The Goddess of the Himavan
Harinder had a dream on his first night at the shack. It was a dream about a nightingale and a flautist.
The flautist on a walk in the wilderness saw a nightingale perched atop a branch. He called out to the bird, “O’ nightingale, why do you not sing tonight, the night is young, and the moon doth sprinkle upon the grounds its sacred light?
The nightingale looked this way and that, and said in return, “Though the moon doth sprinkle its light upon the ground, there seem to be no streams of rhythm nor a lyrical tune that comes to mind matching the moon and its splendorous revealing. The moon beguiles me as it does you, my friend.”
The flautist thought for a while. He sat himself down under the tree and saw the moonlight fall a little on his form. The rays warmed him.
The nightingale watched him like a hawk. The flautist took out his flute, and looking up at the nightingale, he said, “I shall play a tune to match the moonshine for you. You can sing along if you want.”
The soothing sounds of the flute reached the far corners of the land. The nightingale became a shadow for it couldn’t match the melodious composition of the song on the flute, a love song that awoke the night from its slumber.
“To whom does he perform the beauteous rendition of a love song. I have never heard sounds of such flamboyance?” the nightingale questioned in its tiny heart. “For his performance is known or seen by none, but me. Does he not know that he has the flair of a songbird and the gift of a pied piper? He has woken the night from its slumber.”
When the flautist stopped, the nightingale flew down to where he sat.
“Surely a magician with a flute, are you! Your song has been heard far and wide, for all who kept the night for sleeping have now been woken to a soulful remedy. For tonight the Goddess of the Himavan has been woken from sleep, and she waits impatiently to hear you play once again. Would you come by again when the moon doth sprinkle dust on these grounds to play as you did tonight?”
The flautist smiled, knowing that he passed this way but once, and never did he retrace his steps upon the grounds that he had walked before.
He got up, and without an answer to the nightingale, sprinkled some stardust upon the barren land, and wished upon it much life and vigor. The Goddess of the Himavan and he had made a pact. For upon the land that he blesses, creation would multiply and thrive.
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