As was his habit, he’d risen before dawn, bathed in cold water, dressed, carefully adjusted his once-colourful hat, made his offering to Ganesh, the remover of obstacles, and resumed his place in the sun outside his shack, watching the world go by.
Outsiders had brought corrugated iron sheets so he could build a shelter after the earthquake but it would take more than this to bring him comfort. She’d died that day. His children were abroad. He was alone. Lord Ganesh was deaf to his prayers though daily he bowed down to Him. What else could he do but pray?