It roamed about jaded, stopping at the gates of the houses in the upper-middle class neighborhood, and pleading with its eyes to be taken in. It was shooed away everywhere by people sitting on the veranda or the balcony and enjoying the sight and feel of the pounding rain. It wasn't a cocker spaniel, a labrador, a bloodhound, or any of the kind that could be housed with pride and walked with a swagger.

The wind accompanying the rain had got naughty. It was pushing unmanned pushcarts on the pavement, toppling some. Kids, very comfortably sheltered in their houses, were shrieking with delight at the sight.

The dog continued roaming about, its shiver turning more severe. It whimpered in deep agony. Wet to the bone and enervated from a long futile quest for a trace of care, it sat down in resignation on the pavement. It was of a fairly tender age but the rain lashed on at it mercilessly. The monsoon was at its height. So was little Rinky's joy.

Rinky was clapping delightedly to the curtain of rain before the balcony she was seated in. Her clapping abruptly stopped as if a gush of rainwater had washed it away. Her doting parents rushed to the balcony to find her glooming.

"Papa --" she said pointing to the dog.

"Oh...oh. Don't worry, dear. We will get it in."

"Right now, papa -- right now," she said tearfully, her voice cracking.

"Of course, Rinky -- of course."

Her dad bolted down the stairway and across the road. He took the dog up lovingly, held it tight to his chest, and sprinted back home. The dog's breathing had got heavy.

Rinky and her mom stood expectantly at the door. Flooded with love, she rushed to receive the dog, her face adorned by a grin.

"Let me get a towel to dry it," said her mom as she hurried to the wardrobe.

"Let us use my towel, mama. It is very soft."

"Ok, dear -- so be it."

The dog was thoroughly toweled and rested on a plush bed. It was all dry now. But its eyes were wet from the unexpected and profound love it was receiving.

"Papa, let me get some biscuits and cakes for it."

"Yes -- do it fast, dear."

Rinky came back beaming with a plateful of what she dashed for.

"Here --"

"Sweet girl, you feed it yourself."

The dog's eyes were wide open. Its life closed to any more love and any more days. It had enough love. Love that came like a cloudburst. It wasn't greedy.

Rinky’s sharp wail shuddered the perching birds on the trees around the house. The house was in a shower of grief.

The next day the rain was not pounding. It seemed repentant of its previous day's murder. Rinky sat with a thousand-yard stare on the balcony. With her were her mournful parents. The rainwater was flowing down from the vent of the rooftop. The blood flowing in Rinky was not of the man seated with her.

Their tears blur the man's and his wife's view of Rinky. The tears came from seeing how sublime Rinky's heart was. Their sublime hearts had picked her up as a forsaken just-born from a pavement 8 years ago.

.    .    .