INTIMATIONS OF SHAKTI
He loved Her. True, He hadn’t even sighted Her; this woman who was the center of all His dreams, but there was a mysteriously obscure and delightfully sweet remembrance of a lilting voice calling Him, “Nath.”
She was the most important one, who, through Her unmatched love, had made Him realise more than what all other creatures put together had acknowledged. He was not just Pasupati; He was Pasupati Nath. Not just the Lord of animals, but also the undisputed master of their very soul. It was She who had brought Him to the more intimate relationships, She who drew out the tenderness. But this was weird: He couldn’t remember Her face. Every time He came close to remembering it, She flitted away, like a dream, a mist, or more appropriately, like the ending of a trance. And then, what remained was just the snow-clad mountain, and its snowy silence. The memory of Her scent and voice haunted Him.
She was the most important one, who, through Her unmatched love, had made Him realise more than what all other creatures put together had acknowledged. He was not just Pasupati; He was Pasupati Nath. Not just the Lord of animals, but also the undisputed master of their very soul. It was She who had brought Him to the more intimate relationships, She who drew out the tenderness. But this was weird: He couldn’t remember Her face. Every time He came close to remembering it, She flitted away, like a dream, a mist, or more appropriately, like the ending of a trance. And then, what remained was just the snow-clad mountain, and its snowy silence. The memory of Her scent and voice haunted Him.
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