Tag Archives: kindness

Tales of the Ancient Turtle: Who is God?

Posted in Short Stories English by

I was once friends with a very ancient turtle. I was very young, probably four or five and he lived in our backyard. The turtle talked to me. He told me many stories of times past and people long dead. He was wise, very wise and the mind of a four-year-old kid was no match to his wisdom. But he talked to me because he loved me. And he loved me because I could listen to him for long with my pupils enlarged in astonishment and my brow knitted in curiosity.

Read more: Tales of the Ancient Turtle: Who is God?

It was a quiet summer afternoon when we first met. My mother was fast asleep and I slipped out of her arms very quietly. I missed her warm sweet smell but outside, the adventures were waiting for me. Adventures have always waited for me.

It must have been a large house. But to me, it looked enormous. There were rain-forests hidden deep within the rose bushes and anacondas wriggled freely in the moist soil. My mother called them earthworms but I knew they were anacondas. There was a desert in one corner of the backyard – my very own Sahara. My mother thought it was just construction sand, which was left behind by the workers. Adults can be so wrong sometimes. To me, it was a desert, complete with dunes and when I planted some saplings, there was an oasis too. 

I looked up and peeked at the golden sun from under the shadow of my palm. He was furious with the world but was smiling down at me. His golden rays kissed my cheeks and whispered in my ears:

‘Go ahead son. The adventure is waiting for you.’

‘But it is so hot and you are ferocious today.’ I replied while readjusting my palm.

‘Not for you. You are a dreamer. For you, I will always be kind.’ The sun crackled a deep-throated laughter.

Reassured, I started looking around for adventure.

Suddenly, a squirrel hiding in the mango tree caught my attention.

‘Come down little one. I want to play with your soft bushy tail.’ I called her down kindly.

‘Always be kind. Kindness goes a long way.’ My grandfather said to me often.

The squirrel came down. I called her Sweetie and we had always been on friendly terms. She shared her nuts with me and in return, I brushed her soft tail. It was softer than my father’s shaving brush and was of the most marvelous silver-grey color.

‘Hey, have you heard the news? The turtle has woken up.’ She sat on my shoulder and squeaked in my ear.

‘Huh? Turtle? Which turtle?’ I was surprised.

‘The turtle in the backyard silly’. Sweetie informed me while breaking a nut and offering one half to me.

‘There is a turtle in our backyard? Wow!’ It was marvelous news to me.

‘There has always been a turtle in the backyard. But he had been asleep for the last hundred years or so.’ She chattered on.

‘Go meet him. Pay your respects. He would certainly like that.’

So I ran to the backyard. There was no turtle anywhere.

‘Mr Turtle! Mr Turtle! Where are you?’ I hesitatingly called.

I could hear nothing in reply. All was silent and the brick floor was shimmering in bright sunlight.

‘Look closely son. He is having his siesta under the rose bushes.’ The sun whispered.

‘Where? I cannot see him.’ I desperately searched under the bushes.

The sun laughed quietly and shifted a little. The shadows changed and I started to see something which was never there before. There was a mottled hard and curved shell – dark green and grey. I poked at it with a small stick and it moved.

‘Who disturbs me?’ A strange low voice murmured.

‘I am sorry sir. I just wanted to meet you and say hi!’ I said very very respectfully. Turtles were serious business and I knew my manners.

‘Hmm! Once you grow old, you will realize something very important. Nothing in this life is more delicious than a siesta in summer.’ The turtle said in a tired voice, gradually opening up his small deep eyes and looking at me.

‘Ok. I am really sorry. You can go back to sleep. We will chat some other time.’ I tried to withdraw.

‘There is something else you will realize once you grow old. No time is better than now.’ He smiled at me kindly.

‘Sit down and let me have a close look at you.’

So I sat down under the rose bushes. It was pleasant there. The dark soil was wet and the anacondas were squirming happily. I prodded one with my finger. It was all moist and soft.

‘Now don’t do that. He doesn’t like that.’ The turtle admonished me silently. I withdrew my finger. But the turtle was wrong. The anaconda didn’t care.

