Feet are the most pitiable parts of a a human body, most pitiable. you look at a man hanging at the gallows look closely at his feet. observe a man who has just died, the doctors could not save him, they just covered his face, half closed eyes with white sheet, the sheet not long enough, the feet are bared;  you look at the feet, do they not seem pitiable? You walk in the evening at any road side, you’ll certainly notice many children begging at traffic signals, their feet bare, their skins dark, eyes hopeful, teeth yellow but just look at their feet, capture the moment their feet touch the ground when they come calling to you, don’t their feet impress upon earth the mark of its misery?  Or you can hide in a dark street behind a garbage can and wait for a murderer to slaughter his victim, wait a little and feel, when the knife has given its fatal wound, the victim squirms on the ground and when last moments of life ebb away into a mysterious sea, look at his feet how he rubs them together, now they are stretched and now restless and now lifeless, aren’t they pitiable? They are more pitiable than the eyes, sad eyes of a poor woman or a heart broken mother whose son called her a liar yesterday. Look at the feet of a dancing woman, look at the feet of a dancing eunuch, do they not look pitiable like a still born baby?


Dostoyevsky writes in one of his stories about murder and suicide that many murders and suicides are committed because the murderer has taken the gun in his hand. Once the gun is in his hand, he thinks the deed is done and that he better does it.  There is no going back. I say for some people even a thought is enough. They think that has polluted their minds that they should better put it to action. They cannot believe that such thought could creep in their minds. The perversity of their imagination is to them an indication of having crossed a certain limit. A thought instigates a crime to these sensitive and weak people. Or is it possible that these people are very pure? So pure that a speck of dark material on their white souls causes their eyes to see nothing but the dark spot. It is like ‘thought-crime’ in Orwell’s 1984. They are so strict over themselves that such suppression fires back at them. What is your guard should not be your murderer! And strangely they justify their actions by occurrence of a thought. But it is different from impulse, it is like climbing down a dark pit, impulse is a direct jump. It is a greater defeat, it is dishonourable. Can a man of perception respect himself at all? This happens because people are idealists; they think in reality what happens is that which should happen. They overlook that we, the humans are made of components. Being spiritual does not mean that you should lose your physical identity as it completes your spiritual quest. It is not surrender, it is completion. A shadow of a tree cannot exist without a tree. It is unfortunate but it is so.


                                                             I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Edgar Allan Poe