A haunting mini-opera where a lost wanderer encounters Green Tara (Buddhist goddess of compassion, tear drop of Avalokiteshvara) in a cold desert and receives devastating truths instead of comfort.
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The man was tired of walking for long in the cold desert. The sand was almost silver and stung his feet with the chill from last night. An equally tired, grey sun failed to warm the grains of sand. And then, when he had almost lost hope, Green Tara suddenly appeared out of thin air.
The man fell to his knees, joined his hands in supplication, and addressed the goddess:
‘O Green Tara, the tear drop of Avalokiteshvara,
have mercy on me, for I have sought you for long
You are the goddess of all those who are lost,
and I have lost myself, correct me if I am wrong’
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The Goddess watched the man with pity. She knew him well. He was the child of sorrow and had been miserable all through his pathetic life. In fact, why the man was still alive, was what worried Green Tara.
She contemplated the wretched creature huddled at her feet for some time, and then decided to tell him the truth:
‘Yes, you are lost indeed, that I can see,
lost forever, a child of sorrow and pain
You have been cursed by the gods,
cursed when you were born in the times of rain’
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The man turned his teary eyes to the goddess and asked:
‘But why me? Why was I cursed by the gods?
Isn’t it unfair? To be gifted with all the odds?’
Green Tara thought some more and then answered:
‘Whom do you belong to,
and whom do you possess?
Whom do you beg and cry to,
when you are in a dire mess?
You are a man from nowhere,
with no principles or morals
No good deeds in your bag,
and to your name, no laurels
Whom do you seek for solace,
and from whom do you beg forgiveness?
Whom do you choose to walk along,
when you are grieving and in distress?
You are a man with no certain future,
with no notable past or a worthy present
No real and lofty victories to boast of,
and a million regrets to resent
Whom do you love without conditions,
and whom do you serve selfless?
Whom do you hate with a vengeance,
when you feel the drive to aggress?
You are a man with no attachments,
with no relief and comfort in sight
No real gains to be happy about,
and what awaits you is only plight
Whom do you see as your companion,
and whom do you look for love?
Whom do you expect not to judge you,
when you are low in sin and not above?
You are a man who cannot be loved,
with no pure virtues or real talents
No sincere affections to be proud of,
and when mistreated, no one repents
You are just an anomaly in the system,
something to be removed and corrected
You are the broken gear in the machine,
something to be trashed and rejected
You are the one true monstrosity,
and carry the heaviest burden of guilt
You are the grandest absurdity,
cheap wine, to be mocked and spilt
What makes you happy and what makes you sad?
These are questions you know the answers to
Happiness will come and sadness will go,
you know these two will never come true
You are the one who is eternally lost,
between what should be and what can be
You are the one who is forever damned,
for wanting something that can never be’
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The man was dejected. He kept on crying for a while, and then, when his tears dried up, he raised his head and asked Green Tara:
‘What will become of me O Green Tara?
May I expect a salvation or perhaps a respite?
Or is it my destiny to be a lost wanderer,
a man without soul, or maybe a dark knight?’
Green Tara looked at him with pity in her lovely eyes.
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.’
Shehryar khawar 