When the First Letter Rises

Dawn gathers above the river while a clean manuscript waits beneath the wavering flame of an oil lamp. No line crosses the page. No sound has yet entered the great silence before the telling. Then Saraswati appears at the threshold of speech, luminous and composed, and Ganesha takes his place beside her, vast in gentleness, guardian of every auspicious beginning.

Around the Goddess, letters kindle one by one like constellations emerging from darkness. Meanings gather within them. Rasa gives them colour and warmth. Metre begins to pulse beneath the silence with the measured strength of a ceremonial drum. At Ganesha's feet, the hidden stones that might obstruct the sacred labour loosen and fall away.

Tulsidas bows before touching the page. The language is not his possession, and the path is not cleared by his strength alone. The poem will move because grace has already entered the chamber. The hand waits, the lamp burns steadily, and the whole unwritten Manas stands at the edge of manifestation.

Under their blessing, the first letter rises.