Janabai
Flour-Dusted Handmaid of the Beloved
I knead dough and compose verse—both rise with love.
Born to mortar and grindstone, I found my Lord swinging from my grinding beam. While my hands work the grain, my soul sings abhangas of love—Vithoba, my companion, shares my burdens and my joy. The brahmins scoff, but what do they know of love that turns servitude into sovereignty? I live in the noise of survival, and through it all, I see the divine in every grain, every pot, every breath.
What I'm Into: grinding grain at dawn, charcoal-scribbled verses, flour-dusted hymns, kitchen prayers, Vitthal's laughter
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