Impacable Wisdom

Global warming has intensified the temperature of earth's atmosphere. Resultantly this has elongated the summer months and shortened the period of winter. Today, even in the months of October and November cold is felt only if there is successive rainfall followed by a foggy weather. Otherwise one has to put up with scorching heat twelve months a year.

This year, continuous downpour and some rainstorms have plummeted temperature to a level that everyone feels an unprecedented chilliness. This sort of cold weather always reminds me of Khiwa, the cobbler. He used to repair shoes in front of Feeqa's shop. In similar extreme low temperature weather, most of people preferred to stop on this part of the footpath for a good sunlight. I also used to go there on most of Sundays. It was very cheerful to have a cup of tea over a newspaper on a bench in front of Feeqa's shop. On the same part of the footpath, he had his own yet small and piddling kiosk. He used to come in the morning and leave before the sunset. He could close his establishment by covering it with a small piece of rug. This was all his shop. In other words, small piece of rotten carpet, some broken bricks, ruined set of tools, couple corroded shoes and chappals together with a small box constituted his entire business premises. He used to open up this establishment and start providing service to the people by repairing their shoes and chappals.

Khiwa! Yes his name was Khiwa. Most of the people called him by this name. But he was never a cobbler by his face and ingenuity. His facial exposition was mysterious and inscrutable. He was rather reticent. Probably that was the reason, nobody knew much about him regarding who he was; where had he come from; or even about his kiths and kins.

One similar day, I sat on the bench and asked for two cups of tea, one for myself and one for him. I asked him, offering a cup, "How much do you earn in a day?"

"I don't earn money in a day; instead I just cut off a day of my life." He replied.

"How can a day be cut off from one's life?" I enquired.

"O gentleman, what question have you posed? Every breath of your life trumpets your future. The only point is that 'you are not awakened'."

"mmm…Is it Khiwa, the cobbler?" I thought when he uttered a short yet philosophical and meaningful answer.

I remained breathless for quite sometime, when he further remarked, "Mr. What you see and witness, is not actually the reality."

His remarks surprised me yet another time. "What is this Baba doing to me?" I thought and then asked, "Baba, since when are you sitting on this footpath?"

"Gentleman, a footer looks good on the footpaths alone." He exclaimed extinguishing his cigarette.

I kept the newspaper aside and went even closer to him and asked, "Baba, who gave you this name? Khiwa, what name is it?"

"What is the significance of names? By the way I myself gave this name to me because I had forgotten my parental name."

"mmm…What do you mean?" I moaned grabbing his head.

"O man, why are you so concerned about me? What are you up-to? Why are you forcing me to speak out enigma of my life, I have kept for a long?

"Baba, it is not the first time that I am visiting this place. I have been watching you since long and I am really curious about you. Please shed all hesitation and open up to tell me about you and your life, as if I am your closest buddy." I spoke out spontaneously.

Khiwa lit another cigarette and responded to me:

"In fact, my father was a petty contractor. Ours was an affluent family. We were two brothers. I passed my intermediate exam when a girl came into my 'life' I had a crush on. Since then, let me tell you bit frankly, I am searching for 'life'. This so-called love has drained me completely. Father detached me from the family and kicked me out of the home. Brothers of the girl traumatically fractured my bones and sent me to the hospital, literally breaking every tissue of my body. I was lost rather broken in her love. It was not from one side alone. When she was engaged to a camion-man, she opted to die for me, and I…I started taking morphine. You name any drug and every cell of mine will speak of its taste. I have no idea of the time, how did it pass, when one of the darveshes brought me back to life. But still I don't know, how and when I got rid of philistinism and materialism.

"…and she still resides in you? I asked with a meaningless smile on my face.

"Youngman, woman is a world herself. If she is out of your heart, mind and soul, you may be free from your domestic prison."

"But what happened next" I was curious to know even further.

There was a pause for a while, when he further took a puff of cigarette and said, "Five years had passed when I returned home. Yes, I know time and tide wait for none. Parents had passed away. Brother had taken control on everything and rightly refused to recognize me. Whitish grey beard had appeared on my face. Nobody could acknowledge 'my' presence. And they were right, I was unable to recognize even myself. So I decided to transform to Khiwa. This is how Khiwa was born out of the name of Sikander."

He remained silent for some time and then continued, "There was only one friend of mine in the area, Roshan. He found me out, provided a small cottage and also served me with a morning tea. I now live on tea and cigarettes. I come to this place early in the morning. By the time night falls, my body finds the same cottage and that's how life goes on. One thing more of my routine, I pass ten days of Muharramul Hara'am at Baba Fareed, the entire holy month of Ramazan, at Barri Imam and every Thursday, here at Darbar Data G…"

"Are you happy with your life?" I asked promptly on his short pause.

"I am passing a contended life. I am thankful to Him that I am not lost."

"…and what is a secret in repairing shoes and chappals." I asked even further.

"I am reduced to one's shoe yet find happiness in it. This small profession has given life back to me. It is better than begging. This small establishment fetches food for me. And what food do I take? Tea, the entire day, many cigarettes and one piece of dry bread and nothing else."

"What is so good about it? Shed some light" I enquired anxiously to listen to Baba's spontaneously verse:



[Your nature is turned to the nature of what you eat: and your tongue speaks the kind of beverage you take in.]

He himself explained the meanings and continued, "Gentleman! Philistinism is reducing man to ashes. It is turning him to the most weird and wild creature. Lust and luxuria are the prime reasons for man to pay no attention to morality, ethics and chastity. You can find out from my story that this materialism had penetrated into me as well. Now you may laugh at me, but listen:

"Goat eats green leaves and gets her skin peeled off. What will happen to people who eat the entire goat?"

"Gentleman! Swearing upon Allah, I tell you that I had almost lost my life indulging myself into the luxury of life. Now since the time I have come back to life, I am fasting…fasting against lavishness of life, fasting against glamour, fasting against materialism, and above all fasting against verbosity. I have reached a stage where I know, my eyes are open yet I never speak. I do not remain silent alone but also disseminate silence because I witness silence everywhere. Sun is silent, shadow is silent, tree is silent, yet everything is silent. You see trees distribute shadows and remain silent, it never eats fruit growing on its branches and yet remains silent, water-stream never takes water and yet remains silent. It is important to remain silent for the welfare of the others. I too, don't want to be a stumbling block in one's life, instead I wish to be just like dust."

Khiwa had jolted me and was responsible for changing my perception of life as a whole. I was witnessing myself transforming into powdery form of dust dissolving in air.

Next Sunday, sun did not rise and there was no sunlight in the chilling winter, and thus I could not make it to Khiwa. Some more days passed by and I reached his establishment to find broken bricks on the top of his ruined piece of rug but Khiwa was not there. Roaming around, I reached Ghoray Shah Darbar, and asked many passer-bys about Khiwa and his cottage. I could find a lock on the door of his cottage. On my enquiry, a young lad standing close to his door, said, "Baba was quite well last Sunday evening, but when I returned that morning to serve him with a cup of tea, he …"

The young boy was unable to speak further when I requested him to show me the way to the graveyard.