This is...

The phrase forming the title shall reach its destined conclusion at a later point in the post.
This is my first attempt at breaking the "early to bed" shackles imposed by my internship. Too long its been since I indulged in some reckless insomnia, loaded with the goods at Nokia 5300.

Thus, here we are...

--

Through the haze in my head, worked up over several rounds around my new abode with this piece in place, I see glimpses of an epic; an epic struggle, a glorious rising, and an end that refuses to reveal its outcome.
Intrigued, I proceed to mine deeper. Wish me luck, and hold on tight...

A tired, dejected looking man walks around a barren field. Looking around one can see the look if anguish in his eyes, almost as if he were walking through the remains of a battlefield.
Why, he is. It appears the land on which he treads, is his own being. He finds himself gathering his own remains, after having been defeated in a long drawn battle.
But who was the adversary, who put our unassuming little protagonist on such a path of gloom?
'Circumstance' comes first to mind, but seems too convenient and concocted. It appears something more direct, animate, and downright real has overtaken the poor man. And with every passing second, the sense of loss seems to seep in deeper, and even mock him.
But just as you proceed to write him off as another one of those to blur into oblivion, he rises, and sings a song of praise. Short, sweet, but potent with many things intangible, but strongly perceptible. Puzzled, one asks him just what he had seen that prompted such a response. He smiles, looks around again, and then lies down on the ground, as if trying to hug the infiniteness of the earth.
One probes him further but to no avail.

Curiosity stirred, one is unable to leave him in his state. So one stays on, and watches as the clouds take their position near the sun, to form a kaleidoscope in 6 colours. Still wondering, one looks at the clouds, one's own hands, and the man still on the ground.
Suddenly, as the first drop falls to the ground, everything begins to makes sense. The very next instant, the man looks up at you, with just the faintest of knowing smiles. You, confused, shaken (just a little bit!) are fast to realize how you are part of a much larger scheme, one that is revealing itself slowly, but is as yet thoroughly incomprehensible.

The man gets up slowly, and you run up to him, inquiring about his condition.
He looks at you and says:
"In you I love.. You.. are the one.."
You stutter backwards, and watch the man smile, before he coughs and stumbles. You rush to hold him before he falls, and give him a hug. With that, he dies in your arms.

Finally, everything reveals itself.
You now know the truth for what it is, and always was to be. Tears well out your eyes when you realize just who it is lying in your arms.

You recall Nicodemus, and and the hymn he had been taught.
You feel wretched, and then infinitely blessed and loved the very next instant. And the latter stays on.

Then just as you look upwards at the heavens pouring down, you remember the promise that the man had made long back. And in the next 3 blinks of your eye, pass 3 days, 3 lives, 3 eternities, and the Son of Man rises in front of you.
All you can do is smile, cry, go insane, see the light, and then lie at his feet.

.

Epilogue:
Yes, you were the merciless perpetrator of a countless misgivings; you were the harbinger of the drought that plagued the man and his land. When the clouds came together, he knew you knew your true identity, or at least thought you did. You then were the one who redeemed him, and the cause to which he had given himself up. You were all that he had lived, and was now dying for. You realize this only after his collapse, and the opening up of the heavens.
In endless gratitude and love, you become one with him, in 3 blinks.

This is Khajuraho.

.

Epi-epilogue:
(For those still clueless)
The man died for you, but only after you redeemed him in his hour of doubt.
Upon his death, you realized the very meaning of love. And you rose with him, on the count of 3.
All of this was read out, in the span of those glorious 8 minutes 27 seconds.

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For the uninitiated:
(Search for 'Khajuraho' here and listen/download).