On a warm Sunday afternoon, I met him in Patan Darbar Square. On earlier occasions I had seen him carrying water up the stairs of the Dhungedhara. I had offered help on almost all occasions and he had generously declined – always with a childlike smile. This time as he climbed up the stairs and started walking I accompanied him and asked him his name. I realized he could not speak. As we continued walking through the square he made a few hand gestures which I failed to understand. Nonetheless, we walked together. He rested the water pots here and sat with a big sigh, wiping off the sweat dripping down the side of his face. I sat beside him ordered two cups of black tea from a nearby vendor and started taking his pictures.