The Cool Breeze From Hind

[jaihoon]

THE COOL BREEZE FROM HIND
by Jaihoon


Ch1. Bull-Man-Cart


I stood watching the rain. The fresh and noisy rain. The Sand Dunes are blessed with Silence, but the Paddy Fields are filled with Noise.
I stood watching the rain.

Within about four clock-hours, I had traveled from the Sand Dunes to the Paddy Fields. The sand was reddish and everything around was greenish. It Cooled my Eyes. This is the truth, to capture your soul, your friend is not telling lies.

The Swadeshi relatives gathered around to embarrass my curiosity. 'What is so special about the rain that spoiled their plans? What is so fresh about the marshy land?' They wondered at my wonder! But my wonder coupled with a fiery egoism, never felt threatened by their comments. I kept watching the rain. The Malanadan Rain!

The scene after rain is as refreshing as the rain itself. New life forms develop. The existing ones are blessed with a brand new endeavor to Live and Re-live. In some, new life forms come from no-where. In others, life continues from a Shattered Self. From the dead wood, sprouts a new life. Resurrection after all may not be that impossible. Or is it?

Every moment in nature leaves its trace for the observer to embrace.
Gem-like tiny droplets are seen balancing themselves on the Chemb leaves. And the little child would run up to the plant to fondle those droplets shining in the sunlight.

In the Dotcom world, to create a masterpiece as this, will not be a task for the designer to be at ease. Precious moments are for precious hearts to foster. In Affinity, Fear-filled pearls are for Mercy-filled shells to shelter.

But a Destructive Child would rather take a stick in hand, and begin his Creative Act of destroying all the plants in the land.

This was outside the house, but inside the fence. But there runs a bull cart outside the home, outside the fence. The bull in the front. The cart at the back. And the gray haired driver in between. Thus the Bull-Man-Cart was, for me, three forms of life - the bull with the animal soul, and cart with no soul at all.

But the 'life-form' of the middle one was most interesting. He had the 'God-given' soul raising him higher than angels. The Bull-Man-Cart was his invention. It is he who coordinates the movement of the two diametrically opposite geometric shapes: the round-wheel and the rectangular animal legs.

Man is, in one way, a tool in Lord's hand to tame the untamed forces of nature. Man becomes the Link between wheel and cart, and thus arises the Bull-Man-Cart.
The v-signed horns said how determined the bulls were: whatever the distance, they were ready to bear.

In modern terminology, the Bull-Man-Cart was doing a door-to-door service - delivering huge and heavy foodstuff from shops to homes at a very reasonable fee (or else he wouldn't survive in the competitive market).

But in the Nightingale's eye, what is there as visible as the Rose? A Bee is in search of the sweet nectar; the thorns and leaves are to it utterly bitter. My eyes passed by the bull. I had a glimpse of the cart.

But I began to see the wheel. The moving wheel. Round and round, it was moving like a reel.

Mobility in thought, I was beginning to feel. Mobility in style, mobility in thought; far and wide when the ships sail, ocean's mysteries are sought. Mobility is a noble passion. Rest and stillness blinds my eye with Illusion. I have picked the pearls while on the course of journeys, moving across the Watan brought to my mind so many stories. Mobility makes every mystery as visible as glass. Life is just another name for 'parvaaz'.

And to have a book in hand written with the 'Ink of Affinity' is perhaps the best companion while on the flight. What is the fault (even) if it strains the sight, for the heart it renders full of light. I began to see the wheel more and more. This invention of man had changed much in this world. He could travel much faster without halting to avoid the heat and cold. The wheel evolved from wooden to iron to rubber to plastic to hard to soft...wheel made man proud and a little rude. But here I was seeing something else: The bulls pulled the cart's wheel: Nature pulled Technology. God pulled man by His Grace. The One who subdued the land and sea for man, His Glory do we praise.

Enough said. My story of bull and cart has taken us elsewhere. Empty thought leads nowhere. My Friend! You are a Tasbih granted after years of prayer. In the east and west, you are a pearl so rare. By then, the rain and its traces came to end. The sun and his army were at the front end. The dark clouds disappeared giving way to the white ones.

And then it was time to make a choice. I had to begin soon so that later I could rejoice. I had to begin quick, or else the Accursed One would start performing his trick. Beware! Beware! My dear! That devil is trying to make our hearts go sick.

contd...

terms help

Swadeshi - Of one's own country.
Malanadan - Of the land of Mountains, i.e. of Malabar.
Observer - (here: the keen student of nature)
Chemb - A type of wild plant
Watan - Homeland
Parvaaz - Flight. (As in Iqbalian philosophy)
Marunadan - Expat. Referring to the narrator

http://jaihoon.com/books/breezebullmancart.htm

[jaihoon]

A storm was brewing in me to pass over from 'Idea' to the 'Deed'. To accomplish my dream into reality, there was none else to lead. I alone had to make the move or else laziness around me would breed. Hundreds and thousands of Moths were eager for this Flame to burn. The truth they wanted to learn, the myth they wanted to unlearn. This assignment if I adjourn, in embarrassment would I return. In whose hearts I was held a dear one, (so far), would look down on me with queer scorn.

