Lightness of Being…

A hunched silhouette made its way slowly uphill to the unofficial Chief’s compound; unheard by anyone his slow footsteps were celebrating in rhythm “We are free! We are free!”

Tumbo, the portly chief of the day, was sunning himself in the veranda. He lay in a slightly shaded area, with a loose cloth tied around his waist.An assortment of drinks and snacks surrounded him and every five minutes or so one of his servants would come around to add more juice and keep an eye on the platters. Massive rolls of fat cascaded down the sides of his body, and ample breasts hung useless on each side separated by thick curly hair. If his body spoke of indolence and self indulgence, his eyes bore a completely different tale. Let me take a step back and reveal his narrow forehead shaping up to his close-set eyes and diverging into huge round cheeks and multiple chins. It was his eyes that stood out of his disproportionate face with their shrewdness and sharp glints of intelligence. He seemed to be in a perpetual mode of sizing up a situation with the manner in which his narrow eyes slowly traced his surroundings. The villagers were heard saying (behind his back of course) “He has been cursed with the eyes of a hunter always searching for his prey.”

From his vantage point, Tumbo could monitor the slow progress the old man was making to his house (but could not hear his silent mantra of course). He felt irritated when people came to visit him during siesta. Didn’t everyone know the etiquette of visitation? He made a mental note to talk to the Teacher about hosting a dedicated class on that, “you have to train these people on every little thing!”

When the servant came to announce the old man, Tumbo pretended to be fast asleep. Opening his eyes with exaggerated suddenness , “What? Whose here” Tumbo bellowed out.

The servant stood at attention “Sorry to bother you chief, but Old man Salaam insisted on seeing you. He says he is here to pay his debt.” “Let him in” his voice was gruff; he was secretly mollified by the promise of gold.

Old Man Salaam cowered in an appropriate and humble stature at the foot of Tumbo’s massive body. “I am so sorry to bother your siesta, bossman, but I have this…” his wrinkled hand shook a small jingling leather bag.

“What is this?” Tumbo had to frown hard to conceal his glee.

“The debt sir. It’s all paid for now”

“Hmm..let me see” Tumbo took the bag roughly from his old hands and let loose the gold. Five pieces fell out and scattered around his chest and belly. “Five?! This is only five! Are you mocking me?”

“No! Last time I came, you told me we only have five more gold and we will be done!” The old man’s chest constricted.

“When was the last time?”

“Six months…” He hung his head low. “Exactly. And you think what was Five gold coins six months ago, is still only Five today?”

“But I am a poor basket weaver and took me a long time to sell enough baskets to collect that much gold!”

“I totally empathize with your situation. But you know times are hard all around” At this juncture Tumbo slurped noisily on his juice “But six months is a long time. Given your situation, give me just three more gold coins and we will be settled”

“Three more?” The old man croaked. Tumbo might as well have said a million more. How many baskets would he have to weave, how many more miles will his old feet have to traverse before selling them all, and how much longer will it take, how many more hungry nights?

“Well, as I said, I should charge you five more! But three, only because of my good heart.” Old man Salaam felt dizzy with weakness and dissolution. “I can’t. I can’t afford it chiefman, my family has been hungry for days…”“Well…” Tumbo wasn’t one to be hard on the people, and priding himself on his generosity offered “I am looking for some help on the farms…”The old man hesitated “but we have always been basket weavers…”“Okay fine. I see you are going to be stubborn about it…”

“No, No, I will work for you to pay off the remaining debt, I just want to feed my family that’s all”

“You? I couldn’t use you. No offense meant. But your boy will do…”

“He is so young!”

“Pshhh! Practically a man!”

“He is only 14″

“Do you know what I was doing at 14?…”

The old man finally left. His shoulders stooped even lower, and his heart felt like it was about to burst. “I have sold my son.” He knew the working conditions on the sprawling lands the unofficial chief’s line had claimed since the beginning of time. He knew the debt would never be repaid and his son would sweat his eyeballs out before Tumbo admits they are cleared.

