—five dogs and a peacock. Arching over the marble graves is a banyan tree whose girth is four people with outstretched arms touching fingers. Seasonal… tall and graceful—antique-white lilies bloom on either side of the three largest shrines. In fruiting season, the tree fills with ravenous birds causing red fruits and bird droppings to stain the softly-grayed-white of the raised graves—requiring frequent cleaning.
This was my job over four years—two by my work, then two by a worker, whom I trained. Because of dust abrasion, the surfaces are first lightly brushed, then wiped with a protective cleaner. Working during the music-time of morning prayers, I would listen to singing coming from the Samadhi porch.
At my home, when working at the kitchen sink, I look at a statue of St. Francis on the front porch shelf, and beyond—a neem tree-umbrella beside the stone bird bath whose population encompasses sparrows to crows in size. When babblers come, they bathe three-to-four in the bowl. Crows bring pieces of chapati (flat bread) that they dunk in the bird bath—and I find sunken at the bottom.
My cleaning job here begins with a twice-weekly scooping out of the water, followed by scraping the inside curve and bottom with a putty knife I brought from America, just for this purpose—as the clinging algae refuses a brushing to completely disappear. When filled with fresh water, “my” birds have a small, sparkling pond.
My realization is, “Where people and birds share company, we may appreciate both their company and our effort with work created due to their proximity.”
Image: An artist repairs the shrine's lettering.