The mountains lay there brown and puffing in afternoon sun in yellow-dropped leaves. The scrolls on their walls dated back to eons . Brown-skinned ancestors shrieked, ghosts, their smelly wings flapped in cave silences .
Several worn-out paths winded to forgot ruins. There they stopped midway vanishing in bushes .The temple bells were heard under the banyan tree .The tree spread its hair reaching the steep slopes .It was the clouds that brought the brown haze .The sky ended up in blue torpor in penciled hills.
There in wilderness shrieked British ghost Collectors who had rested in lonely stone buildings ,pondering deeply on history’s ghosts lying supine on broken temple foundations with missing walls . In a stony niche slept God with his eyes closed .A lotus emerged from his navel, mysterious and born .In fact the whole of the world burst out from there.