He walked downhill, his feet screaming “We are damned! We are damned!” He kept walking faster and faster to drown them out, but they kept up their shrill in pace.

{-}

Cruelty is interesting in how it loses its color depending on the light cast upon it. Bear with me as I go off on this little tangent. In believer’s circles (like the mighty faithful villagers) cruelty is generally considered odious. Of course you can’t claim to love God, the Merciful, and still be cruel. The exception remains however, that once justified, cruelty can acquire noble dimensions even. Those self-same believers, who preach harmony and peace, can be capable of untold brutality- only in matters of upholding and defending the Truth of course!

When the villagers realized the danger the presence of Yusuf-the-deceiver posed in their village, a current of righteous anger sparked through the small community. Even people who used to like him, and could still find no fault in him, were swept up in the tide.

The women who had appreciated his help “What man goes out of his way to help us?” now scorned him. That very same sentence was turned around “He is a bit too effeminate”. The field laborers (Tumbo’s indentured servants), who normally strained their ears for his music while they worked, now scoffed at it. “He should take that devil instrument elsewhere!” The old men who sought his hand and genial company while they made their way around, now made do with their old canes.

Yusuf ignored their subtle collective snubs and kept working and writing. He finished digging the well in the middle of the village, so that women wouldn’t have to work two miles to the nearest well. He still went out to chop wood and place neat stacks at the doors of the sick, the elderly, or busy. He continued cleaning the small courtyard reserved for prayer, after their night prayer. He still looked out for anyone who needed any form of assistance, so that he could provide it, in his usual quiet and self-effacing way.

Greetings unreturned, led to mean words being spat out in his direction which roller coasted to (well meaning of course) exhortations on his insistence on deviancy (which Yusuf couldn’t really engage in, because no one could pin point what it was exactly that bothered them and no one could admit of course, that they hadn’t read the reviled copy of the translation).

Young women who used to shyly bring him food and desserts, stayed away from him.
Children were scared of him (some well meaning elder, whispered to them that he was a jinn).

Older men shook their heads at him and walked in the opposite direction.

Yaqqin though, stood out in his attempts at driving the message home. He distributed his rebuttal to Yusuf all over the village (and of course no one read those either); but he made sure to explain his premise to any one with ears to lend (which were plenty). He then, took it upon himself to castigate Yusuf any time he saw him with powerful ostracizing words like: “Deviant!” “Non Believer” “Deceiver!”

Meanwhile, the Teacher looked on at his band of committed followers with bubbling pride. “What was I worried about?” He wondered “These grounds are safe from the trampling of the past!”

He was especially proud of his young man Yaqqin, such valor and courage to speak truth to the corrupt! Such formidable certainty against falsehood! He hadn’t gotten around to reading Yaqqin’s rebuttal, but he had heard enough praise (from others who hadn’t read it either), that he knew his son deserved special merit and consideration for more responsibility. Truly, God gives victory to those who are on the Right side (or with Might, whichever the case may be).

{-}

Yusuf took to sleeping in the mountains and reflecting on his situation. He felt defeated before he even begun. None of the people were receptive to change (or anything he had to say for that matter). He grieved at their complacency and at his own failure. He hadn’t even touched on the real problems bore witness to. What was he to do? He flirted with the idea of walking away from it all. Their reform was not up to him. God created will power for a reason, some may choose to misuse their gifts, but still there can be no compulsion. “I know you will not disappoint me…” His mother’s words haunted him.

“Oh mama, It’s not up to me…” He felt a fresh wave of anguish for his mother’s absence. How he wished he could lay his head on her lap and forget his cares? In such a mournful state was he, he failed to pick up on the sounds of crunching leaves and steady footsteps.

He was awakened from his reverie by the whispering voices behind him.

“Whose there?” Yusuf was immediately on alert and on his feet.

“It’s us Yusuf, peace unto you.”

“Peace unto you too…” He was suspicious.

In the dusky twilight he could make out five young women and two young men.

One of the ladies stepped forward and he had just glimpsed the flames in Sarah’s eyes before her words arrested him “We are here because we actually read your translation…”

“You did?”