The wood and fuel was within me. I didn't have to fetch these from the market of fate. My fate lies within me. To make it or break it was my own right, whether others like it or hate it. I cared not what the Oracle had in his mind. Mixed with myth, he speaks the 'truth' whispered to him by the Intruding Beasts.

But in my mind sounds the words of Poet of Tomorrow (file:///D:/Jaihoon/iqbal/), "The destiny of a thing then is not an unrelenting fate working from without like a task master; it is the inward reach of a thing, its realizable possibilities which lie within the depths of its nature and serially actualize themselves without any feeling of external compulsion. Thus the organic wholeness of duration does not mean that full fledged events are lying, as it were, in the womb of reality, and drop one by one like the grains of sand from the hour glass"

Let me not confuse further the story. By Lord! I fear my Tasbih will become rather weary. That 'Unlettered One' was sent to make things simple for the simple mind. He explained the mysteries in a way so sweet and short.

All that I wanted was a starting point, for, the Most Merciful had blessed me with forte so abundant. As such, the Paddy Fields had many venues of ancient and modern to start. But my pursuit was for 'Today', which with the 'Yesterday' did not part. A venue that was equally charming to my 'Traditional Soul' and 'Modern Mind'. An aspiration for my DotHeart thought and Dotcom act. A strong wind so that in times of trial, my little mind wouldn't sink. Who could be the one to be blessed with the Marunadan Silence and Malanadan Tolerance? MeraWatan had to start from such a place, or else for the rest of the journey there would be no pace.

Questions came like piercing arrows from far and near. For a moment, I felt as if I was a helpless deer.

The next moment, I smiled. When I got the hint, joy over joy piled. The venue was all set. The pearl was in my net. I had found the exact place to make the start.
And what was next? Would the fledgling keep relaxing in the nest?

'Vasu!' My driver was summoned. And the car moved northwards. Town and cities, cars and buses, manual-rickshaws, children and adults, boys and girls, men and beasts- the Malanadan roads had everything for this Marunadan visitor to see.
And nothing escaped my attention- neither dust nor the rocks. The sun was optimally bright and the wind was cool and light. I was moving closer to my Starting Point.

Because it was our first visit, we had to ask so that we wouldn't get lost. Whomever we asked, the reply was spontaneous- go straight, left and right. To show that path to that venue, the young and old alike were glad. I knew for sure that the coming moments were going to be better than what I had. With my head and heart I wished to get there: Trust me, my dear, this was no fad. Pay a little more attention dear one, or else your friend will get sad.

The car was moving to spiritual capital of my naad…the Panakkad.

'The towns are not much different from what it was years ago' said my driver, equally excited as me to be at the hometown of that 'Sage of Malabar'.file:///D:/Jaihoon/pics/panakkad.jpg

The monsoon had brought with it a special coolness for the reddish soil and greenish plants. The final road that we traveled was a little narrow. There was an extraordinary calmness that I felt. I was cherishing a dream, which wouldn't shatter even with stones if it were pelt.

The cool wind seemed pleasing to my fellow travelers. But the Cool Breeze was kindling every inch of my heart. I was beginning to grasp the relationship between man and nature, as I was getting closer to the residence of 'Children of Fatimah'.

Round and round and round, Vasu steered the car. And finally the house reached.
At the doorstep we arrived. And there it was - the Virtual Hospital, the Guest House, the asylum, the court, the Abode of Strategic Political decisions that changed the equations of Rulers and Ruled. The renovated home was also there - where his worthy successor continued to serve the masses.

Visitors came flocking in and out. An old man, who seemed to have much familiarity with the Kodappanekkal System, stood there to answer questions of the visitors. Towards him I moved a step closer. He came a little nearer. I asked. He answered: the master of the house was not at home.

But this was no blow to my aspiration. My starting point was still in the neighborhood. I proceeded ahead. On reaching the Masjid, I had my voluntary prayers said. Not that the forehead placed here had any extra blessings compared to the 3 other harems.

Delving deeper into this, we find joy in the words of the Sweetest of All, "The whole of earth has been made a mosque for me". The whole planet, that is conveniently divided into nations and nation-states, is one grand prayer hall, where the post-prayer mantra goes on the worshipper's lips: "Allah! You are peace. From you is peace. To you we return in peace. Make us live in peace. Admit us into abode of peace…"

My dear Friend! It seems to my eye that the first and last task of a believer is of a 'Peace-Keeper'. His duty is to create Peace in this world, not riots and bloodshed. He intends to return to Lord with peace, not weapons. And Paradise to us is an abode of Greater Peace. I swear by the God-given Affinity of yours: the purpose of my song is not to create disturbance for my Rose or others who hear my voice. For the Hind and Hijaz pricked by alien thorns, from the kingdom of heart this is a sincere Rose.

Why have I steeped myself in the discourse?
So that from story telling I have become a story.
I became naught and (unsubstantial as) a fable
In making moan (to God) in order that I may gain
influence over (the hearts of) them
Who prostrate themselves in prayer.
(Rumi (file:///D:/Jaihoon/bouquet/rumi.htm), Mathnavi)

Tasbih! I am the fisher, not the bait. I am the calendar, how can I become the date? Let me continue the tale without having you to wait.