Just as Futura had foretold, there was an old woman near to the shore, filling brass goblets with water from the lake. She had wrapped her elderly body in repeated folds of white clothing, observing the black swan as it descended hastily.
Futura’s visions had been accurate. Two children splashed and played by the lake in a manner that thrilled her heart to observe. It was as if she was recalling suppressed memories of playing with her brother in summer Nordic waters. There were no other people about and that was worth noting. Some cattle sat lazily on the shores. A peaceful vista dominated the surrounds. Birds enlivened onshore trees with chattering as they prepared to settle for the oncoming desert night.
Jasmin had descended next to a mesmerizing and beautiful bloom; she extended her human feet to the bottom of the lake; clothed in her heavy monk’s gown she walked laboriously in knee-deep wters towards the old woman.
The elder had seen the black swan descend and touch water; she had observed the bird metamorphose into a human.
“Paramhansa,” she whispered to herself with incredulity, her aged and weakened vision sparkling with renewed sight, her mind alert to an overwhelming event. Aspects of ancient prophecies were materializing before her eyes. She felt astounded and highly privileged.
“I thought she was just a legend!” She possessed fragmented knowledge of the event though Devaji, her old friend and mentor, would have detailed explanations.
The sun was fading; the dull of a warm desert evening announced an arrival. Jasmin struggled in her heavy and soaked clothing to reach land. The children stopped playing. They did not know how she happened to appear.
“Who is that?” asked one of them with undisguised curiosity.
“Paramhansa,” said the old woman in hushed tones. “She is a spiritual soul, who has gone beyond being a human and is loved dearly by the Creator God, Brahma. She travels as Paramhansa, a holy swan and is never out of Brahma’s sight.”