With his hands tucked in between his legs, a young man sleeps in his boat snuggled next to a weak charcoal fire. I can see my breath and the deep sighs of a sleepy ancient city. It's only 3:30 in the morning and the foggy dawn is hours away.

An elderly man struggles down the steep steps to the river Ganges.

In the distance, I hear people singing, praising Krishna.

The old man toes the water. He scoops some water into his hands and drinks it. He spashes his face. Then he falls forward into the water and submerges his whole body.

"Hare Krishna! Hare! Hare!"

Monkeys sleep in the canopy of Banyon tree behind me. A branch cracks and falls as a large monkey shifts his weight.

I tighten the wool blanket around my head and bring my arms closer to my chest.

The man reappears from the water.

He rubs his body.

He dries his body.

Then he turns back up the steps, dragging his right leg behind him.

"Hare Krishna! Hare! Hare!"

He is in obvious pain. With each pull, each grueling tug, he swings his left arm up above his head and cries, "Aye Vishnu! Aye Vishnu!"

Step, after step, he pleads to his god.

The large monkey squeels like a cat and chases a smaller monkey out of the tree.

With the old man out of my sight, I look again towards the young man down below. The gentle waves of the Ganges lap at the side of his boat. He sleeps peacefully, formless in the glow of a single red spark.