I was sent this poem recently by a friend who trained with me as an LLM (reader) in Winchester Diocese (writes Debbie Thrower). Charlie Shaylor spent much time living and working both in Africa and India. He has kindly given permission for me to share it with you:
Charlie Shaylor – ‘The Legacy’
The Old Man shook a crooked
Finger at me. He spoke in Hindustani,
The boy, his back eyes wide and gleaming
Fiddled nervously with a white button
On the front of his smartly ironed blue shirt.
It was his school uniform I guessed.
The Sadhu repeated what he
Had said, only in the deep voice
There was a hint of smiling irony,
‘And what will you leave behind, what will be
Your legacy?’ The boy translated nervously.
I smiled at him encouragingly and
Scratched my head, ‘A muddle and a
Mess, and the rest,’ I sighed and
Then with a grin as I looked down
At the seated Holy Man with
His beads and tattered loincloth,
I added ‘And possibly an odd pair of
Smelly socks and a string vest
With holes in it.’ The boy hesitated and
Then prompted by the Sadhu translated.
The old Man chuckled, this time the
Translation came more promptly,
‘You are too modest Sahib, as for me
My legacy is this tree,’ the boy pointed
To the leafy branches above. I gazed
Up at the towering walnut tree
In whose shade we were gathered.
‘But surely this tree is even older
Than you,’ I surmised. The boy did not
Wait for the Sadhu’s response but
Nodding vigorously turned and with
An expansive sweep of one thin arm
Took in the wooded slope on the far
Side of the dusty track. ‘The nuts
He gathers each autumn, some
He gives to an old widow in the
Village, some he eats, the rest he
Plants.
He’s been doing it for
Years. Those far trees are bearing
Now, and do you see those saplings
They are last year’s planting, that,’
Said the boy with a note of pride in
His thin high voice ‘That is surely the
Best grove of Walnuts in Kashmir.
Furthermore every day he sits here and
Prays, and his prayers are now more
Numerous than all the leaves you
Can see, and do you know what he prays?’
The little face looked up at me quizzically.
‘No, but I’m sure you will tell me,’ I replied
It was now his turn to smile and turning
To the Sadhu he said grandly,
‘He prays Prayers of thanks for the shade of this great
Great tree, he fills heaven with his thanks,
That’s his legacy,’ the boy nodded approvingly.
‘All those prayers of gratitude.
Some legacy,’ I whispered admiringly.
It was the turn of the Holy Man
To finalise our conversation. He fished in
The folds of his loin cloth and took out a
Handful of nuts, reaching up he offered them to me,
‘Here take these, some you may eat, some
Please give away, and some plant, but first
Crack one open and taste.’ With a deep
Sense of wonder I took the nuts, ‘Crack
One open, yes you have to work for my
Legacy, its like that for all the best legacies,
And as you eat think, think hard. By the Nile
There is the Sphinx, on the banks of the
Thames there is a Tower they tell me, and
Near to the banks of the river Ganga stands the
Taj Mahal, the most beautiful building
In all the world of man,
What will you leave? What will be your
Legacy?’ The Sadhu raised one thin hand.
He looked at me earnestly. ‘Please leave
A good legacy.’ He said. My little translator
Nodded his head, ‘Yes Sahib
You leave a good legacy please.’
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