Speeding car, a blinding gush of wind, that fight to keep your eyes open, you knew there was a thrill.

The mountains on the way were breaking into shapes that shadowed on the car as the beam of light hit them. The red mud somehow seemed brighter by the night. The cold in the wind was too alive to be ignored. The light musical voice from the nearby temple could be heard, the dedication seemed as strong as the wind. The combination somehow imparted a strong sense of correctness and confidence.

As the car neared, the lights of the temple started to tell the rest of the story, the balance of quiet and music was as harmonious and rhythmic as the teasing cold wind.

As she parked her car close by, the magnetism was only natural. This wasn’t the usual congregation. It was just that one old lady with a heart that could be matched with that of ten put together. Her motive was clear. She wanted to keep believing. She wanted to feel as alive.

She made that temple festive by her dedicated voice. Her concentration was so strong as though breaking to breathe would make her forget the words.
She kept singing in the cold, sitting on the temple’s cold marble floor.

The congregation didn’t need to be invited, it just grew on its own. On an otherwise cold night, people were drawn out by her voice. She sang as she would sing for herself, to herself and for her faith.

When the words stopped coming to her, everything stopped there and then. The cold returned, the temple lights started to seem blinding, the cry of the baby was suddenly heard . There were more than those who understood her song who surrounded her at that time.

She stopped singing only to keep meditating, the lack of her voice got everyone back to life even as she went ahead.

It started to feel as though the cold was suddenly harsh. Everyone around, in groups and families felt betrayed and alone by the lack of her single dedicated voice.

Something just stopped then. What she had created had surpassed what congregations could do together.

People started to sit down in mock imitation of what she was doing. Others slowly left, puzzled by what was and what can be.

As she walked back to her car, she started remembering the old kind face again. She had looked to be in pain and as though was resoluting by her song.

As she drove past, with that memory very fresh and clear, she passed by the temple again.

People in big groups were sitting in silence, in a state of meditation they didn’t know they were entering. As they entered more and more into that state of high concentration she started getting up to leave, as though her work was over.

The people stayed as she walked away, without knowing where she had gone. She had a song that only a few had heard and a mind that only a few could see grow.

For the rest, the wind was starting to feel biting cold again .

As she drove, she was almost lost . That song travelled with her in her mind the whole way through. The sun returned the next morning but the song still stayed. The power in that voice was missed.

It was looked for in other things and other ways. But it’s inimitable quality of truth made the rest of the nights dark and cold again.

She will be missed.