Two voices spoke to me this morning. One spoke of Kaash flowers about to sprout by the polluted Mandakini sometime soon, and how they would still be beautiful. The other spoke of how a little blue streaked Kali by a lake near had opened her hair after her bath and shut the doors on those who wanted a glimpse of her.

The mind is a strange beggar, you hear things and they take you to places where all conversation is redundant and silence is primal. On a still afternoon I had followed the dirty waters of the nalla into a small clearing where the waters mingle with the forest. Two peacocks stood still, head slightly raised, while invisible animals made love in some secret foyer.