Trymbakesvar

dhundhi was in the compound of the small temple when the rains came down. It was the end of Shravan, the beginning of Bhadrapad- end of the rains. The rains came down heavily like the climax of a story. Little Dhundhi, his hands holding the leaves of a nearby plant to his ears pranced around the temple compound for a while, pretending to be a rakshas. Inside was a shrine where milk poured drop by drop onto a ling. Encouraged by the drumming of the rain, he had been leaping about hopping from foot to foot, yelling. But the rain went on, uncaring, he realised. A forest ( of rain) to be crossed to get into the warm doorway of home. Dhundi walked into the temple, carrying his two 'ears' in his hand.

He played with water mixed with milk- like a thin milk into which he dipped his hand and it was lost. What came up, slowly, instead, was a stone, emerging like a small mountain in the mist. Trymbakesvar