She moved gingerly towards him. Step by step on the grass laden with dew and her anklets made such a sweet ringing sound that the preoccupied nightingale stopped her song in mid-tone to look about. Small flowers peeped out meekly of their little holes in the grass whereas the bigger flamboyant ones displayed their full colours, trying to beat each other out in hedges and bushes. The birds sang their own sweet songs and moss covered the trees, like a predicament of what was going to come. Spring had come.She thought, who could have though that these tough gnarled branches of trees, which had laid dead for all these months, could house something as tender as these little beautiful flowers now. Only someone with a very wicked sense of humour. And thinking this she smiled to herself and deliberated for some more time.

Amongst all this beauty,bird song and ringing anklets, he lay still, deep in prayer, oblivious of the many cycles of nature had completed while he had stood still. And this is what had attracted her. Whereas men prefer women of a certain age, just this quality-sincerity, in a man of any age, wins the heart of a woman. His sage-like demeanour, the force of his prayer, his imperviousness... had filled her with a longing that she left the heavens for him. No, Indra did not send her, he never does. He was too consumed by the politics of his own heavenly affairs. She moved closer and the sage opened his eyes. Seeing such magnificent beauty in front of him, he forgot about his prayer. Taking this as Indra's attempt to bother him, mad with fury, the sage turned her into stone.

Many many centuries later, people from all around the world came to look at the statue of a woman of awe-inspiring beauty. Tour-guides attempted at telling impressive stories regarding the origins of the statue with their wild imaginations. But nobody could explain the hint of a smile on the woman's face, almost bordering on ecstasy.