"
"That would be a great book to write if one could catch the
voices of the past. But how to do it?"
"I will give you one day a little book that may help you. The
other story I wish you would write is the story of a Dancer of
Peshawar. There is a connection between the two - a story of ruin
and repentance."
"Will you tell it to me?"
"A part. In this same book you will find much more, hut not all.
All cannot be told. You must imagine much. But I think your
imagination will be true."
"Why do you think so?"
"Because in these few days you have learnt so much. You have seen
the Ninefold Flower, and the rain spirits. You will soon hear the
Flute of Krishna which none can hear who cannot dream true."
That night I heard it. I waked, suddenly, to music, and standing
in the door of my tent, in the dead silence of the night, lit
only by a few low stars, I heard the poignant notes of a flute.
If it had called my name it could not have summoned me more
clearly, and I followed without a thought of delay, forgetting
even Vanna in the strange urgency that filled me.
Pages:
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177