The Great Weaver From Kashmir
“Diljá threw down the pale, irregularly written pages; no, she had no desire to read any more, had skipped whole sections and still had more than half left to read. She felt as if her hands were filthy, as if a raw egg had been cracked open over them. She hurried over to the windows to look into the face of reality. Spring had arrived in all its glory, the sky over the fresh and green Landakot meadow blue and deep. It was hardly possible, when one looked into this sky, to believe anything other ...than that life was beautiful, and as eternal as it was beautiful.
Love, love: the most divine thing in life, she thought.
No, dear God, it cannot be that life is sinful. This blue sky would not vault the Earth if it were as abominable as what was contained in these pages. Sacrilege had been committed against her most cabalistic dreams: in place of visions that are dreamt of in maidenhood’s unperturbed mind, her soul had been violated and horrid pornographic pictures smeared onto the wall. From now on this repugnance would form the backdrop to her dreams and would bully her night and day.MoreLess
Love, love: the most divine thing in life, she thought.
No, dear God, it cannot be that life is sinful. This blue sky would not vault the Earth if it were as abominable as what was contained in these pages. Sacrilege had been committed against her most cabalistic dreams: in place of visions that are dreamt of in maidenhood’s unperturbed mind, her soul had been violated and horrid pornographic pictures smeared onto the wall. From now on this repugnance would form the backdrop to her dreams and would bully her night and day.MoreLess
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