languishing. Many past war heroes are ready to sell their
medals for a square meal.
It is quite obvious that the author is a poet and an ardent
lover of Nature. He loses no opportunity to pause and
deviate from the narration to drench the story in profuse
descriptions of natural beauty, the simple enjoyment, even
in the tiny window of scope offered to him amidst the
concrete of city dwellings.
In the winter, it appears like a slim beautiful dancing girl.
Only ankle-deep water with small darting fish as lusty trout
and grayling.
Scattered dewdrops everywhere, like pearls on a string.
Clear blue morning sky. Golden beams lit the sky filled the
atmosphere with fragrance of flowers. The gentle breeze
rustled through trees, plants and bushes.
The clouds gathered around the fireball. Its waning light
showed the splendor of the riot of colors.
Will they be successful in getting in touch with Siddhartha?
Will their quest be successful? Will they be relieved of their
agony? Only agonizing time will tell....
9