The Book of Sarah

It is one of those chill, misty nights. Who am I? I do not know who I am. Consider me a witness. I see things. I feel things. And I tell things. I do not understand the manner of our communication. Am I dead? I do not know. Did I once walk through creation in a quickened, human form? I do not know. But I seem to remember the pungent smells and throbbing rhythms  of ancient Hind. I seem to recall the burning light of a firey, orange orb reflected in the eternal waters of the River Ganges. And I seem to be privy to other things, current things, events unfolding as I speak. Let me share the things I know with you. A young girl, she is called Annie, progresses down a black, deserted alley. It is the last part of the darkness, when even the spirits rest. She sits upon a huge and monstrous hound. The beast lopes along with a silent strenght. Even the rats run away. They turn from the alley, entering a street of the wealthy, a refuge for princes. Lofty towers line this priviledged thoroughfare. They face a large, manicured greensward.  She stops approximately onehundred cubits from an especially high caste structure. The girl and her evil mount sit there for a few moments. Nothing happens. All is silent. The lesser life forms in the bushes of the greensward make low their life signs. The world waits.  The girl known as Annie grabs the scruff of the dog and pulls back. It raises its mighty head. They break the bonds of divine creation and ascend up into  the night. Upon reaching a height equal to The Great Ghats of Baroda, they begin to circle the building, drawing closer and closer with each revolution. She reaches out her hand and scratches the hard, stone facade. A low and vibrant hum passes through the ether. A crack appears on the towering edifice, spreading over the surface like a scar. The masonry begins to rumble. A lofty corner of the buiding crumbles. Walls fall away. Domiciles of the living are exposed and then destroyed. Soul-filled screaming, fleshly vessels tumble down into eternity. Witnesses gasp in horror. A long and narrow motor vehicle bringing tired laborers home careens wildly in a vain attempt to escape this deadly, urban avalanche.  Sirens pierce the vapors. Little Annie and her faithful dog, drift into a billowing cloud of dust and disappear. Strange beings, domesticated, reverent demons in human form (three in number) and their human attendants, speed down a vertical passage in a magical conveyance. They hurry out into a cellar. The enchanted assemblage piles into a shiny, black carriage with darkened window. It springs to life, transporting them away from the carnage and into the waning darkness.  May Shiva have mercy upon us all.