Tag Archives: patience

Saudade — The Melancholic Longing

Posted in Short Stories English by

Introduction

A lyrical tale of unexpected reunion set against the atmospheric backdrop of Vienna’s cobblestone streets and the flowing Danube River. This contemplative love story explores the complex emotions between two former lovers who meet again after years apart, weaving together themes of desire, patience, and the transformative power of time. Through poetic prose and philosophical reflections shared with a mystical banyan tree, the narrative delves into the difference between fleeting desire and enduring love. The story captures the Portuguese concept of “saudade” – that bittersweet longing for what was lost – as the protagonists navigate their shared past and uncertain future amid Vienna’s old-world charm and melancholic street music.

‘Tell me why you are here?’ I asked, while softly caressing her delicate ivory palm, ‘Tell me why you are here with me, in this very moment?’

Her palm was soft and cold, but with a subtle warmth pulsating just beneath the fragile skin.  

‘That’s a strange question, and I really do not have any answer.’ A tiny smile danced around the corners of her lips. She peered back into my eyes, looking for an answer or perhaps solace. Then she suddenly looked away and the magic was broken.

________________________________________________________

Vienna was the usual evening chaos. Desires were pursuing desires in an endless cycle. The lights of some old Gothic palace reflected in and danced along the soft waves of the Danube. The river was a cauldron of silence, and the moist evening breeze stirred both its calm surface and also our senses.

Across a cobbled yard stood a couple of street musicians. A tall graceful woman was playing a sad symphony on her old violin; while her companion, an old man, was plucking bits of joy from the keys of his weather-beaten accordion. I listened to their music closely and recognized loss and love, singing their eternal duet.

________________________________________________________

‘Why don’t you tell me why you are here?’ A challenge flashed briefly in her smiling eyes, ‘Why are you here in Vienna?’

For a single brief moment, she became what she was a half-decade ago – a beautiful golden dragon that breathed fire of unspoken desires. An unpredictable dragon and an independent dragon – free to roam the wide blue skies.

‘Why am I here?’ I asked myself looking down at the lines mapping the palms of my hands. Then I raised my head and looked back at her with an answering smile, ‘Perhaps I am lost or perhaps I am here for the love that remains.’

___________________________________________________

When I first met her, I was not as young as I once used to be, but I was as restless as the branches of a tall pine tree. She was strong wind, blowing through my branches after a very long time. Slim and charming with soft brown hair, which cascaded boldly around her lovely face, and a taut, sensuous body. Her strange and unnamable seduction, weaved its magic wand and I fell under her spell.

I remembered looking at her for the first time. She reminded me of the dark mysterious forests, smelling heavily of tropical rains. She reminded me of the moist green moss, climbing up and curving along the tree trunks. And she reminded me of the rain-drenched soil, emitting wisps of a fragrant mist. Whenever I try to remember what all I felt on first seeing her, there is a small whisper in my ears – desire.

Though all desires are sensuous, this one spoke more of unconditional love.

She always looked like a goddess and a bright light of brilliance peeked from behind her dark unsmiling eyes. Sometimes, under my worshipping gaze, her chiseled features melted into a soft and malleable kindness. But mostly, she remained a marble statue. She was a goddess who demanded to be loved while hiding behind tradition and humility. I was a humble priest who fell in love with her because the possibility of losing her in the whirling sands of time frightened me.   

___________________________________________

‘I think I am in love.’ I excitedly spilled out my secret to the old banyan tree. We were the only two souls in the courtyard of the Tomb of the Lonely Saint. The saint was long dead, but his spirit, as I felt, resided within the tree.

‘And when did you realize this?’ The tree asked in its deep, old, and rusty voice – its texture as rough as his bark.

‘The realization came slowly, almost like the hesitant monsoon rain. But now that it is here, I feel as if struck by a thunderbolt.’ I said, while sitting down with my back to the trunk, ‘I can feel the lightening tingling along my spine and nerves.’

