It was the river’s turn that night. As big, white clouds began to float over us, she began. I listened.
“Durga loved the sounds of the forest. In the village, as shadows darkened and people would lock their doors and latch their windows, Durga would wait. For the faint rustle of the nameless leaf somewhere not far away. The hurried scurrying of a rabbit and the fox as they disappeared into the bushes. The owl that would start to hoot, even as she tried to keep her sleep at bay, the huge Sal tree that breathed easy in her backyard and finally, the occasional deep snore of the beast.