The sound blurred, flowed unsyllabled as a
stream, the girl's hand grew light in mine; she was fading,
becoming unreal; I saw her eyes like faint stars in a mist. They
were gone. Arms seemed to receive me - to lay me to sleep and I
sank below consciousness, and the night took me.
When I awoke the radiant arrows of the morning were shooting
into the long hall where I lay, but as I rose and looked about
me, strange - most strange, ruin encircled me everywhere. The
blue sky was the roof. What I had thought a palace lost in the
jungle, fit to receive its King should he enter, was now a broken
hall of State; the shattered pillars were festooned with waving
weeds, the many coloured lantana grew between the fallen blocks
of marble. Even the sculptures on the walls were difficult to
decipher. Faintly I could trace a hand, a foot, the orb of a
woman's bosom, the gracious outline of some young God, standing
above a crouching worshipper. No more. Yes, and now I saw above
me as the dawn touched it the form of the Dweller in the Windhya
Hills, Parvati the Beautiful, leaning softly over something
breathing music at her feet.
Pages:
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45