The Modern Cross: The Final Board

To belong to a Hindu Maheshwari family is to be woven into a tight-knit tapestry of ancient lineage, deep community business ties, and a proud cultural heritage. Stepping out of this heritage to embrace Jesus Christ is already an act of immense courage—a choice that often costs a believer in their family standing, social safety net, and ancestral identity. They willingly bear the label of an outsider for the sake of their faith.

But when the very Christian community they sought refuge in turns around to accuse, exploit, and outcast them, the betrayal cuts to the bone. This creates a state of "double exile." The believer finds themselves marooned in a spiritual no-man's-land: too Christian for their traditional Maheshwari roots, yet targeted and rejected by the church that promised them brotherhood.

In this lonely space, the familiar faces of yesterday begin to look monstrous. Surrounded by counterfeit shepherds who value institutional survival over truth, the lone believer is left with nothing but a raw, unadorned relationship with God. Stripped of all human support, their faith is boiled down to its absolute essence—standing weeping, but defiant, before a modern-day cross.

Version 1: The Rhythmic & Simple

You are an easy prey

Whom they can target any day.

What does it matter to them

If the Shepherd loses his sheep?

The sheep that didn't belong to them,

They still bought it,

For it was available at a low cost. 

After all, who will place 

value on a Marwadi soul?

The sheep knew not

The way he needed to take,

So merciless wolves, 

counterfeit shepherds,

Dressed as sheep,

Took a toll on a soul 

burdened and heavy laden.

How easy it was to nail him to a cross—

The cross they dare not 

prescribe to their own.

Without ransom, 

sin cannot be washed clean;

Without blood, 

life's aroma cannot win

The blood of an innocent lamb,

The lamb that knew not 

how to sin or conspire.

Conspire they did, 

but unlike Daniel 

who came to rescue Susanna,

The two lady witnesses 

condemned him to death,

And there was no one to save, 

no one to save.

How tragic in the New Testament:

The merciless reign,

The fraudulent gain.

The one who worked harder 

crediting God's grace

Was put behind closed doors 

until the heaven reigned.

The one-man show 

they needed to end,

For they displayed 

Father, Spirit, and Son—

Oh, Three-in-one,

What a parody of God's own image.

The three in one mind:

"Let's get him out,

It's better for the one to die 

for the community to be safe."

Oh, yeah, mercy reigns,

Judgment wanes—

Is what he thought

When he subscribed inadvertently 

to pursue the course.

Now, he knows not whom to trust, 

who to believe.

As yesterday's familiar faces 

take on monstrous looks.

Is that what Jeremiah meant 

when he mentioned the deceitful heart,

Or was he the dinner condemned at last?

With questions lingering on,

He continued his quest.

"Jesus is Lord, and I'm his lover,"

He wrote it on his board.

As the day approached

As fast as the Vande Bharat train,

The Man of Jesus stood 

with tears rolling down his face.

Perhaps, he pays the price for a 

spontaneous, deep, passionate love.

Version 2: The Polished & Literary

An easy prey, a target for the day—

What does it matter if the Shepherd’s sheep

Is lost to those who bought it for a song?

For who would value a lone Marwadi soul?

The wandering lamb knew not the path to take;

So counterfeit shepherds, wolves in woollen robes,

Extorted a heart already heavy-laden.

How swiftly they nailed his body to the cross—

A cross they’d never prescribe for their own.

Yet without a ransom, sin remains unwashed;

Without pure blood, decay outsmells the breath of life.

They chose an innocent lamb to bear the blame,

One who knew no conspiracy or guile.

But plot they did. Unlike the righteous Daniel

Who rose to break the snare around Susanna,

Two women stood as witnesses to condemn,

And there was none to save, no voice to plead.

How tragic, when beneath a modern grace,

Fraudulent gains and merciless reigns collide.

The one who labored hard, relying on God’s hand,

Was locked behind dark doors to await the rain.

They had to end this solitary show—

A mocking triad playing Father, Spirit, Son.

What a grim parody of the Divine,

This three-in-one that whispered in the dark:

"Better for one to die to keep the village safe."

He thought that mercy reigned and judgment waned

When he inadvertently subscribed to take the course.

Now, trust is gone; he knows not who to believe.

Familiar faces twist to monstrous shapes—

Is this the treacherous heart that Jeremiah wept for,

Or is he just the feast condemned at last?

With burning questions lingering in the dark,

He writes his final vow upon the board:

"Jesus is Lord, and I am His lover."

The final hour approaches like a Vande Bharat train.

The man of Jesus stands, and lets the tears roll down.

He pays the price of love: spontaneous, deep, ever passionate.

A Note from the Author:

No institution can cage a spirit that belongs to Christ. When human structures fail, when communities turn predatory, and when the very people who claim the name of God act as judges, the truth remains simple, uncompromised, and deeply personal. This piece is a testament to an unyielding faith—a reminder that even when cast out into a lonely exile, the direct bond between a believer and the Lord cannot be severed by false witnesses or counterfeit shepherds.

AI Acknowledgment

This publication features original poetry and creative concepts conceptualized and written by the author, reflecting real emotional and cultural experiences. AI assistance was utilized solely to refine grammatical structures, formatting, and to polish alternate literary variations of the core text.