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A thousand shrill voices fill the world around with a mysterious fog. They reverberate in the still morning air. They silence chirpy birds. They prick sleeping leaves of the Gulmohars. They silence me, and a chaotic mess of a mind thats mine. I stand spellbound, for minutes, a thousand shrill voices raising and falling, in wavy intervals, out of tune, off pitch, tending to run apart like a herd of gazelles, but yet spreading a most calming bliss into this world from the compound of that red colored building.
On days am late enough to be on the road at nine, am treated to this. This enigma, created by little children in the school near my office building, every morning at nine. On close listening I could figure that they were chanting,
Asatho ma: sath gamaya:
Thamso ma: jyothir gamaya:
Mruthyor ma: amrutham gamaya:
Lead me from falsity to truth. Lead me from darkness to blinding light. Lead me from death, to immortality.
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