And as I stretched my hands, another face dawned solemnly from
the shadow beside her with grave brows bent on mine - one I had
known and seen in the ruins at Bijbehara. Outside and very near I
could hear the silver weaving of the Flute that in India is the
symbol of the call of the Divine. A dream - yes, but it taught me
to live. At first, in my days of grief and loss, I did but dream
- the days were hard to endure. I will not dwell on that illusion
of sorrow, now long dead. I lived only for the night.
"When sleep comes to close each difficult day,
When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
Must doff my will as raiment laid away-
With the first dream that comes with the first sleep,
I run - I run! I am gathered to thy heart!"
To the heart of her pity. Thus for awhile I lived. Slowly I
became conscious of her abiding presence about me, day or night
It grew clearer, closer.
Like the austere Hippolytus to his unseen Goddess, I could say;
"Who am more to thee than other mortals are,
Whose is the holy lot,
As friend with friend to walk and talk with thee,
Hearing thy sweet mouth's music in mine ear,
But thee beholding not.
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