Description of the Creation of Woman in Certain Indian Myths
It is claimed that a certain Indian philosopher, seated one gentle evening among his students and companions—his mind matured by the passage of time, the earth hushed from its clamour, and the night descending with its veil—spoke to them in a voice that flowed like soft music:
“At the dawn of eternity, when the universe was adrift in the ocean of non-existence, lying dormant under the wings of silence, the sun had not yet been born to weave the morning with its radiance, nor had the moon whispered its silvery sigh to caress the face of the earth. Time stood still at the threshold of beginning—motionless, pulse-less, as if it had never known movement. Space held its breath, curled into itself, as if afraid to disturb the awe of stillness.
The sky hung suspended, silent, like a mirror that had never seen a face gaze into it. The earth lay empty, stretched out like a sleeping body awaiting the murmur to stir it. The mountains stood like pillars of fate, lofty yet lifeless. Rivers flowed like sleepy dreams, without sound or meaning. Clouds drifted in a pale sky, colourless and without shade. Trees raised their barren branches heavenward, as if pleading for a drop of life to revive the pulse in their veins.
In that breath-stifling silence and overwhelming void, the Creative Power sensed that something was missing from this grand tableau—something that neither the brilliance of the sun nor the enchantment of the moon could compensate. Without it, the cosmos would remain incomplete, the silence stifling, and life devoid of meaning.
So the Creative Power began to reflect upon what it had fashioned, what it had brought forth and infused with spirit. Then it set out in search through its boundless treasuries for that missing jewel—for the secret that would restore completeness to the cosmos, pour the warmth of dreams into the days, and infuse the moments with a melody that awakens hearts.
It searched deeply and gazed intently, journeying through the depths of its own creativity, until it found what it had been seeking: woman.
Woman was not created as other things were created, nor formed as other beings were formed. Rather, she was woven as poetry is woven in the heart of a mad poet, and crafted as a longing is crafted on the lips of a passionate lover.
From the tranquillity of the moon, its enchantment was drawn and poured into her eyes. From the tenderness of flowers, their fragrance was distilled and planted into her smile. Strands of her hair were spun from the threads of night and the mists of dawn. Her footsteps were made from the intoxication of spring and the quiver of blossoms. Her voice was formed from the songs of nightingales and the purity of breezes. Her heart was kindled from the fire of love—a fire that does not burn but warms, that does not consume but illuminates, a fire that neither dies nor fades.
When her feet touched the earth, everything changed. The mountains shivered in their silence. The trees quivered in their stillness. The rivers smiled at their own flowing. The flowers bloomed as though life had just begun. The dew fell as if the heavens themselves bowed in blessing. The air filled with a fragrance the cosmos had never known before—a scent carrying the perfume of love, the wonder of beginnings, and the long-awaited promise of life.
The birds sang, composing melodies they had never known before. The butterflies danced—not for any reason, except that woman had appeared, and life had dawned with her radiance.
The Divine Power stood contemplating this new being, with eyes filled with satisfaction and pride, whispering words that only existence itself could hear:
> “This is woman… the adornment of creation, the secret of existence, the pulse of life, the fragrance of the end, and the smile of the beginning. With her, the earth was completed, the rivers gained meaning, hearts found peace, the void disappeared, and everything was restored with purpose.”
Woman is not merely an image to be seen, nor a body to be looked upon as the simple-minded assume. Rather, she is a breeze that flows through the veins of the cosmos. She is the mother who plants gentleness in the hearts, the sister who supports and brings solace, the daughter who fills homes with glad tidings, and the beloved who clothes life in the garment of dreams and fills the days with the warmth of meaning.
Since that day, the universe has spoken after a long silence. Life has taken on colours never known before. Into the days has been poured a magic only known to those who have lived it. Within existence has been placed a secret that is only understood through love—and is only complete with woman. She is the blossom of the earth, the murmur of the ages, and the light of existence.
Disclaimer: This article was translated by AI. Original post: https://t.me/DrAkramNadwi/6399