‘Beware, son!’ The old tree whispered back, ‘Love is a banshee disguised as a butterfly. She may be kind to the fools. But to those who recognize and understand her and submit to her power willingly, she is always cruel beyond words.’

‘She is not a banshee.’ I protested. ‘She is a butterfly and her wings reflect all the colours of this world.’

The tree felt silent and thought for a moment.

‘Perhaps it is yet not love. Perhaps it is desire – a desire that does not dissolve with the waning moon. But a desire that is capable of evolving into love one day.’

‘What if it always remains a desire?’ My heart trembled with the fear of possible loss.

‘Hmm…!’ The tree rustled its many branches, and legions of tired pigeons flew out, scared of the sudden movement. ‘Remember, son! Desire is one of the most powerful of all forces of nature. It is the force that makes the world go around in circles. Desire takes birth, deep within the warm recesses of our ever-hungry hearts. It climbs our souls like a vine climbs up a tree, entrapping and teasing the branches. It starts with an almost erotic touch and then embeds its tentacles deep within our lonely hearts. And then it starts sucking. It hungrily sucks in our soul and our ego and our character and our self-control, and it leaves us empty and dry.’

The tree said it all deliberately and in his usual sing song style. His wisdom was like an old wine – each sip to be savoured and treasured.

‘How do I ensure that this doesn’t just remain a desire?’ My fear was growing stronger. 

‘Whenever two souls come across each other, floating along the river of time, it is always for a higher purpose. And that purpose is always love.’ The tree said.

‘Don’t worry, son!’ A few dry leaves floated down and caressed my shoulders kindly. ‘If it is meant to be, it will be.’

______________________________________________________

‘You have always had the habit of talking in riddles.’ She took a sip and her soft eyelids covered her dark beautiful eyes for a moment.

‘Well that is just me.’ I smiled at her, ‘Anyway, why are you here in Vienna?’

‘New York troubles my soul sometimes.’ She said while searching my eyes, ‘The chaos disturbs my quest for inner peace. And Vienna always attracts me with its old architecture and good music.’

We grew quiet for a moment. The musicians had stopped but the notes of their strange sad-happy symphony, were still echoing beyond the edge of silence.

I looked at her face. I was wrong. She did not look as young as I had initially thought. There were lines on her face – very fine lines. I peered at them closely. Under my careful gaze, each line became a crack and the crack widened into a gorge and within that gorge, there flowed the river of time.

‘Why are you here?’ She suddenly broke the fragile silence hovering around and between us.

‘I curate a small museum of antiquities along the Bräunerstraße. And in the evening I come here. I listen to the music and I write.’

‘Do you find it strange?’ She hesitated – her delicate mouth quivering like a bow stretched in full. ‘Do you find it strange – us meeting here in Vienna?’

____________________________________________________

‘I haven’t been able to understand something.’ I tried to change the subject.

‘And what is that, my son?’ The Banyan tree asked kindly.

‘Why doesn’t she ever smile?’ I asked.

‘And why do you want her to smile?’ He chucked softly.

‘I want to see her face breaking into a smile, and I want to see the light of happiness shining through. I want to see the smiling lines appear around the corners of her mouth and eyes; and I want those lines to become an intricate treasure map. And then I want to trace those lines with my lips and find the treasure.’

‘It is definitely desire.’ The tree chuckled, ‘But don’t worry, she will smile one day.’

‘And when will that be?’ I was growing sceptical.

‘Remember, son!’ The Banyan tree answered, ‘An oyster lies deep within the ocean and awaits the arrival of a single grain of sand. Once that grain enters the oyster, it takes years and years to coat that grain with nacre. With patience and with time, that grain of sand becomes a lustrous pearl. The oyster remains patient. It keeps that pearl secure within its shell – hiding it from greedy eyes. But one day, when and if a true seeker of the pearl arrives, the oyster willingly opens up and offers the pearl.’

‘So she is the oyster, and one day she may offer love with a smile if I remain patient.’ I had understood what the tree wanted to tell me.

______________________________________________________

‘I would like an answer to my question.’ Her voice broke my reverie.

