Life of A Pashmina

I was born on a sturdy being who faced the cold winds and steep heights of the mountains in peaceful and utter silence. I walked amongst him and others, endlessly wondering over the white snows and the black rocks that lay underneath. I don’t recall much, other than the cutting air that blew strong over us and at us, and us, that swayed but never faltered. I remember the sound of marble hoofs clashing with the rocks, cracking the icy surface and gripping onto the impossible barrier; that cracking, to me, was the uneven beat of the mountain’s heart. I can hear it singing within me to this day.

I don’t know how much time I spent there, on the stoney white mountains with the strong blind winds, but it was there and then that I met my first human. He came over and approached us, calm and demure, and I, calm and demure, ventured on a new journey with him.  As I left, I looked back as the sturdy on which I was born as it moved on, unfazed as always, its hoofed step as light and mighty as I had always felt.

I was brought to a place where the air was soft and weightless, where structures surrounded and protected the humans and myself.  Villages of people, like herds of sturdy beings.

I evolved with them and because of them. I changed form, became a long, fine, and infinite thread, and I could feel in my length each and every step that I had travelled, on the stoney white mountains and in the human villages, on the sturdy being with marble hoofs and as a separate entity, my own true self. I linked over myself, entwined in myself, and within myself was reborn a thousand times over.

I am the pelt of the Goat that roams the impenetrable mountains.

I am the uneven beat of the Changthangi’s heart.

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