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The night was silent, dreadfully silent. But it was a silence that roared in my ears. At a distance across the lake stood the Shankaracharya Hill, symbolizing our inner vitality — the volcanic vitality that has now cooled inside the rock that bears the name of the great recreator of Indian cultural unity and who, like a Colossus, strode in the tenth century from Kanyakumari, "the lotus feet of the Divine Mother," to Kashmir, "the crown of India," and ascended this hill to pray at the little Shiva temple that came into existence between 2629 B.C. and 2564 B.C. and then proceeded to consecrate the Holy Cave of Amarnath. Did this symbol of our innate strength have any meaning for our leadership of the day? Did it realize that India today required a new welding force — another cultural renaissance, another social and moral vision, which should stand like a Shankara's rock against the forces of decline and disintegration?
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