‘Huh! What question is that?’ I looked at her while still thinking fondly of my old friend – the old Banyan tree.

‘I asked you if you find it strange – us meeting here in Vienna out of the blue?’ She reposed her question, deliberately.

‘Nothing is ever out of the blue.’ I smiled at her, ‘Whenever two souls come across each other, floating along the river of time, it is always for a higher purpose.’

____________________________________

We didn’t speak any more words. We just sat there beside the Danube – two silent shadows lost in their own thoughts. Then her hand moved and covered mine. It was warm and soft. I looked up into her eyes and witnessed a slow and subtle transformation. Her eyes crinkled a little, and the lines around the corners of her lips, formed a smile. It was the loveliest of all the smiles in the whole world. We slowly reached across the table for each other, and my lips found hers. I traced the lines around her mouth delicately and carefully, and finally found my treasure.

The Door that Opens with Patience

Posted in Poetry English by

Introduction

A profound allegorical poem exploring the transformative power of patience through the metaphor of a mystical, unreachable door adorned with precious gems and ancient symbols. This inspirational verse contrasts the failures of those who approach life’s greatest challenges with force, courage, or status against the quiet triumph of one who possesses patience as their only weapon.

There once was a door, beautiful and old,

of mahogany, silver, glittering gems, and gold

Out of reach forever, for both,

the most courageous and the very bold

Carved delicately, with all the symbols so mystic,

spinning and telling tales, both lively and tragic

Within that door, throbbed a warm heart,

but cold to touch, it was just magic

So many approached this formidable door,

the king and the beggar, the priest and the whore

So many returned from the cruel threshold,

walking on trembling feet, crawling on the floor

They came back with heavy hearts and sad eyes,

broken egos, burdened souls, and anguished cries

Lost forever within their dark regret,

they came back without gains, without a prize

Then came the one, a true soul and heart,

he was no warrior, patience, his only art

He was the one who dared to knock,

the door finally opened, not fully but in part  

For finding the door, he feels so proud,

and knocking on it, he smiled and bowed

So lucky that the door chose to open,

but the quest remains, he secretly avowed

He may be called in or he may be told to wait,

either way for him, it would be great

He has the requisite patience; he has what it takes,

accepted or rejected, it will be him and his fate

Saudade – The Melancholic Longing

Posted in Short Stories English by

‘Tell me why you are here?’ I caressed the back of her delicate ivory hand. It was smooth and cold but with a subtle warmth pulsating just under the fragile skin.  

‘Tell me why you are here? Tell me why you are with me at this very moment?’

‘I really do not know.’ A tiny smile danced around the corners of her lips. She peered into my eyes, looking for an answer or perhaps solace. And then she suddenly broke the magic and looked away.

Read more: Saudade – The Melancholic Longing

Vienna was the usual evening chaos. Desires were following desires in an endless pursuit. The lights of some old Gothic palace, reflected in and danced along the soft waves of the Danube. The river was the cauldron of silence and the moist evening breeze heightened our senses.

Across the cobbled yard, stood a couple of street musicians. The tall and graceful woman was playing a sad symphony on her old violin, while her companion, an old man, was plucking bits of joy from the keys of his weather-beaten accordion. I listened to them closely and recognized loss and love – singing their eternal duet.

She looked back at me.

‘Why don’t you tell me; why you are here?’ A challenge flashed briefly in her smiling eyes. ‘Why are you here in Vienna?’

For a single and brief moment, she became what she was a half-decade ago – a beautiful golden dragon that breathed the fire of unspoken desires. An unpredictable dragon and an independent dragon – free to roam the wide blue skies.

‘Why am I here?’ I asked myself looking down at the lines mapping the palms of my hands. Then I raised my head and looked back at her with an answering smile.

‘Perhaps I am lost or perhaps I am here for the love that remains.’

When I first met her, I was not as young as I once used to be, but I was as restless as the branches of a tall pine tree. She was the strong wind, blowing through my branches after a very long time. Slim and charming with soft brown hair, cascading all around her lovely face; and a taut sensuous body. Her strange and unnameable seduction weaved its magic wand and I fell under her spell.

