Only, it was far from over. A washer-man was all it took and I was sent through the blazing fire. You can imagine not the intensity of those flames, the cold, mocking crackle of the orange, the first sting of human tears. Purushuttam, the highest among men fell prey to a mere rumour, and collapsed from his pedestal. The suspicion, the fear, the doubts that lurked his mind could be forgiven, overlooked. They could be pacified and explained. What doomed Manus was the need to seek approval from even the lowest of the rung. The desire to be respected by those whom he could never have respected back. The act of giving up every scruple he had, every principle he upheld, only to be adored by one more person. The Ideal Man didn’t value his own opinions, only those that others had of him.
I felt then not the heat but the tightening corridors of their minds, lairs too binding for the wisdom of their origins. The weight of all our eternal years crashed down on me, the smallness of humankind pressed against itself.
I activated the Homecoming Hoop and Dharti brought me back. Earth failed. The Planet of Colour shall never know why it exists, why it was really made. Goka, let the next deserving race be found.