"Whew!" shouted the stone, a large one on which were carved, aeons ago, verses praising Gods.

Its neighbor, a much larger stone, joined in. "You are finally free, my old friend!"

Someone had just removed the huge board which was nailed to the stone. "Chappal Stand. 1 Re Only."

"I feel like being reborn, Shila," said the stone. "I haven't seen the Sun in decades, and I can still feel the nails!"

"I can imagine, Parvat," said Shila.

"What has happened now?"

"It all started when they sold the gold."

"They sold the gold?" asked an astonished Parvat.

"It was many moons ago," said Shila with sadness. "The air turned foul, the temple was closed, the priests were abandoned, the kingdom had no money, and all that was left was the temple gold."

Parvat felt cold, and if stones could throw up instead of being thrown, he would have.

"This has not happen since thousands of years, not once since the sacred chisels breathed life into us," said Parvat.

The stones believed that they were created lifeless. When the skilled hands of pious craftsmen chiseled divine stories and verses, they were breathed with life.

Shila remembered her birth vividly, every movement of the chisel a new breath, a chip here, a ridge there, and gradually, the Gods themselves were surfacing from the hands of Man.

"Do you remember those days?" she asked, though she knew that their memories were carved in stone.

Parvat remembered too, the skillful curves of letters that formed words, words that formed verses, verses in the praise of Gods.

"I was his favorite, I think," he reminisced. "I could never forget the twinkle in his eyes and the sweat on his face when he brought me to life."

"We have been attacked in the past, Parvat," said Shila. "The priests had to hide the Gods, and many lives were lost."

By lives, Shila was talking about their own. The stones believed that they ceased to exist once the divine craft engraved on them disappeared, broken or erased.

"Many of our friends are dead," said Parvat. "By the rending of foul hammers, mostly, but also by the gnawing of hasty winds and angry rains."

Shila remembered the plight of Parvat, a board nailed on him for years. She said ruefully, "Many also succumbed to the Apathy of Men."

"Apathy," asked Parvat, "or is it something more?"

"What makes someone murder stones in the name of renovation, erasing the life-sustaining carvings on our friends?"

The wind swooshed through the large banyan tree standing majestically at a distance, teasing the hanging roots.

"Roots," said Parvat.

"What?"

"Well, lack of roots."

"What are you saying?"

"Do you remember the kings of old?"

"Yes."

"Well," said Parvat, "they knew the traditions."

"So?"

"The traditions have faded, like carvings in rain."

"Come now," said Shila, "they still exist."

"Sure," said Parvat, "but don't you realize? The Constitution has replaced the traditions for years. Traditions exist, but they are secondary."

Shila was lost in thoughts. "So, the Constitution," she asked, "is not based on the traditions?"

"Hammer and nails!" exclaimed Parvat.

"Nothing is sacred anymore then," said a despondent Shila.

"Nothing, Shila," said Parvat.

"Do you think that we could be saved, the traditions could be saved, the temples?"

Parvat listened to the chirping of sparrows, and their feathers shone like gold in the afternoon Sun.

"The gold is gone," said Parvat. "All that remains is the stone."

"The Gods inside should save us," said Shila, her voice pleading with tenuous hope. "They always have."

"Yes, they have."

"Do these men have no hearts?" cried Shila.

"Do these men have no guts?" asked Parvat.

Suddenly, there was a menacing noise from a machine.

"No!" cried Shila, when she realized what was happening. "Leave him alone! Leave Parvat alone, you ROOTLESS BEASTS!"

No one could hear her. The machine erased the verses clean, and the men nailed a bigger board on Parvat.

"CENTER FOR MULTICULTURAL ARTS" announced the board in large letters.

Below that was written, in equally large letters, "MINISTRY OF HUMAN RESOURCES (MoHRE)".

Shila could no longer cry or scream, not even talk. The sparrows too, stopped chirping, for the tree was felled too. //