I remembered looking at her for the first time. She reminded me of the dark mysterious forests, smelling heavily of the tropical rains. She reminded me of the moist green moss, climbing and curving along the tree trunks. And she reminded me of the rain-drenched soil, emitting wisps of a fragrant mist. Whenever I try to remember what I felt on first seeing her, someone always whispers a one-word answer in my ears – desire.

But it was not an utterly sensuous desire. More than sensuality, my desire spoke of unconditional love.

She looked like a goddess. From behind her dark unsmiling eyes, peeked a bright light of brilliance. Sometimes, when I looked at her face closely, under my worshipping gaze, her chiseled features gradually melted into a soft and malleable kindness. She was a goddess who demanded to be loved while hiding behind tradition and humility. I fell in love with her because the possibility of losing her in the whirling sands of time frightened me.    

‘I think I am in love.’ I excitedly spilled out my secret to the old banyan tree. Both of us were the only two souls in the courtyard of the Tomb of the Lonely Saint. The saint was long dead but his spirit, as I felt, was residing within the tree.

‘And when did you realize this?’ The tree asked in a deep, old, and rusty voice – its texture as rough as his bark.

‘The realization came slowly – almost like the hesitant monsoon rain. But now that it is here, I feel as if struck by a thunderbolt I said, sitting down with my back to the trunk.

‘I can feel the lightening tingling along my spine and nerves.’

‘Beware son!’ The old tree whispered back.

‘Love is a banshee disguised as a butterfly. It may be kind to some – mostly fools. But to those who recognize and understand her and submit to her power willingly, she is always cruel beyond words.’

‘She is not a banshee. She is a golden butterfly and her wings reflect all the colors of this world.’ I protested.

The tree felt silent and thought for a moment.

‘Perhaps it is yet not love. Perhaps it is desire – a desire that does not dissolve with the waning moon. But a desire that is capable of evolving into love one day.’

‘What if it always remains a desire?’ My heart trembled with the fear of loss.

‘Hmm….!’ The tree rustled its many branches and legions of tired pigeons flew out, scared of the sudden movement.

‘Remember son! Desire is one of the most powerful of all forces of nature. It is the force that makes the world go around in circles. Desire takes birth, deep within the warm recesses of our ever-hungry hearts. It climbs our souls like a vine climbs up a tree, entrapping and teasing the branches. It starts with an almost erotic touch and then embeds its tentacles deep below our skin And then it starts sucking. It hungrily sucks in our soul and our ego and our character and our self-control; and it leaves us empty and dry.’

The tree said it all deliberately and in his usual sing-song style. His wisdom was like an old wine – each sip to be savored and treasured.

‘How do I ensure that this doesn’t just remain a desire?’ The fear was growing stronger.  

‘Whenever two souls come across each other, floating along the river of time; it is always for a higher purpose. And the purpose is always love.’ The tree said.

‘Don’t worry son!’ A few dry leaves floated down and caressed my shoulders kindly. ‘If it is meant to be, it will be.’

‘You have always had the habit of talking in riddles.’ She took a sip and closed her dark beautiful eyes for a moment.

‘Well, that is just me.’ I smiled at her. ‘Anyway, why are you here in Vienna?’

‘New York troubles my soul sometimes.’ She stared back into my eyes. ‘The chaos disturbs the quest for inner peace. And Vienna always attracted me with its old architecture and good music.’

We grew quiet for a moment. The musicians had stopped but the notes of their strange sad-happy symphony were still whispering beyond the edges of silence.

I looked at her face. I was wrong. She did not look as young as I had initially thought. There were lines on her face – very fine lines. I peered at them closely. Under my careful gaze, each line became a crack and the crack widened into a gorge and within that gorge, there flowed the river of time.

‘Why are you here?’ She suddenly broke the fragile silence hovering around and between us.

‘I curate a small museum of antiquities along the Bräunerstraße. And in the evening I come here. I listen to the music and I write.’

