Nikhilesh Ojha

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I come to you as a child to his mother. I come as an orphan     to you, moist with love. I come without refuge     to you, giver of sacred rest. I come a fallen man     to you, uplifter of all. I come undone by disease     to you, the perfect physician. I come, my heart dry with thirst,     to you, ocean of sweet wine. Do with me whatever you will.71
India: A Sacred Geography
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