It was the evening of the winters, getting chillier every second and it was the perfect time to have a little fire to warm selves and have the last tea together. It has been more than a year since Kabir started working for the old man, doing pottery, starting from just kulhads to making vases and vessels and then to teach others and creating jobs for others. It has been more than a year since a boy, scared of the storm came here under this shed, empty-handed and clueless to what he would do and now stands here a man, who has earned something for himself. But it was the last night Kabir was here, the two were having the last cup to honour the era of each other's company.
"You did a great job boy. I was old and didn't know much about anything other than to just make tea and scream and curse those who lose my glasses. I appreciate you son. You are something. I hope you would do great in your life ahead." The man said as he sipped his tea and lit his bidi. Old habits die hard and addiction is almost immortal. Kabir smiled a bit as he nodded and then the silence crept its way in again in that cold night.
"So where will you head now? What's your plan?" The old man broke the silence.
"I'll be heading to my home now. And now that I have earned something, I hope that my father and mother will forgive me for leaving home. That was crazy but now it's okay."
"And what will you do after you go back? You once told me you never wanted to work on farms and you ran away because they were planning on getting you married and you didn't want that. So now when you go back what would you do? Get married to that girl and help your father and start your own family?"
"I haven't thought that far but I guess that's fine. Father must be old now, he needs his sons to be there or I could just do something else. I have earned enough to start a business for myself. I haven't thought about everything, all I have thought is to go back to my home, to my family, to the place where I feel cared for, where I have my family. Running away was a bad decision. I was not meant to go around out, wandering. It feels like a fairy tale to discover and explore, but when I was out there I realised it is hard and I don't think I can handle it."
"Then what about that thing that you told me once about exploring the world? I thought you left your home because you wanted to follow your dreams. You wanted freedom from the bondage that keeps you from Pershing you what you wanted. Didn't you?" The man gazed intensely into the depth of the boy's eyes. The eyes were all filled with nothing but a strange feeling. The man knew what has changed the boy's thoughts.
Kabir used to talk about stories and was always eager to hear about new places but after the death of his friend, Azaan, Kabir went silent. Maybe the strange feeling was the guilt of the loss of a friend or the insecurities and powerlessness that Kabir felt after, but it was once filled with dreams. The treasure may sink deep, to the bed of the ocean, to somewhere, where light can't even reach, but the treasure still exists.
"Yes I choose freedom over my home, I thought I could go where I wanted to go but that was not the case. I was free from home but then I was stuck here. I wanted to go to the world I dreamed of too, but now I have been here, I realise it's just nothing. It was just a fairy tale that only sounded good. We free ourselves from one thing and then gets trapped into another. There is nothing such thing as freedom. It's just a fancy word that we hear in great stories and poems."
Kabir was a little loud this time with tears in his eyes. Yes, the tears were of those helpless nights and the day his friend died. The tears were from the eyes which saw uncertainty and insecurity. And with the tears came silence and suffocation.
"Yes it is hard and it for sure doesn't feel like a wonderful story when you start to live in it. I know that because I have felt that too. When I was young, my father used to beat me up a lot.
He always said that I ate my mother as she died giving birth to me. He never married again, he loved my mother, I know that he did and he never thought that I was of any worth. I wanted to learn, I wanted to write stories about lands and sky and gods and oceans but he never wanted that for me. All he wanted was that I should carry out his business. My father was a very rich man and a very successful businessman. Businesses don't run on stories, writing books doesn't owe you any money was what he always used to say as he trashed me, but I never left writing, I wrote poems and stories in a notebook and then hide them from my father. One day he found my notebook and I still remember I was so afraid that he will beat me to death that night but he didn't. He showed me how rich he is and how comfortable my life and my children's life would be if I stop this writing and focus on learning how to make money and help him. He took away my book and burnt it. I didn't say a word. I think I did that to tempt me because I have learnt that beating cannot take my mind away from reading and writing stories. That night I ran away from my home. I ran far far away. That was the night I knew that I want to write and tell stories. I don't want money, all I wanted was to tell stories. But it was after I ran away I realised that I had given up things. I didn't have the comfort and securities of a home, I never before wandered out in the night all alone in a strange place, but it was not that at that moment. It became harder and harder each day and then came the point in my life when I had nothing to eat. At that point, I understood what freedom is. Freedom word sounds so good to our minds but it always comes with a cost and that is the thing that we never realise. Freedom is not when we can dream, it is when we can follow our dreams. If a million people live in this world, only a few thousands are those who realise their dream, out of those thousands only a few hundred or even less have what it takes. They are the those who accomplish something. They are those who are free. I think that's what freedom means. And yes freedom doesn't seem like a wonderful story when you start to live in it but then we don't know how the story ends too."