‘Do you find it strange?’ She hesitated – her delicate mouth quivering like a bow stretched in full. ‘Do you find it strange – us meeting here in Vienna?’

‘I haven’t been able to understand something.’ I tried to change the subject.

‘And what is that, my son?’ The tree asked kindly.

‘Why doesn’t she ever smile?’

‘And why do you want her to smile?’ He chucked softly.

‘I want to see her face breaking into a smile;, and I want to see the light of happiness shining through. I want to see the smiling lines appear around the corners of her mouth and eyes, and I want those lines to become an intricate treasure map. And then I want to trace those lines with my lips and find the treasure.’

‘It is definitely desire.’ The tree commented. ‘But don’t worry, she will smile one day.’

‘And when will that be?’ I was growing skeptical

‘Remember son! An oyster lies deep within the ocean and awaits the arrival of a single grain of sand. And once that grain enters the oyster, it takes years and years to coat that grain with nacre. With patience and with time, that grain of sand becomes a lustrous pearl. The oyster remains patient. It keeps that pearl secure within its shell – hiding it from greedy eyes. But one day, when and if the true seeker of the pearl arrives, the oyster opens up willingly and offers the pearl.’

‘So she is the oyster and one day she may offer love with a smile if I remain true.’ I had understood what the tree wanted to tell me.

‘I would like an answer to my question.’ Her voice broke my reverie.

‘Huh! What question is that?’ I looked at her while thinking fondly of my old friend – the old banyan tree.

‘I asked you if you find it strange – us meeting here in Vienna out of the blue?’

‘Nothing is out of the blue.’ I smiled at her. ‘Whenever two souls come across each other, floating along the river of time; it is always for a higher purpose.’

We didn’t speak any more words. We just sat there beside the Danube – two silent shadows lost in their own thoughts. Then her hand moved and covered mine. It was warm and soft. I looked up at her and witnessed a slow and subtle transformation. Her eyes crinkled a little and the lines around the corners of her lips formed a smile. It was the loveliest of all the smiles in the whole world.

We reached across the table and my lips found hers. I delicately and carefully traced the lines and finally found the treasure.  

#English #fiction #story #saudade #longing #melancholia #love #desire #quest #patience #pearl #oyster #wisdom  

Loneliness of the Last Dragons

Posted in Short Stories English by

The old man’s dragon-shaped pipe held a secret about why diamonds only appear in frozen lava - a story about the two last dragons on earth.

A haunting mythological tale told by a mysterious old man smoking a dragon-shaped pipe, revealing the origin of diamonds in frozen lava. The story follows Agonious, a powerful but lonely dragon who discovers he’s not the last of his kind - somewhere across seven seas lives Miria, a golden dragoness equally isolated in her suffering.

‘God is sad, my son! And He has created a world in His very image. It is a sad, sad world.’ The old man said, while slowly opening his eyes. His blue-grey eyes looked at me with an amused curiosity.

‘And why is God sad?’ I had failed to grasp the image of a sad omnipotent being.

‘Why is God sad?’ The old man repeated my question, sounding perplexed.

‘Well, He is the only powerful being. The only one who deserves to be proud and arrogant. The only being which can create, and which can destroy.’ He answered slowly and deliberately.

‘Well, that should make Him happy. Don’t you agree?’ I questioned the blue-grey mist of his deep eyes.

‘Hmm! You are forgetting something, my son.’ The old man said with a smile. ‘God is lonely. Despite all the power and all the might, He is lonely. No one to talk to and no one to share his laughter with. His is the eternal loneliness and the never-ending sadness.’

When I remained quiet, he placed his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Remember, son, the more powerful you grow, the lonelier you become. Loneliness is the price you pay for power.’

I saw the white smoke rings billowing out of the old man’s nose and mouth. They floated up and drifted outside the cave. Then they rose until they joined the white, billowing summer clouds scattered across the blue sky.