“Yes, and we think the effort you put is great. Don’t worry about the old folks, they are too set in their ways to see Truth for what it is.”

Walid son of Old man Salaam stepped forward “The old folks don’t want things to change. If everyone read it, they would not be able to sleep at night with half the stuff going on right under their noses”

“It’s like they are sleep walking…” His sister Maryam chirped in, “I can’t stand them!”

Yusuf was so taken and heartened by their support, he stammered “Praise to the Creator who inspires and moves as He wills”

Sarah cleared her throat. “I have a question first, what do you say to women seeking knowledge?”

“I say Praise to God, for they have made their way to the endless fount of wisdom.”

“What about women as teachers? Real Spiritual leaders?” She challenged.

“My mother was the best teacher that has ever existed on this earth” Yusuf answered with a tremor in his voice “I say to such a woman, you have unraveled your God given talent and will walk amongst the ranks of the blessed”

Sarah smiled wide with approval, her eyes twinkling with genuine appreciation. “You have spoken the truth O’ Seeker”

Cognizant to his role as a host, Yusuf set about the task of creating a fire and offered them an assortment of fruits, nuts and milk to drink. They sat around engrossed in conversation and debate late into the night.

When he finally went to sleep, Yusuf had a hard time getting the image of Sarah’s flushed cheeks and blazed eyes from his head.

{-}

Word of the youth’s support spread fast, and each night more young men and women made their way up the mountain. Some came serious and ready to learn, others to hang out, others out of curiosity, and others still because all the eligible young men and women were there now.

A rumor was planted somewhere in the middle of the village, that Yusuf was starting to train an Army of revolutionaries. These young men and women were being brainwashed on the path of deviancy and will eventually run rampage around the village.

Tumbo was immediately on alert, bordering on fear and hysteria. He owned all the fertile fields, the biggest compound for miles around, and half the villagers worked for him. If there was anyone they were preparing to fight it was him, and if there was anyone with everything to lose, it was him too.

He rushed to the Teacher’s courtyard, and as usual the serene teacher was sitting in his favorite chair being attended to by a host of students.

“Did you hear? War! War!” The corpulent man waddled in, sweating profusely and breathing in short spurts.

“I heard.”

“What are we to do O’ wise one? Our people are revolting!”

“We have to gather our own support. Ring the warning bells; we will host an emergency meeting”

Warning bells tolled, ringing loud and clear, and a multitude of people made their way from far and near. A wife hurriedly covered her half cooked meal and set out. A nursing mother detached her screaming baby and ran out to the courtyard. None of the women were allowed in the courtyard outside of Emergency meetings, they were actually excited to be included in the men’s affairs.

Weary laborers stopped midway in their work, glad to have a break; any break, and trudged to the place.

At the gathering, a frenzied Tumbo continued his rambling midstream “We have to stop him. That man is a maniac. He would not stop until we are all finished!”

The Teacher, coughed a little, and allowed Tumbo to wrap up before beginning “As I said before the times are hard, and we have been hit by a deceiver in our midst. He comes from a long line of deviants that have sought to create mischief in our orderly community”

Shouts of approval and curses (for the deviant) swelled the room.

“He has brought back the nonsense of teaching women!”

“And even said they can be teachers too!”

“He is crazy!”

The Teacher felt a warm glow of gratefulness for his followers, but it was short lived for Sarah, who was in the crowd, raised her voice at this point:

“Can someone explain to me why women can’t be taught?”

Her own mother gasped “Sarah! Be quiet! You know what our tradition says!”
“But mama what our tradition says does not always conform to the Truth. The Holy book says…”

Before she finished the Teacher stood up “I knew it! Such blasphemous words could only come from Yusuf’s disciples! I see you are one of them. I think the time has come…we need to put an end to this!”

He started walking towards the entrance and the angry villagers followed him. The tired laborers felt a rush of excitement and zeal. The students pressed forward to make sure they apprehended the deceiver before anyone else. Some of the women too, with their children straddling their hips joined in “He is going to poison our daughters with his nonsense.”