‘What are you doing outside at this hour?’ The turtle asked me gently.

‘What is wrong with this hour? This is the hour of adventure.’ I was confused.

‘You should get out at another time. It is hot.’ He looked up at the bright sun.

‘No time is better than now.’ I repeated his words and the turtle laughed. It was a deep rattling sound, pleasant to hear. It was a warm laughter coming straight from his belly.

‘My mother is asleep and I am free. There are lions to hunt and desert gypsies to dance with.’ I said after politely waiting for his laughter to die down.

‘Aha!’ he grinned. ‘We have a dreamer here.’

‘Is it bad being a dreamer?’ I asked him. My grandfather always said it was better to act than dream.

‘Bad? Absolutely not. Being a dreamer is rather marvelous.’ The turtle winked at me: ‘It is the dreamers who change the world.’

‘Change the world? But how?’ I found his comment very strange.

‘Dreamers can see things that others can’t.

Dreamers can sense things that others can’t.

Dreamers can hear things that others can’t;

and dreamers can do things that others can’t.’

It was more of a song than a statement. I loved the songs. They were simple, yet meaningful.

‘Can dreamers see God?’ I asked him. It was a very important question as my father always said that God was invisible.

‘Oh yes! They can. You can.’ The turtle raised an eyebrow.

‘Nopes. I cannot see Him. Nobody can.’ I pursed my lips determinedly.

‘Hmm! What do you think God looks like?’ He asked a question I could answer easily.

‘He is big – bigger than everything. He must be a giant because He is all mighty and powerful. He moves His finger and the earth moves and the mountains crumble.’ I could go on and on but the strange expression in the turtle’s eyes halted me.

‘Now who told you that?’ He asked concernedly.

‘My teacher has told me that.’ I said while visualizing my teacher’s green eyes and golden hair which made a halo around her lovely oval face. She was probably my very first crush.

‘But she didn’t say what God looked like. I added the giant part myself.’I said proudly.

‘Of course you did because you are a dreamer.’ The turtle laughed again.

‘Can I feel your belly when you laugh?’ I asked the turtle hesitatingly. Touching somebody’s belly was not something I normally did. But I wanted to feel the warm vibrations.

‘Oh yes, you can my boy. You can do anything that makes you happy.’ He answered with a jolly laugh and I gently placed my palm against his belly. Those were good vibrations. They traveled up my arm and reached my heart. They tickled my heart and I laughed too.

‘God is somebody you can easily see and feel.’ The turtle finally said after finishing his long vibrating laughter.

‘How come?’ I was all ears.

‘How do you feel your mother? I mean what if she gets up when your eyes are closed? Can you feel her leaving?’

The turtle had asked a very strange question. I had never thought about it. So I closed my eyes and imagined myself lying in my mother’s embrace. And then the answer came to me, as clear as sunlight kissing a brilliant red rose.

‘I know. I know.’ I answered excitedly. ‘When she gets up and leaves, her warmth and fragrance leaves too.’

‘Exactly!’ The turtle nodded with satisfaction. ‘Now tell me, what makes your mother, your mother?’

He saw the confusion dancing in my eyes and so repeated his question.

‘What special quality makes her your mother?’

‘She gave birth to me. I came out of her tummy.’ I was wise way beyond my years.

‘Yes, true. That is basic. But what quality makes her your mother?’ He asked again. And I thought really hard this time.

‘I guess that would be her love. She loves me no matter what. She loves me even when I break a glass. Of course, she is unhappy for a while and frowns but she still loves me.’

‘Yes!’ the turtle sounded jubilant. ‘Her love makes her your mother. You see the love in her and sense it.’

‘So? What that’s got to do with God?’ I was a bit perplexed.

‘That’s got to do everything with God.’ He said in a matter-of-fact way.

‘He created you, me, your mother, and everything that exists around us. And He loves us all unconditionally.’

‘So my mother is God too?’ I thought I was finally drawing a connection.

‘Hmm! Let’s just say that God is greater than her and different from her.’ The turtle was alert now. He was very alert and was looking at me with eyes sparkling with ancient wisdom.

