Narada jayanti

I did not know who my father was.
I was a small boy - raised by a single mother.
She worked as house help, and took me to workplace.

It was chaatur-maas -  4 months of rainy weather.
A group of monks had come to stay at the inn.
They would jest and play with me.
Days passed with fun, frolic, wet weather.
As winds waned, the monks prepared to leave.

And their fragrance lingered - even after they left.
I never felt sad or alone. They seemed to have given me, a cloak of immunity, against sorrows of the world.

Some days later, my mother died; and I had none to call, my own.
Strangely, I never felt alone - something lingered.
I grew up, wandered about.
And stumbled into my core - for no apparent reason.
When I came to, much time had elapsed.

"Abide in the memory of your core," advised a voice.
I lived out my life, and in due course, died.
And am reborn as Narada.

- Narada to Wyasa,  Bhagawat Purana.