This is a tale of an austere, as pure as a hermit yet not a recluse from the worldly mess. This is about an unimaginable feat in this day and age, that a person has had the courage to reject an offer worth billions. Yes you read that right billions. The world has become a marketplace of people where each person can be bought for a fee, yet his forehead bears no price tag. This is the tale of that unique being whose story has journeyed a thousand miles. He seems to embody a calm oasis in barren plains whose dryness brings pricking pain. He tends to be the coolness of the blessed shades of the trees of a pleasant forest in summertime. His devotion is so endless and untiring, like streams that waterfalls generously flush. From the gardens of heaven to scorching deserts, a tale of many voyages.
O earthly man next to the angels, one wonders since when was this fragile and frail bus standing in the empty wide valleys of Khuzdar, Balochistan. Maybe three days had passed, as the passengers of the dust covered bus were crippled with fatigue, hunger and thirst. 22 years ago, neither were buses that comfortable nor the journey itself. The poor travelers did not even have so much money to bid the passing rides to get them something to eat. Helplessness met inability to be their fate in this desolate place. The barren lands showed thirst till the sight could go, while the horizon was guarded by steady and haunting mountains who would limit its quenching. The sight of the travelers would roam the surface for some solace, their trail only to be bounced back by the steady blockage of the mountains. After going nowhere, the sights were fixed above to the skies for some miracle. When the gaze became tiring and the eyes lowered to the horizon, a shepherd came to sight along with his herd.
The soundest nature is possessed by two types of people: farmers and shepherds. Yes, the same shepherds who modestly follow the flock. They are those whose dogs bark around their sheep to guard them from wolves, not those who by the lure of the herd ahead of them become wolves themselves. They are those who can identify their sheep individually just by color or nature. They do not possess a stick to beat discipline out of the flock, but a mere straw is enough to guide them along the path. They roam miles and miles in such fashion, yet the miracle of nature that it maintains the discipline it set and they safely return. So soft and so mastered at their craft that they guide the whole flock through the foreign lands without harm to either.
The qualities of a shepherd and a farmer, if sewn into one person, make him the greatest of conquerors and kings. The sanest mind boggles and bows down in front of such a giant yet humble personality. Those that befriend such persons are painted bright in their color, a color which none other can outshine. Such was a person in the deserted bus. His face was so hidden under layers of dust such that the moon was peeking out of the night clouds. The scent of saffron flowers sweetened his heart, and he was so lost in his aroma such that a gazelle dazes in its own musk. He knew for a fact that a few miles away lay an oasis of the saints where crystal clear water flushed and palm trees were abundant. But he had travelled through far many better gardens of heaven to reach here. His eyes awaited those sights which the Writer of Destiny had hidden for his gaze.
And close came the shepherd to ask if the travelers had something to eat. So bad were they struck with fatigue that they couldn’t manage a headshake to respond negative.(to be continued)