‘Different how?’ I was mentally ready to start a comparison.

‘Different because unlike your mother and mine, He runs through us and through everything around us. He makes you sense your mother’s warmth and He makes you smell her warm fragrance. He makes you move and He makes you stop. We are alive when He breathes inside us and we fall dead when He leaves us. He is the sun, the moon, and the stars and He is the rain forest, the desert, and the earthworms.’

‘Not earthworms. They are anacondas.’ I rudely interrupted him.

‘Yes, I am sorry. He is the Anacondas and not the earthworms.’ The turtle corrected himself with a kind and affectionate smile.

‘And most importantly, God makes you dream. He makes you dream so that you can see Him and sense Him in all His glory and warmth.’  

‘Tipu? Tipu? Where are you?’ My mother’s voice echoed in the distance.

‘Oh shit! She is awake.’ I cursed and then suddenly stopped. Cursing was bad and it was especially bad in front of a grownup. You could get spanked for that.

‘No problem. You can always curse in front of me.’ The turtle winked at me knowingly.

‘Will I see you again?’ I asked while brushing off the seat of my shorts.

‘Oh yes. I will always be here. We will talk more and then some more. We will keep on talking till it is your time to move on.’ The turtle said while settling back down comfortably in the moist soil.

‘Hey there you are. How many times I have told you not to play outside at this hour?’ My mother asked with a frown.

I ran to her and hugged her legs. She smiled and hugged me back. We started walking towards the cool shade under the verandah. I looked back and waved at the turtle. I could not see him because the sun had shifted again. But I was sure he could see me.

‘Whom are you waving at?’ My mother looked back but couldn’t see anybody.

‘I made a new friend today. I was waving at him.’ I smiled at her.

‘A new friend? Who is he?’ She sounded a bit worried.

‘A turtle!’ I happily informed her.

‘A turtle?’ She looked surprised for a moment. But then she bent down and kissed my sweaty forehead. ‘You are a dreamer my son. You will always be a dreamer.’

She had seen the happiness in my eyes and she was happy that I was happy. I was happy because I was a dreamer and I could see God.

#English #fiction #story #turtle #dreaming #dreamer #world #adventure #God #mother #summers #imagination #philosophy #love #kindness

Loneliness of the Last Dragons

Posted in Short Stories English by

The old man’s dragon-shaped pipe held a secret about why diamonds only appear in frozen lava - a story about the two last dragons on earth.

A haunting mythological tale told by a mysterious old man smoking a dragon-shaped pipe, revealing the origin of diamonds in frozen lava. The story follows Agonious, a powerful but lonely dragon who discovers he’s not the last of his kind - somewhere across seven seas lives Miria, a golden dragoness equally isolated in her suffering.

‘God is sad, my son! And He has created a world in His very image. It is a sad, sad world.’ The old man said, while slowly opening his eyes. His blue-grey eyes looked at me with an amused curiosity.

‘And why is God sad?’ I had failed to grasp the image of a sad omnipotent being.

‘Why is God sad?’ The old man repeated my question, sounding perplexed.

‘Well, He is the only powerful being. The only one who deserves to be proud and arrogant. The only being which can create, and which can destroy.’ He answered slowly and deliberately.

‘Well, that should make Him happy. Don’t you agree?’ I questioned the blue-grey mist of his deep eyes.

‘Hmm! You are forgetting something, my son.’ The old man said with a smile. ‘God is lonely. Despite all the power and all the might, He is lonely. No one to talk to and no one to share his laughter with. His is the eternal loneliness and the never-ending sadness.’

When I remained quiet, he placed his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Remember, son, the more powerful you grow, the lonelier you become. Loneliness is the price you pay for power.’

I saw the white smoke rings billowing out of the old man’s nose and mouth. They floated up and drifted outside the cave. Then they rose until they joined the white, billowing summer clouds scattered across the blue sky.

