your bridge home
Tales of the Gods
The clouds over Vraja had a strange colour that morning. Nanda watched them gather and felt, without knowing why, that something was wrong with the sky.
The clouds over Vraja had a strange colour that morning.
Not the soft grey of ordinary monsoon. A bruised, purplish dark, low enough to touch the treetops.
The rest of this story, read aloud, and a new one every day.