�I know they seem useless, Ajith, the letters of the ancients, but every shaman must know them. It is only in this language that we can unravel the past and only with knowing our past can we devise a healthy future.�
The book was full of the letters and words my Father had insisted I learn, words of war and famine and a higher power destroying the Earth in a flood. I put it down with a heavy heart. Was this the wisdom of the ancients that my Father thought would bring about a grand future? Was it only through destruction that we could be renewed as a world and a race? Is that why this whole desert wasteland had happened? Had this God finally got sick of it again and destroyed the world with the fire of the sun?
I couldn�t believe it. This could not be truth.
I picked up book after book, each one spouting a new and sometimes distinct philosophy. It seemed that the ancients were as lost as we are now. Wait until the old ones saw this. They would completely lose their senses if they knew. Now just to pocket one and find my way home to the village.
I chose a book with a large whale in the ocean the elders should enjoy that. I took one last look around the great hall of books and turned to leave. The sun had set and the large beasts slept on the stairs. I crept past their lowered heads and attended to their snores for any breaks. They were enchanting up so close.
The city was beautiful in the moonlight. The panes of glass shown. It truly is amazing that all those flimsy windows remained intact after ages in the desert�s embrace. Would it hurt for me to explore farther into this archaic wonderland?
The night was cool and the expanse of building was fascinating to the uninitiated. I passed from building to buildings, tasting the ancient air of each structure, some salty, some sweet, some bitter. Everything was so different, though I knew it was still the same desert, the same air. It was remarkable how even the moon seemed to shimmer with an eerie light as if it was ignited for just that night to show me the way.
As the night drew to a close with the gentle graying of the eastern sky I found a place to sleep in one of the palaces of glass and metal. It was a building taller than most with gentle sloping stairs to contemplate and soft carpeting for my bed, the ideal sanctuary for the hot day ahead.
�Daughter, when the night is the coolest that is when tomorrow the day will be the cruelest. I know it is a silly saying, but always remember I did not make it up. It was made silly for children like you to remember, sweet Ajith. Put on your blankets tonight and tomorrow we will hunt.�
�Love, my child is never wild
It keeps us at its side
And with the dawning of the day
It will still be near
I will still be here�
�Ajith, there you are? I was so worried about you. You know better than to wander off.�
�Father, oh, Father, it was so wonderful, a city rising out of the desert and lions on stone steps and, oh, the books: You have got to see this book. I took it out of a vast library.�
I looked around me, now fully awake.
�Father, where is the city I just fell asleep in?�
�You were dreaming, child, only dreaming. Come out of the sun and I will take you home. No more talk of dreams. You have been lost to me for a day; rest, I will carry you.�
He lifted me into his arms and I relaxed as I had when he used to rock me to sleep as a babe. As he carried me to our village, I reminisced; had it been a dream induced by sun and heat? I felt into my sack; to my relief there was the book.
�Father? Look.�
�When we are home there will be time. Rest now, child, rest.