I looked at him closely. He had a head full of silvery hair, which fell in cascades over his bent shoulders. His complexion was fair, and a broad forehead topped a square and intricately lined face. The eyes were deep and rarely opened to their actual width. In fact, I always saw them as amused slits, bordered by an ever-spreading network of fine lines. An almost deformed, wide nose sat in the exact centre of the face and was underlined by heavy, sensual lips. He was a wise man indeed, but unlike all the wise men I had ever come across, he did not have a beard.

There were other odd dissimilarities, too. There was a silver earring dangling from one of his earlobes. He wore a velvety, maroon-colored robe, bedecked with golden dragons. The dragons were surrounded by forgotten scripts and ancient symbols, and yes, he smoked a most wonderful pipe.

The pipe, gripped in his yellowing teeth and dangling out of the corner of his mouth, fascinated me the most. It was most probably carved out of some ancient mahogany root and was lovingly polished and curiously shaped like a dragon. The dragon’s mouth opened up wide to form the bowl, while the tail ended up between the old man’s lips. The exquisitely designed and gold, metallic work defined the scales on the dragon’s body.

‘It was once called Agonious, the Fire-starter, the last of all the majestic dragons.’ The old man said, noticing my interest in his pipe.

‘I have never heard of him.’ I expressed my ignorance.

‘That is indeed understandable.’ He nodded his head. ‘But surely, you have heard of diamonds in the frozen lava pits?’

‘No.’ I again shook my head.

‘Do you know why diamonds are only found in the old and frozen lava pits?’ He asked again, refusing to get irritated with my ignorance.

‘No, I don’t. I never knew diamonds were only found in old and frozen lava pits.’ I answered while peering beyond the fragrant smoke, into his misty eyes.

‘Then let me tell you the story of Agonious and Miria. Agonious was a big and powerful dragon. He could throw fire over tens and hundreds of feet. When he flew, the earth darkened under the spread of his dark, majestic wings. He was so powerful that none of the dragon slayers could kill him. They came from all over the world, desperate to claim the head of Agonious. They fought well, but Agonious was too powerful and too big to be defeated by their inflated egos.’

‘Agonious could kill them from afar, but he knew the human thirst for self-respect. He gave them a good fight. He even tolerated a few sword wounds — mere pin pricks to him but enough to quench the blood lust of the dragon slayers. Agonious had a heart made of pure fire, but it was a magnanimous heart. He therefore never killed any of the dragon slayers and instead, let them leave in peace.’

The old man stopped to refill the pipe. He picked up an old leather pouch, embroidered with gold. Loosening the binding string, he started filling up his pipe one pinch at a time. I loved the smell of his tobacco. The warm fragrance turned the cave into a cocoon — a womb of safety. It took me back to times when I thought I was happy.

‘A magnanimous dragon that let his enemies leave in peace?’ I smiled at the old man. ‘I am a fan of dragon lore myself, but I have never come across the myth of a kind dragon.’

‘You haven’t? Eh?’ the old man chuckled softly, his tobacco ritual completed.

‘Agonious was really a kind dragon. He never hurt the villagers and, sometimes, brought them gifts of wild goats and fruit. He also helped them mow the hard land. He built dams for the poor and lit their fires on cold winter nights.

His kindness made him popular. Children called him Papa Agonious, and the villagers called him Agonious, the Kind. But despite all the popularity and love, Agonious was a very sad dragon. Can you guess why?’ The old man peered at me inquisitively.

‘Yes!’ By then, I had become quite familiar with the old man’s line of thought. ‘He was sad because he was lonely.’

‘Aha!’ The old man flashed a satisfied smile. ‘Exactly!’

‘Despite all his power and all his might, Agonious was lonely. He believed he was the last of his kind, swimming across the river of sadness, which we call life. Until one day, a sparrow told him of Miria. She was a beautiful golden dragoness, living across the seven seas. She had wings made of silver and had the most wonderful grey eyes. When she spat flames, they were the loveliest shade of emerald.’

‘But like Agoneous, Miria was sad too. She was sad because she thought she was the last of all dragons.’

‘Hearing of Miria, Agonious laughed and danced and wept with joy. He begged the sparrow to make haste, fly to Miria, and tell her of Agonious’ existence.’

