Trying to shadow an epiphany

This is inspired from a writing of Brian Doyle (https://theamericanscholar.org/why-do-we-not-sing-these-things-as-miracles/#.VvQ6O-IrLIU). Please pardon if I did bit more than I can chew. 

I say wrinkles and you think of the bedspread after you have had slept like a baby in the arms of your love. I say blanket and you are beside the lake with the stars over you. I say rope and you think of how your big dog pulled you when you were small. I know you when I say you haven’t forgotten the castle you built in sand, and how you leapt into the puddle of water in rain, and the cold wind against your face, ruffling your hairs, as you rolled down the coaster. And you were glad that the ride ended soon, as your eyes were closed, yet you were also sad that it got over quickly because you could still see everything. Your palms were sweating while your throat was dry, like the way you felt while holding his or her hands for the first time, and then many more times, and you thought it was the best thing that ever happened to you until better things happened to you, when someone held just your finger with both of their hands, because he or she is tiny and helpless and sleeps almost all the time and yet knows you and trusts you.

I say pungent and you are holding the test-tube in the high school chemistry lab, or smoke, and there you are in the backyard having a barbecue, or bruise, and your father is helping you get on the bicycle again after your third fall and you could tell from his eyebrows that he is not worried. And you could wake up with the sun without an alarm, or stay up with the moon without a yawn, and you could tell that your mother isn’t pleased because you are scared and she’s not, even though it is your eyes that are red. You know that you can run on the grass, barefoot, and in the snow, for when you are a child, you don’t always paint the skies blue, or the leaves green, but you know camels can fly and you are invincible.

You know the silence while others had clamoured to remove the charred branches of your favourite tree struck by lightning. You see the old photographs, and in an instant you are doing the same things all over again. And you are not worried anymore about the way you were standing or the nose coming between the lips while you kiss. You remember the time you went to see-off your dear cousin, after your first vacation together, and he or she was right there and will soon be far away, and you would give right now to have what was long ago.

I say now and you think of then, but which was always and will be, whenever you have looked inside. You were humming these things, ever amused and bewildered, and while I say miracles, you were always singing softly, that they are the reasons anything ever happened, and someday imagination will become memories and never fade.

His Prayers

The chants of the Surya-Namaskar, deep in reverence but fervent in appeal, was His wake-up call. How soothingly it resonated with the Ajaan at dawn! A perfect daybreak, if you would ask Him. Still, He didn’t want to be left out and played His part through the chorus of birds.

The mundane daily schedule then takes over- even He cannot escape the drudgery. There are so many things that need His attention. The Yeti’s gene-mapping is yet to be completed- he tried studying a few mutations but before any conclusions were drawn, some mountaineers created such a ruckus that He had to slow down. The magnetic field near Bermuda triangle needs proper calibration, it goes off every now and then. He has to fine-tune the Earth’s temperature again; it has been increasing dangerously in recent times.

When He was exhausted, He could always turn His ears to any corner and listen to the melody from the other world. Last Christmas, He heard a Sufi saint singing carols in Istanbul. He listened to Honkyoku at a musical class in Nairobi. That particular synagogue in Berlin playing the Pizmonim was one of His favourites. And after shining all day, He quenched his thirst from the Baul songs of the Portuguese missionary in Darjeeling.

Though, of late, He was feeling that the orchestra was losing its symphony. The notes were off in India, there were piercing sounds from the middle-east and the western lyrics were hurting the soul. However, He was hopeful that experience will impart wisdom to the novice musicians. Also, He was pre-occupied with a glitch in the lunar trajectory. It took Him a few days but in the end, He averted a major tidal flood.

Happy with Himself, He opened His ears again to celebrate with music. But He was met with disappointment. What on Earth were they doing? The United Nations, before getting disbanded, was in the process of certifying the newly drawn boundaries of belief. He was always skeptical of the word ‘Nations’ after ‘United’.  And now, hymns are banned in middle-east, Qawwali is not heard in Lucknow anymore and the Lotus-Sutra cannot be uttered in the west. The concert was over.

He had so many dreams- He had actually started working on the one with providing water to the nearby ‘red planet’. All those trials now need to be put on hold.

He took out an old book from the shelf- the dusty cover read something like ‘Handbook of Rob…’ He started revising the basics-

0. A robot may not harm humanity, or, by inaction, allow humanity to come to harm.

1.  A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

2. A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the Zeroth or First Laws.

3.  A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the Zeroth, First or Second Laws.

This time too, He is hopeful that the robot will help re-create the music. He does not care about naming them anymore; humanity was better than Him in this game. Krishna, Muhammad, Jesus, Buddha- what interesting names they came up with!

As He sends the robot away on the mission, His heart grew heavy. He had always thought that free will was the best ingredient in His creations. Alas! Humanity, with its free will, still forced Him to fall back on His lesser self. Himself.

(Humbly acknowledging Isaac Asimov, from whose works I have borrowed a significant theme and my deepest regards to Suvro Sir for introducing me to his books and so many other wonderful things.)