Occasionally, he paused to catch the eye of someone, a disbeliever in the crowd, shining the light on him or her until they submitted to the synergy of the diamond and its holder. Instantly hypnotized by its sparkling, bright light, those who stepped forward from the throng surrendered their will to the beauty of the diamond and to the will of him. It was magical. It was miraculous. It was amazing. In a world of hustle, bustle, grief, and stress, it was unexplainable that one man could charm so many to believe that he was the Son of God. Was he the Son of God? If you stood within the crowd, if you witnessed the actions and reactions of all those around you, and if you felt the energy of him through them, and saw the beauty of the diamond, you would believe, too. ‘Devkumar…Devkumar…Devkumar.’ For those who came closer and met his gaze, there was something in his eyes that made them utter his name, ‘Devkumar.’ Then, when he held out his hands and took their hands in his, they felt his. Or what looked like a bedroom. There was an old bed with a cast iron headboard and a small chest of drawers. On the same wall as the door was a huge drawing board—a full sheet of plywood attached at an angle to the wall and supported by a frame of two-by-fours with a shelf underneath. The only light in the room came from a small window that looked over the roof of the upstairs porch.On the drawing board was an old booklet, Lettering And Poster Design For Pen And Brush from the Speedball company. A couple of instructional books were on the shelf. It looked like a sign painter had lived up here. Or at least slept up here—there were no bathroom or cooking facilities, unless you counted the heating plate and coffee pot sitting on the chest."I wonder whose this was?" I don't know," my lady said. "It must have been someone Dad knew. But I've never heard him talk about knowing any sign painters."As we explored the tiny room, I found some bundles of newspapers under the bed. And a box of old.
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