‘Soon after the sparrow left, Agonious collected the most precious of gems and the most brilliant of diamonds in all the land. He begged leave of all the villagers and the children. They all cried and requested him not to leave. But loneliness is a more powerful drive than kindness. So one day, when all preparations were in place, Agonious spread his powerful wings and left for Miria’s land.’

With these words, the old man fell into a deep reverie.

‘The sparrow never reached Miria. Wasn’t it so?’ I asked the old man hesitatingly. I knew his stories always had a dark ending.

‘Yes,’ the old man slowly raised his head. ‘The sparrow couldn’t make it. She was killed by an arrow and was slowly roasted over a hunter’s fire. But Agonious did not know that and kept on flying east — towards Miria and a lifetime of happiness.’

‘The sun dipped beyond the horizon and rose again many times in a row. But Agonious did not stop. His large dark wings kept beating the wind hard.

The moon observed the flight of this dark knight on a love quest, and shone more brightly to facilitate his passage.

The eastern wind sensed the anxiousness of the Agonious’ lonely heart and changed its direction to give a boost to the flying dragon.

The ancient dragon spirits made the stars and the constellations twinkle more brightly to guide the weary dragon.

But Agonious was oblivious to all help. The load of diamonds he carried for Miria was heavy, but he just flew on and on towards his destiny.’

‘One day, when the morning sun rose, Agonious could see land in the far distance. His heart trembling with excitement, Agonious flew all over the land and looked for Miria. He searched in the mountain caves and he searched in the forest glens. He searched the blistering hot deserts, and he searched the snowy mountain peaks. But he couldn’t find Miria.’

‘Everywhere, people talked of a beautiful dragoness with silver wings. All the birds whispered of her mysterious beauty. But Agonious couldn’t find Miria, no matter how hard he tried.’ The old man fell quiet again and got up to prod the dying embers.

I looked out of the cave. The sun was going down. Suddenly, a shadow flitted across the pale sunlit sky. 

‘Agoneous?’ I suddenly jerked my head and then smiled at my own stupidity. It was just a wandering cloud. The old man was weaving a wonderful tale, and I was beginning to fall under its spell.

‘What happened then? Where was Miria?’ I couldn’t stay quiet for long.

‘Hmm! Where was Miria? That is indeed an important question.’ The old man smiled at my impatience.

‘This is the question that the dragon asked everybody, but was unable to find the answer. But then one day, he came across a unicorn drinking from a crystal-clear stream. Now unicorns and dragons are close. They both share a common ancestry — the ancestry of myth and magic.’

‘O! the noblest of all creatures, please help me, for I am weary in my quest.’ Agonious begged the unicorn.

‘You are looking for Miria. Aren’t you?’ The unicorn slowly raised its graceful head and asked him.

‘Yes…yes….Miria. I am looking for Miria. I have flown for months to reach her, but now that I am here, she is nowhere to be found.’ Agonious answered while anxiously rubbing his veiny wings together.

The unicorn grew sad and bent its noble head in silence.

‘Why don’t you say something? Why don’t you tell me? Where is Miria?’ Agonious asked furiously.

‘Come, follow me.’ The unicorn guided Agonious towards a long, winding path climbing up the mountains. They climbed on for hours and finally reached the rim of a smoking volcano.

‘What is this? Where is Miria?’ Agonious looked around.

‘Miria is dead.’ The unicorn told him sadly. ‘She grew tired of her eternal loneliness. She was heartbroken. So one day she just flew up, kissed the clouds for the last time and then dived into this volcano.’

‘No!’ Agonious cried in anguish and disbelief. ‘But, I sent the sparrow to tell her I was coming.’ The unicorn just shook his head in sadness and walked away. Agonious kept on peering inside the volcano, looking for Miria. Then he flew up, kissed the clouds one last time, and dived into the volcano along with the treasure he carried for Miria. The lava burnt him to ashes in seconds and engulfed his treasure. Since that day, whenever the volcano gets frustrated and spews out lava and ash, it rains diamonds.’