Legend XLIX – Hanuman, the Sleeping God

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Since the days when the forests still bore names and the winds whispered stories, tales have been told in the south of a god who did not die, but fell asleep. His temple lies hidden deep beneath the green canopy of the world, embraced by roots and guarded by the breath of the jungle. The ancients call him Hanuman, the guardian of stone and silence. Once, he is said to have watched over a kingdom where people spoke with animals and kings received their coronation not from human hands, but from the stars. Hanuman was their protection and their voice, and with his club he shattered the darkness that gathered in the valleys. But one day, so the legend says, the world demanded more of him than even a god could bear: a promise that binds even eternity. He swore to watch until every lie on earth was silenced, and when the word was spoken, duty transformed his body. His skin turned to moss and stone, his heart slowed its pulse until it was barely audible, and his eyes closed to enter a sleep that knows neither rest nor oblivion. His people vanished, the towers of his temple sank into the earth, and only the animals still knew who lay there in the depths. Centuries passed, and the world forgot. But sometimes, when the jungle is silent, you can hear the veins of roots creeping over the stone of his throne, silently apologizing for the burden they bear. Some travelers tell of a humming emanating from the statue, a rhythm like a heartbeat that runs through the ground. Others claim that the moss on his chest moves in a breath perceived only by the night. And sometimes you find traces—carved symbols on the pillars, warning that God's dreams are sharp as teeth. So say the guides, who never wish to return to the hidden court. But there are those who do not listen, but seek. One of them was a young wanderer who ventured deep into the jungle, searching for a truth he could not name. After many days, he found the temple and stood, small as a spark, before the colossal figure. Hanuman slept, yet the air vibrated around him, as if listening for a breath that never came. The wanderer sat down, laid down his equipment, and waited. Hours passed, then a whisper, barely audible, like the crumbling of an ancient stone. The wanderer raised his head. The statue's eyes remained closed, but within him he felt a movement, a gaze that reached out through the darkness. Some say that at that moment the god placed a memory in the boy's mind: the image of a world where truth does not shatter but grows. Others claim the wanderer was simply thinking of the solitude of a forgotten god and was therefore overcome with sorrow. But one thing is certain: when he left the temple, the air behind him was warm, as if an invisible hand had stirred it.