Yaqqin though as usual, not to be surpassed by anyone, started running to the direction of the mountains. “I know where he is! I have been spying on his meetings every night!”

He scrambled over the rocks, grazed his knees over uneven surfaces, without stopping for a breath. The villagers were barely at the foot of the mountain, when they looked up to see Yusuf sitting at his usual smooth slab of rock overlooking the village. They could make the outline of Yaqqin approaching him from the back. Many forgot to continue climbing and simply stood to watch the spectacle ahead of them.

Yusuf was meditating after his afternoon prayer, when he heard “You wretched heretic. Your last day has come!”

He turned in time to see Yaqqin hands outstretched a wild expression in his eyes. Yusuf got up and before he could say anything, Yaqqin shoved him backwards towards the edge of the cliff.

The villagers gasped and hollered. Sarah let out a heart wrenching scream “Leave him alone you crazy fool!”

Yusuf tried to talk to him “Yaqqin, why don’t we talk about it. You don’t want to hurt me. I am nothing. I will go, but then what? Do you think stagnant traditions will defy the hands of time?”

Yaqqin screeched “Don’t try to seduce me with your vile tongue O son of wretched men! You are satan’s accomplice and you have to die!” As Yaqqin pushed him once more, he caught the eye of his serene Teacher, yes he was smiling indulgently at his student’s incredible display of boldness. That look drove him to the edge of insanity, “ I AM THE CHOSEN ONE! I AM” He ran into Yusuf over the cliff, but had gathered so much speed that he couldn’t stop in time.

And right before the villager’s eyes as surely as Yaqqin dropped, arms flaying, face twitching, terror stricken eyes, the horrible scream of death caught in his throat, as he headed straight for the jagged rocks underneath…Yusuf took to flying! The villagers could not believe their eyes, but there he was, arms outstretched his tunic caught in the wind, his face glistened with incredible peace and his hair flying this way and that.

None of them looked down when Yaqqin hit the rocks with a thud, dead from the shock before he even hit the ground. Yusuf kept going further up and up, until a gentle cloud drifted by slowly and carried him far and away.

Of course what I did not include earlier is that this story is not corroborated across the board. Just as some villagers swore that they saw Yusuf flying, others were just as vehement he had slowly floated (like a new born babe) all the way to the ground, unharmed, for all intents and purposes but dead nontheless. Others insisted still that he did not fly but two huge angels (which may have been mistaken for the clouds) had come to carry him away. It was hard to get to the bottom of the story, as each one was just as adamant as the next.

Whichever story they stuck to, the villagers were all thunderstruck. It was like wool had been unraveled from their eyes. “A saint non other!” “No! An Angel son of an Angel…God just took him back”

The Teacher tried feebly “He is a magician! Sorcerer! He killed my SON! ” But no one was listening anymore. They continued watching the sky, sighs of regret and prayers of forgiveness searching their lips. How could they be such fools?! Why didn’t they listen to what this noble man had to say? Oh God will surely rain upon them his wrath! Oh they were damned! They were damned!

Sarah and her friends wept in anger “Those pitiful fools!”

{-}

God did not rain his anger in the biblical manner they had predicted. Seeds of doubt and rebellion had been implanted though, and soon there weren’t enough copies of Yusuf’s translation to go around. His every word and deed was recorded and recalled with fondness. His handsome face was drawn and re-drawn on every rock, tree, wall they could imprint him in. In death, he became the bastion for freedom, spirituality, and nobility.

Tumbo and the Teacher were eventually rendered irrelevant, when the sleepy village was “discovered” soon after, and a big ritzy resort was built on the slopes of the rich beautiful valley. The doors to modernization were flung open and buried underneath the advent of satellites, TV, Fast foods, and Night clubs were Tumbo’s ineffectual cries on “My Land!” and the Teacher’s feeble hold on “The grounds of our traditions!”

Once upon a modern day, a sleepy little village woke up and realized it was no more.

{-The End-}