Then cold reality grabbed hold of him. He was no longer allowed to set eyes on what he had created. He could no longer whisper his secrets and dreams to the sculptures he had chiselled. He would never again caress the smooth limbs of his Shiva. The God was no longer his. He belonged to the rich and privileged, jailed in a temple with fat Priests as his guards. His God was blind! With a vehemence, he had never suspected he possessed, he jumped up and looked at the distant city, glistening in all its glory. He spat on the ground. Then the Asura cursed his creation with so deep a hatred that
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