The Feet
We are all still on the road.
We tell ourselves we will go when we are ready. When we have something worthy to bring. When the torn sandals are replaced and the bundle is less embarrassing and we have figured out, at least a little, how to explain where we have been all these years.
We rehearse it on the way. He will have changed. There will be protocols now. Assistants. A polite distance that neither of us will mention.
We have learned, from the world, how arrival works.
But that is not what happened.
Krishn didn't wait for Sudama to compose himself. Didn't give him the mercy of a formal welcome, a little distance, a moment to gather dignity.
He ran. Like a boy. Held him close. Pulled him inside.
And then — sat at his feet.
Someone brought water. Krishn wanted to wash Sudama's feet.
He looked down.
And what he saw was not feet.
It was the whole story. Every road walked in shoes that gave out. Every year of quietly not complaining. The world's entire accounting of what it costs to be Sudama — written in cracked skin, in broken nails, in the particular exhaustion of ankles that have carried more than they should have, for longer than anyone knew.
He wept.
And the tears that fell on Sudama's feet were recognition. The most complete, unbearable recognition.
I see where you have been. I see what it cost. I see all of it.
We talk about this story as Krishn's greatness.
His humility. His love.
But what if it is actually about us?
About the part of us still on the road. Still rehearsing. Still deciding we are not quite ready, not quite worthy, the bundle too small, the sandals too torn.
The miracle almost didn't happen — not because Krishn wasn't ready.
Because Sudama almost turned back.
Some never come. They turn back at the last village. They tell themselves: next time, when I am more ready. More worthy.
More willing to be seen. Entirely. As I am.
Till we meet the one who already knows.
Who has seen the scars before we arrive.
Who takes our broken feet in his hands —
and weeps.
Not for what we failed to bring.
For what the road did to us while we were on our way to Him.