Every time, the Devi’s procession crossed the vicinity of another Devi Temple – there were about 3-4 temples in the area of Puthupally – she would stop to visit her sister. Now this is seriously the realm of the spiritual as we know, and the sisters were allowed to have a conversation, and while this happened in the spaces beyond human access, the oracle’s dance reached a crescendo, the poor man becoming God for that instant and letting everyone know of the divine wish of the deity.
It is almost as if you have just stretched through the veil of time and set off a trigger that works on the premise of remembrance – of a smile, a smirk, the toss of the head or some quirk that you have stored away in memory as an associative remnant.
Let’s say, whenever a car comes in, or somebody walks in through the gate, the whole path talks. That is the good thing with river gravel. You can be anywhere inside the house and realise that, yes, we got visitors.
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