In a small town in ancient Carthage under a rickety cot a boy was found by the conquering army as the city burned to ashes. The crying infant was spared and raised by the men as their own. The once upon a time orphaned learned to move his sword before he learned to move his legs. As a child he had a sword for a toy and was fed a steady diet of grain and ambition. In his very first battle, the boy, Only thirteen sliced through the heart of the enemies artillery to win the enemy kings sceptre. As the boy grew in skill
and might the mightiest armies of the time would fall like a house of cards when the boy would move in a dizzying trance swinging his sword to what seemed like music that would only reach his ears.

One evening after a gruesome battle with fearsome Egyptian warriors as the men sat around a burning bush drunk with victory the boy, bred to destroy, confessed to the old men who had raised him that he was in love. Deeply in love with a woman who appears when he opens the blade of his sword. In love with the woman who disappears as soon as he starts to move towards her. In love with this magical mystical being who plays tunes on the violin that sends him a in dizzying destructive trance. Yet the seemingly random juggernaut comes close to emulating the near perfect great spirit.

Little did he know who she really was, The Goddess of perfection and that millions over millennia have tried and failed to keep her enthralled.

A few years later, One stormy afternoon the boy while fighting the great Indian forces, trained by the legendary Dronachariya, found himself in the middle of a Chakravyuh. As the boy drew his sword his lady love appeared at the centre of this concentric ancient battle formation. Knowing this test of fire was his chance to finally meet his love, he locked horns with Dronachariyas warrior elite. He advanced through rung after rung of this great man-made bulwark. Tirelessly fighting the best warriors of the time
with the grit of a spiralling typhoon. When he was a step away from the Goddess he extended his arm towards her. Engulfed by her beauty the boys distracted soul was pierced by an arrow. He caught a glimpse of a sparkly translucent drop falling down the angels cheek. Something glittery of orange and of green and of gold floated and sat right in the middle of his palm. He clenched his fist and then it hit him that he had lost some flesh and all intuition on his forearm.

The boy lived through that stormy night and the long bloody Battle that followed but lost his way with the sword. And with that he never saw his love again. After a few decades the boy, greying and wizened buried the earrings of perfection deep in the holy Ganga.

It is said that the earrings of orange and of green and of gold make an appearance every few centuries when a Soul worthy of awakening the Goddess is being honed. Many a great writers and poets, painters, musicians and swordsmen have had ownership of this beautiful ornament pulled out of another realm only to lose it to the great spirit.

The Goddess of perfection awaits for her knight in shining armor to bring them to her.