The Devas of the Sangha

It was three o'clock in the morning, the so-called "devil's hour", the time when spirits approach mortals looking for contact and warmth, begging for forgiveness for their sins committed in past lives. On this Sunday dawn, it wasn't my loved ones who woke me up, but my dog, whose belly was full of gas that caused her to spasm in pain. With her damp snout pressed against my hand and her eyes fixed on mine, she waited patiently for me to get the message: she wanted to go for a walk. I weighed up the pros and cons of playing dumb and going back to sleep, but in the end I gave in to her plea. I put some clothes on over my pajamas and put on my sneakers before we went down to the garden of my condominium. As it's forbidden to walk around the common areas in the company of animals where I live, we went straight to the furthest corner of the property, where the security guard probably wouldn't bother us, as there are few surveillance cameras.

The area where I live used to be an extensive plain where watercress was grown and dairy cattle raised until a few decades ago. These lands were crossed by a stream, in the deepest part of which, where the water flowed even in times of drought, there was a high, shady gorge in which people bathed on summer days. Almost nothing remains of the original charm of this place, which today corresponds to one end of my condominium plot. Only the humidity insists on making its way through the landfill dumped on the site, maintaining the vigor of the ornamental plants transplanted there.

It was in this densely vegetated corner of the plot that Suki and I went to hide from the cameras. When my dog arrived at the site, she was enraptured by the pungent smells carried by the early morning breeze and ended up forgetting her torments. Suddenly, she began to whimper quietly, her muzzle wiggling wildly. A sudden tug on the lead caused me to lose my balance and fall to my knees on the fine gravel. As I stood up again and checked the damage to my scraped knees, I realized that we weren't alone. Sitting in a corner, with her back against the wall, was a little lady who was repeating frightened, "Get her out of here. Get her out!"

I pulled the lead to keep my dog away from her feet while I calmly looked at a short woman with very white hair, who could barely lift her head. Her head seemed to lie on her shoulder, giving her the permanent air of someone investigating a mystery. She was dressed in a flowery poplin nightgown, her chest full of lace, her feet encased in thick wool socks and leopard print slippers.

"Are you hurt?" I asked her as I helped her to her feet and shook off the dirt that had stuck to her nightgown. What are you doing here? Are you lost?" I insisted.

"No, no, my child. I'm looking for the Devas of the sangha," she replied.

"Who?

"The Devas of the Sangha," she repeated, exasperated, her eyes wide and her hands waving in rhythm with her speech, like someone explaining the obvious to a child.

"I don't know them... Who are they?"

"Tsk," she replied, making a contemptuous snort as she turned her back on me and turned her attention back to the bushes.

"What's your name?" I asked softly, trying a new approach.

"Thalia," she said, without turning around.

"What a beautiful name! Did you know that Thalia means 'the exuberance of the sap'? But tell me, you still haven't told me about the Devas. Who are they?"

"The Devas, young lady, are luminous beings of great intelligence who take care of plants. I've come to ask them for help. I would like them to give me back the power to take care of plants. Ever since my family brought me from Bagé to live here in my niece's house, I've lost the ability to take care of plants. Before, anything I planted grew so much that it became a thicket. Everyone was enchanted by the beauty of my garden. But ever since I came to live in the big city, all my plants have dried up," she told me with tears in her eyes.

"Come on, Mrs. Thalia, it's too late for you to be awake. I'm going to take you home, otherwise you'll catch a cold in this thin nightgown."

"No, no, no!" she began to fidget again, shaking her hands and head as she went back into the bushes.

I eventually gave up convincing her and decided to go back to bed. After all, there were still four hours of sleep left before it was time to wake up. As I turned towards the entrance to my building, I saw the security guard, who was watching the scene in silence, curious. "There's no point in insisting, Mrs. Ybi. Leave her alone. She's happy there in that little corner full of plants," he told me. He was already used to the lady's daydreams.

At 7:30 a.m., when the bells rang calling people to Mass, I got up and opened the windows. From above I saw her, walking back to her house, her nightgown dirty with dirt to her knees and her hands clasped together, carrying a seedling. She looked as if she had witnessed a scene of transcendental beauty.