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In the mellow glow of the setting sun, the whitewashed walls of the agiary gleam through the aerial roots of the banyan tree. The stillness of its garden is enhanced by the plaintive call of the koel, drawing me back to my childhood. I feel the presence of my mother walking from room to room, censer in hand, spreading the fragrance of "frankincense and myrrh” throughout the house. As night falls, Dadaji’s presence permeates the home as six-year-old me devoutly recites the kusti prayers clutching my kisse-kerfe, my pocket of good deeds, overflowing with kindly deeds or at least the......