I looked at him closely. He had a head full of silvery hair, which fell in cascades over his bent shoulders. His complexion was fair, and a broad forehead topped a square and intricately lined face. The eyes were deep and rarely opened to their actual width. In fact, I always saw them as amused slits, bordered by an ever-spreading network of fine lines. An almost deformed, wide nose sat in the exact centre of the face and was underlined by heavy, sensual lips. He was a wise man indeed, but unlike all the wise men I had ever come across, he did not have a beard.

There were other odd dissimilarities, too. There was a silver earring dangling from one of his earlobes. He wore a velvety, maroon-colored robe, bedecked with golden dragons. The dragons were surrounded by forgotten scripts and ancient symbols, and yes, he smoked a most wonderful pipe.

The pipe, gripped in his yellowing teeth and dangling out of the corner of his mouth, fascinated me the most. It was most probably carved out of some ancient mahogany root and was lovingly polished and curiously shaped like a dragon. The dragon’s mouth opened up wide to form the bowl, while the tail ended up between the old man’s lips. The exquisitely designed and gold, metallic work defined the scales on the dragon’s body.

‘It was once called Agonious, the Fire-starter, the last of all the majestic dragons.’ The old man said, noticing my interest in his pipe.

‘I have never heard of him.’ I expressed my ignorance.

‘That is indeed understandable.’ He nodded his head. ‘But surely, you have heard of diamonds in the frozen lava pits?’

‘No.’ I again shook my head.

‘Do you know why diamonds are only found in the old and frozen lava pits?’ He asked again, refusing to get irritated with my ignorance.

‘No, I don’t. I never knew diamonds were only found in old and frozen lava pits.’ I answered while peering beyond the fragrant smoke, into his misty eyes.

‘Then let me tell you the story of Agonious and Miria. Agonious was a big and powerful dragon. He could throw fire over tens and hundreds of feet. When he flew, the earth darkened under the spread of his dark, majestic wings. He was so powerful that none of the dragon slayers could kill him. They came from all over the world, desperate to claim the head of Agonious. They fought well, but Agonious was too powerful and too big to be defeated by their inflated egos.’

‘Agonious could kill them from afar, but he knew the human thirst for self-respect. He gave them a good fight. He even tolerated a few sword wounds — mere pin pricks to him but enough to quench the blood lust of the dragon slayers. Agonious had a heart made of pure fire, but it was a magnanimous heart. He therefore never killed any of the dragon slayers and instead, let them leave in peace.’

The old man stopped to refill the pipe. He picked up an old leather pouch, embroidered with gold. Loosening the binding string, he started filling up his pipe one pinch at a time. I loved the smell of his tobacco. The warm fragrance turned the cave into a cocoon — a womb of safety. It took me back to times when I thought I was happy.

‘A magnanimous dragon that let his enemies leave in peace?’ I smiled at the old man. ‘I am a fan of dragon lore myself, but I have never come across the myth of a kind dragon.’

‘You haven’t? Eh?’ the old man chuckled softly, his tobacco ritual completed.

‘Agonious was really a kind dragon. He never hurt the villagers and, sometimes, brought them gifts of wild goats and fruit. He also helped them mow the hard land. He built dams for the poor and lit their fires on cold winter nights.

His kindness made him popular. Children called him Papa Agonious, and the villagers called him Agonious, the Kind. But despite all the popularity and love, Agonious was a very sad dragon. Can you guess why?’ The old man peered at me inquisitively.

‘Yes!’ By then, I had become quite familiar with the old man’s line of thought. ‘He was sad because he was lonely.’

‘Aha!’ The old man flashed a satisfied smile. ‘Exactly!’

‘Despite all his power and all his might, Agonious was lonely. He believed he was the last of his kind, swimming across the river of sadness, which we call life. Until one day, a sparrow told him of Miria. She was a beautiful golden dragoness, living across the seven seas. She had wings made of silver and had the most wonderful grey eyes. When she spat flames, they were the loveliest shade of emerald.’

‘But like Agoneous, Miria was sad too. She was sad because she thought she was the last of all dragons.’

‘Hearing of Miria, Agonious laughed and danced and wept with joy. He begged the sparrow to make haste, fly to Miria, and tell her of Agonious’ existence.’

