Friday Fictioneers– Hosted by Rochelle Wisoff.
( My story is actually not fiction story but i take this prompt as an opportunity to write about my mother and my favorite poet.)
Mother used to tell me stories of saints while grinding spices and grains in the afternoon. My favorite was Saint Kabir’s.
She will sing his couplets and will explain its meaning.
She told me how Kabir was threatened by both Muslims and Hindus for criticizing them for their wrong interpretation of their religion.
She told me how that after his death Hindus and Muslims both went to claim his body but found nothing except some flowers instead of his body.
She explained that it is symbolic. Saints are above religion and caste. They are like flowers whose fragrance we should appreciate.
There are numerous couplets/words of wisdom by Kabir, I remember two couplets prominently-
Pahan pooje hari mile, to mein poojo pahar
Taate ye chaki bhali peece khaye sansar.
(If one can meet God by worshiping stone then I’ll worship mountain. Grinding stone is better than that, at least world can grind grains and eat.)
Kankar, pathar jod ke Maszid layi chunay
Ta chade mulla bang de, kya bahara hua khuday
( With stones they build Maszid and shout his name from the roof top as if God has become deaf.)
If God be within the mosque, then to whom does this world belong?
If Ram be within the image which you find upon your pilgrimage,
then who is there to know what happens without?
Hari is in the East, Allah is in the West.
Look within your heart, for there you will find both Karim and Ram;
All the men and women of the world are His living forms.
Kabir is the child of Allah and of Ram: He is my Guru, He is my Pir.
~ Kabir Translated by Rabindranath Tagore.