‘Why is it……’ I asked the turtle. ‘….that the more I understand life and the more I write, the more I grow sad? I don’t dislike being sad but it overburdens me sometimes.’
‘Hmm!’ the turtle closed his grey clouded eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they were as usual, shining with the golden light of ancient wisdom.
‘Understanding is a gift child. This gift comes to a few but this gift always comes with a curse. And that’s what the witch told you. That was the deal you made with her.’
‘Witch?’ I was surprised. ‘What witch and what deal?’
The sky was intermittently dark. Each period of darkness ended in a lightening flash. Each flash was succeeded by a deep growl up above in the belly of the clouds. The light breeze smelt of a subtle promise of rain.
The old man with a head full of bushy silver hair stood quietly in the veranda. He was looking towards the western skies. His cloudy brown eyes were open but looked at nothing in particular. Instead they were filled with the grey shadows of memories.
Once I was Ashastû, son of Darsha and the resident of the ancient city of Nishapur. Once I was the bird, imprisoned by a gilded cage. I was the follower of Mazdayasna and the worshipper of Ahura Mazda.
Like a butterfly, which once is a caterpillar, I was all that but no more. I have become the bearer of the most ancient of all legacies – the legacy of the forgotten wisdom. This is the story of my transformation and my transition, from a caterpillar to a butterfly; and from the path of dark ignorance to the path of bright wisdom.
All great quests for knowledge start with a broken heart.
‘Legend says that the spirits of Baba and Bibi still live on the slopes of the Kilimanjaro.
They meet all the weary souls, desirous of entering the elephant graveyard.
They attend to their broken hearts and mend their exhausted will to survive.
They have become the custodians of the broken hearts and guardians of the broken dreams.’