A group of four chanters sit down with us, under a Neem tree outside a temple. We start chanting. An radiant old man, a travelling monk, sits on a ledge at a distance.

Seeing him, I go sit next to him and say hello. He walks with one bag of belongings; in it is a picture of his teacher, that he found while walking. He never ask for anything; he eats whatever he gets. Like us, he plans to cross the river to go to Kabirwad on the other end. I offer to pay for his 10 Rupee boat fare, but he says, "Tomorrow, not today."

As he joined us for chanting, he said, "Mathura, Vrundavan are inside you. If you don't find it here, you won't find it there. It's all there in each breath. Every breath is garland of awareness."

Then he left, never to be seen again. I never got the chance to pay his boat fare.