‘Soon after the sparrow left, Agonious collected the most precious of gems and the most brilliant of diamonds in all the land. He begged leave of all the villagers and the children. They all cried and requested him not to leave. But loneliness is a more powerful drive than kindness. So one day, when all preparations were in place, Agonious spread his powerful wings and left for Miria’s land.’

With these words, the old man fell into a deep reverie.

‘The sparrow never reached Miria. Wasn’t it so?’ I asked the old man hesitatingly. I knew his stories always had a dark ending.

‘Yes,’ the old man slowly raised his head. ‘The sparrow couldn’t make it. She was killed by an arrow and was slowly roasted over a hunter’s fire. But Agonious did not know that and kept on flying east — towards Miria and a lifetime of happiness.’

‘The sun dipped beyond the horizon and rose again many times in a row. But Agonious did not stop. His large dark wings kept beating the wind hard.

The moon observed the flight of this dark knight on a love quest, and shone more brightly to facilitate his passage.

The eastern wind sensed the anxiousness of the Agonious’ lonely heart and changed its direction to give a boost to the flying dragon.

The ancient dragon spirits made the stars and the constellations twinkle more brightly to guide the weary dragon.

But Agonious was oblivious to all help. The load of diamonds he carried for Miria was heavy, but he just flew on and on towards his destiny.’

‘One day, when the morning sun rose, Agonious could see land in the far distance. His heart trembling with excitement, Agonious flew all over the land and looked for Miria. He searched in the mountain caves and he searched in the forest glens. He searched the blistering hot deserts, and he searched the snowy mountain peaks. But he couldn’t find Miria.’

‘Everywhere, people talked of a beautiful dragoness with silver wings. All the birds whispered of her mysterious beauty. But Agonious couldn’t find Miria, no matter how hard he tried.’ The old man fell quiet again and got up to prod the dying embers.

I looked out of the cave. The sun was going down. Suddenly, a shadow flitted across the pale sunlit sky. 

‘Agoneous?’ I suddenly jerked my head and then smiled at my own stupidity. It was just a wandering cloud. The old man was weaving a wonderful tale, and I was beginning to fall under its spell.

‘What happened then? Where was Miria?’ I couldn’t stay quiet for long.

‘Hmm! Where was Miria? That is indeed an important question.’ The old man smiled at my impatience.

‘This is the question that the dragon asked everybody, but was unable to find the answer. But then one day, he came across a unicorn drinking from a crystal-clear stream. Now unicorns and dragons are close. They both share a common ancestry — the ancestry of myth and magic.’

‘O! the noblest of all creatures, please help me, for I am weary in my quest.’ Agonious begged the unicorn.

‘You are looking for Miria. Aren’t you?’ The unicorn slowly raised its graceful head and asked him.

‘Yes…yes….Miria. I am looking for Miria. I have flown for months to reach her, but now that I am here, she is nowhere to be found.’ Agonious answered while anxiously rubbing his veiny wings together.

The unicorn grew sad and bent its noble head in silence.

‘Why don’t you say something? Why don’t you tell me? Where is Miria?’ Agonious asked furiously.

‘Come, follow me.’ The unicorn guided Agonious towards a long, winding path climbing up the mountains. They climbed on for hours and finally reached the rim of a smoking volcano.

‘What is this? Where is Miria?’ Agonious looked around.

‘Miria is dead.’ The unicorn told him sadly. ‘She grew tired of her eternal loneliness. She was heartbroken. So one day she just flew up, kissed the clouds for the last time and then dived into this volcano.’

‘No!’ Agonious cried in anguish and disbelief. ‘But, I sent the sparrow to tell her I was coming.’ The unicorn just shook his head in sadness and walked away. Agonious kept on peering inside the volcano, looking for Miria. Then he flew up, kissed the clouds one last time, and dived into the volcano along with the treasure he carried for Miria. The lava burnt him to ashes in seconds and engulfed his treasure. Since that day, whenever the volcano gets frustrated and spews out lava and ash, it rains diamonds.’