Ngubu
was
always enchanted by the Purohit’s scimitar. As much as the Purohit was. He took
great delight in taking it off the gem-studded sheath just to run his fingers
on the smooth sharp blade edge. Twisting and brandishing it against the sun
created exciting sparkling shine stars on the castle walls. He hung the
scimitar in the sheath, in the side straps hung on the wall. The Monk was the
name Purohit used to send for the sword. He always kept the Monk near his diwan
when on a political meet of the committee. Never else!
“You dread Death so much! And want to be born again?”
Chuckled the Purohit in a
schmooze with innocent little Ngubu. His pre Sandhya Vandanam prayers
talk.
The Purohit was attempting to
unriddle, what was to Ngubu, a silent desire. A wish to get rid of his present
miseries and to be the one with all the blessings, which he now learnt, were
probable to acquire. And hope for!
Ngubu looked puzzled. After all
we all fear death. “I am sure sans the
bravado the Purohit does too!” Or so he thought. “Mine can’t be a state of dread!”
“See, to cherish a dream…to be born again...you first have to learn to
court death! And not dread it. It is a prerequisite, a rule of life…die
first!!”
The Purohit interrupted his
wisdom laughing as also throwing his head back, on seeing the confused look on
innocent Ngubu’s face.
“Though, be patient!” continued the Purohit. “Let the
events arrive and unfold at their anointed time. For if you push a wish against
its pre-ordained hour, you may not savor the joys its fruits beget! Probably
the joys you sought in the first place. They may not unbundle along with the
blessing. Be warned! This is the law of nature. Time and timing is the norm of
life.”
“Remember, for a blessing to be savored you have to prepare the
receptacle first. To take in the new we have to empty the vessel first. Unrid
its waste. Caringly empty to create space. Yes...empty, but not discard the
previous as refuse! If in haste you act violently, you may disturb the harmony
in which the receptacle gives and receives. And exists. But yes, empty you must
if you want a fresh fill!”
“Now give me the sandals I should take to the stairs for the prayers O
Ngubu!”
“My master the logic you explain has always cleared any quiz web that
cobbed my mind. I know logic alone is the light I should reach for when
confused.” Thus
spoke Ngubu while placing the Purohits sandals near his feet.
“Yes. Logic is compelling and convincing.” Mused Ngubu. “Like in the past when I asked you if there
is God, you narrated the story of the carpenter who asked you thus!”
“Yes! I do recall the carpenter and his predicament” smiled the Purohit remembering
the tale he had told him.
The carpenter was not convinced
of the almighty, the ultimate creator who keeps us wheeling in perfect step and
harmony with his tune. I pointed towards the furniture he had recently finished
working on.
“So who made this?” I asked him.
The carpenter nonplussed by the
question, winced in his hunch. Embarrassed! Yet blushing with pride at the
unexpected recognition.
“Your blessings my lord…! I am just a craftsman.”
“So behind each craft there is a craftsman. Right?” implored I.
“Yes.”
“Similarly would you not credit our Lord for this fine piece of craft or
creation that is man? And why even our beautiful world wouldn’t come to shape
but for some craftsman. A creator!”
The carpenter unfolded his arms
from around his knees. Understanding in a fervent surge of realization that his
doubts were misplaced and his expression of them haughty, he immediately rose
to first bow and in the same step fell prostrate seeking forgiveness for his doubting
timidity. “Timid that I am I could not
read the obvious logic.”
“No, it does not answer your question here. A logically arrived solution
is never a conclusive answer. That is why we suffer in its maze and in
disbelief!
With the same logic I should be asking next…who created the creator? And
the question could be an endless adventure.
No! Logic is rubbish. It only has answers for the obvious. The
furniture.
For the world beyond, the answers are within you. In your belief…faith…and
trust. The believer thus concludes far more easily. He moves in action with
hope, the fuel of life! Logic stops much short in the same journey. Confused
when it does not conclude. It is our belief that keeps us moving even when
logic does not justify the odds of life!
Have faith O Ngubu! We all would be born again…and yet again. As also we
would die. In betwixt, we have a purpose!”
The bells in the pier atop the
castle disturbed the discourse. The Purohit arose and fitting his sole into his
wooden sandals, reached for the flower-offering tray and his crow-hooked stick.
It took him 24 steps in one stair fly to reach the perch where he met his
master twice a day.
“More in the new day Ngubu.” The Purohit left after blessing his pupil.
Or so he thought.
A story by DK Sabharwal, CEO, abacus.
Concept, Layout & Design, Anindita
Nath, M.A. Psychology, Delhi.
Content Research, Shivangi
Shukla, M.A. Psychology, Delhi.
Copyright © 2013 Abacus Management Consultants Pvt. Ltd., All rights reserved.
“Characters
make a story. It in turn is told with an intent and purpose. Thus, the
characters are purposive. Or each purposive story has such intentful
characters. Ngubu was one for sure. We know. You would learn.”
Copyright © 2013 Abacus Management Consultants Pvt. Ltd., All rights reserved.