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I lay on the floor as if so me there And Akasha stood in the doorway, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, even to her eyes, as she peered out into the dark

When I had climbed to my feet and come up beside her, I saw a s, so newspaper Against the filthy walls men slept, wrapped from head to toe as if in shrouds But they were not dead; and the rats they sought to avoid knew it And the rats nibbled at the wrappings, and the men twitched and jerked in their sleep

It was hot here, and the warmth cooked the stenches of the place-urine, feces, the voer of the children, as they cried in spasutters-and the cesspools

This was no village; it was a place of hovels and shacks, of hopelessness Dead bodies lay between the dwellings Disease was rampant; and the old and the sick sat silent in the dark, drea, as the babies cried

Down the alley there ca as it rubbed with a small fist its swollen eye

It seemed not to see us in the darkness Frolistening in the di fires as it moved away

"Where are we?" I asked her

Astonished, I saw her turn and lift her hand tenderly to stroke h reat for that relief to ht me to hell What was the purpose? All around me I felt theof these abject people

?

"My poor warrior," she said Her eyes were full of blood tears "Don't you knohere we are?"

I didn't answer

She spoke slowly, close to my ear "Shall I recite the poetry of names?" she asked "Calcutta, if you wish, or Ethiopia; or the streets of Bombay; these poor souls could be the peasants of Sri Lanka; of Pakistan; of Nicaragua, of El Salvador It does not matter what it is; it matters howWestern cities it exists; it is three-fourths of the world! Open your ears, ; listen to their prayers; listen to the silence of those who've learned to pray for nothing For nothing has always been their portion, whatever the name of their nation, their city, their tribe "

We walked out together into theand filthy puddles and the starving dogs that came forth, and the rats that darted across our path Then we ca the stones The blackness swar gutter Beyond in the swaotten

Far away on the highway, the trucks passed, sending their ru heat like thunder Thearden of the world in which hope could not flower This was a sewer

"But what can we do?" I whispered "Why have we coain, I was distracted by her beauty, the look of compassion that suddenly infected her and made me want to weep