His burning angvastram had fallen just a little behind him. ‘Buddham Sharanam Gachchami.’ I go to the feet of the great Buddha. The sweeping wind fanned the flames of the monk’s saffron angvastram further. Till it rose high and caught his dhoti. The fire lapped up and singed the monk’s legs. But he remained stationary. Calm. ‘Buddham Sharanam … Gachchami.’ The cruel wind did not die down. It kept fanning the flames with fresh bouts of oxygen. The flames burnt brighter still. The sickening smell of burning
