The End ...

He stepped on the muddy off-road strolling his buggy as no man was visible at the running hour - he, all by himself. The murky fog swooping down the path, buried sun under the clouds, waning brisk breeze, and birds chanting as he staggered along to work. His almost-stainless slippers grating along the roughed road, as he kept going.

He wore white, a dhoti with his sleeveless shirt - pale white, laundered. His eyes, clear, certain, glaring straight at half-shrouded-fog path. He would carry on pulling his buggy as his senile feet kept him moving, which he did everyday, every morning, for the past eighteen years. He felt that first sweat on his forehead, as he slowed down, and stopped. He sagged down on his knees, resting his head with the buggy - as he never moved again. He fell a sleep forever, on that very path.

They say he was 82, a highly well-educated man, and probably the smartest flavoured-juice seller ever to have stepped on earth. They called him Ba Alim Sherbutwala (Wise Father, Flavoured-juice seller)

- The Wise Man