Taxila
By Leslie Cooles
Posted on
Shah Allah Ditta
The roots of the banyan tree cascade over the ledge, twisting ropes that sway in the breeze and obscure the caves beyond.
The heavy cotton shirt already clings to my back, jeans sticking to my legs in March. As uncomfortable as the stares. My uncovered blonde hair is a beacon, drawing eyes as I pass, and I duck into the cavern.
A single sign tells the truth of this place. The edges withered and cracking, italic writing of the raj almost faded to obscurity. Where Alexander the Great met the King of Taxila.
Above, the banyan canopy rustles, tendrils of long-dead memories reaching out. The march through the pass, fear of invasion running before the endless columns of soldiers. The trumpet of elephants high in the hills, earth rumbling beneath their heavy feet. …
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