"It's easier to say for you. I don't know where to head. No one knows." Said Kabir hesitantly "I will leave for my home tomorrow with the first sun.
The old man took a deeper last drag of his bidi and then he closed his eyes as he smoked. "It's all your choice. But if you are a wanderer, I want to tell you that the sun always sets for those who stay at the same place. For those who walk in the direction of the setting sun, for them the sun never sets."
The next morning kabir packed up his bag keeping the money he earned below the pile of clothes. Everything was done, in less than an hour. That was it. This one year literally passed like it has flied away. When he looks back to how much he has earned, other than just money, it was an amazing year. The storm and the night under the tree, the first time kabir was in that market, first time kabir entered in that tea stall, the old man's scoldings and his stories, thr food he cooked for Kabir, which was not so good, but still it was nice, his friend, Azaan. Kabir thought of azaan how he used to be. A friend who was an inspiration. Everything made the last year great and worth cherishing.
Kabir was interrupted by the chirping of birds and when he looked up, the sun was out. He checked the bag for one more time. The pouch. He opened he pouch the old man gave him and drew out that pendent with the red stone. He touched the stone and studied the imperfection and lines on it. When you look closely no two things are same, the stone was different when you look at its imperfection. It was its inclusions that made it perfect and unique. He got up put the pendant back in the pouch and went out of his room. The old man was up too, sitting on his bed.
"so you must be leaving now. Is everything packed?"
"Yes" said kabir pointing to his bags.
The old man looked at Kabir's face for a moment, his eyes were wet. "Goodbye then friend. Hope to see you again sometime. Stay safe andAlways follow your gut. "Those who dare to follow their dreams, those who forgive themselves and accept themselves for who they are, they are the strong ones. I don't want you to be weak. You are strong, stay strong. Always."
kabir smiled and them moved out of the house. He took a moment to look at it as he was about to go a moment to look at the house that saved him and then he went to that tea shop and then crossed the market and then to that tree where he rested after he left Azaan's house. He sat there under that tree for a moment. The tree was comfortable like it was that night. He gazed at every leaf of the tree, every branch and the roots dropping of the branches, it was mystical. Kabir took the pendant out of his pouch again and looked at the stone, still dark red and dull. The sheer dullness of the stone reminded Kabir of his late friend Azaan.
"Did it really brought luck to Azaan?" Kabir wondered. Kabir didn't wanted this stone, it was Azaan's luck, but then he wasn't sure if he should throw it away. The old man gave it to Kabir. It was a good sunny afternoon in winters. Kabir laid under the mystical tree, with the pendent open his hand thinking, about his grandpa
"where are you? I want to ask you how you did it. Didn't the world break you too. Weren't you exhausted like I am?"
All that echoed in his mind was his grandma's words about dreams and the old man's freedom.
"If this is what freedom is, then why do we seek freedom? It fills life with struggle and pain, why do we glorify it so much? We can live a normal life too, work on farm, do poultry, open a shop and do what ordinary people do, marry a girl and then have children and than grow old. There is no one who is ruling us. No one is forcing us to follow a religion we don't want to, no one is imposing huge taxes on us. Then why do we need freedom? And more importantly, who do we need freedom from?"