Chapter 10 III-3

twenty one Our alley twists and turns, as if, many centuries ago, she began to seek her purpose; she turns left and right, forever lost. In the sky above, between the buildings on either side, hangs a narrow gap like a headband torn from the sky: she calls it Sister Blue City. She could only see the sun for a brief moment in the middle of the day, and she asked herself cautiously, "Is this real?" In June, the showers often darkened her skyline as if they were shadow lines drawn with pencils; the alley became muddy and slippery, umbrellas collided with each other; Splashed upon the pavement of her astonishment, in which she took it all as free-spirited creation with gay banter.

The spring breeze is lost in the winding coils of the alley; it stumbles and bumps into one corner after another, like a drunken tramp; it makes the stale air full of confetti and rags . "That's stupid venting! Is God crazy?" Alley yelled angrily. Yet the daily filth pouring in from the houses on either side—with fish scales, soot, peeled vegetable skins, rotting fruit, and dead rats—never caused her to question: "Why are there these things?" thing?" She recognized every stone in her path; but from a crack between the stones a sprig of grass would sometimes poke its head, and this made her rage: "How can pure unity tolerate such an intrusion?"

One morning, when the houses on either side had grown beautiful under the touch of the radiance of autumn, she whispered to herself, "Behind these buildings lies an infinite wonder." However, as time went by, every household here became commotion again.The maid strolled back from the market, her right hand was swinging, and her left arm was holding a basket of food; the smell of oily smoke from the kitchen gradually permeated the air; For our alley, this is clear again; everything that is really normal is made up entirely of herself, her houses, and the rubbish heap. twenty two

The house, after its fortunes were gone, still stood lingeringly by the roadside, like a patch on the back of a madman. Day after day, the ferocious claws of the years have scratched the house everywhere; the rainy season has left its crazy signature on the bare bricks and stones. In a dismal room upstairs, one of the two hinged doors had fallen off from rust on its hinges, and the other, a widowed door, rattled day and night against the high wind. stop. Late one night from the house came the wailing voices of women; they were mourning the death of the last son of the family, who was eighteen years old and earning his living as a leading lady in a traveling theatre.

A few days later, there was no sound in the house, and the doors were locked. Only on the north side of the room above, that forlorn door would neither fall to rest nor close; it tossed to and fro in the wind like a self-tortured soul. Some days later, the voices of children echoed in the house again; women's clothes were hung out to dry on the veranda rails; birds twittered in the covered cages; Fly a kite on the platform. A lodger came and rented a few rooms, he had a small income, but he had many children; the overworked mother beat them, and they rolled on the floor crying. A forty-year-old maid, working a tedious job all day long, bickering with her mistress and threatening to quit, but never actually quit.

Minor fixes are made every day.Glassless window mullions were taped with paper; gaps in the bars were mended with split bamboo; an empty box stood against an unbolted door; old stains were just visible on freshly painted walls. Prosperity and wealth have already found a suitable commemoration in the desolation and decay, but the newcomers of this family, without enough financial resources, tried to hide the desolation here with ambiguous methods, but in the end they damaged the face of the desolation . They paid no attention to the bleak room to the north, the abandoned door still slamming in the wind, as if the god of despair beat on her breast.

twenty three In the depths of the forest, the ascetic monk practiced with his eyes closed, hoping to be enlightened and enter the kingdom of heaven. But the girl who collected firewood brought him fruit in her skirt, and scooped him clean water from the stream in a cup woven with green leaves. Days passed, and his cultivation became more and more difficult. In the end, he didn't even eat a single fruit or drink a drop of water; the girl who collected firewood was very sad. The God of Heaven heard that there was a mortal who wished to become a god. Although God had repeatedly defeated his enemies, the Titans, and drove them out of his territory, he was afraid of people who had the strength to endure suffering.

However, he is familiar with the nature of all living beings, so he designs to lure this ordinary person to give up his adventure. A breeze from heaven kissed the limbs of the wood-gatherer; her youth was full of longing with a sudden immersion in beauty, and her confused thoughts buzzed like a bee whose hive is infested. The time has come for the ascetic monk to leave the forest and go to a cave to complete his harsh practice. When he opened his eyes and was about to start, the girl appeared in front of him, like a poem that was familiar but difficult to remember, and seemed strange because of the addition of rhythm.The ascetic friar rose slowly and told her that the time had come for him to leave the forest.

"But why did you take away my chance to serve you?" she asked with tears in her eyes. He sat down again, pondered for a long time, and then stayed in the original place. Late that night remorse haunted the girl's sleep; she began to fear her own power, and to hate her victory, while her heart tossed on waves of restless joy. In the morning she came and saluted the ascetic monk, and said that she must go away from him, hoping to obtain his blessing. He watched her face silently, and then said, "Go, I wish you all the best." Year after year, he meditated and practiced alone until his merits and virtues were perfected.

The king of the gods came down from heaven and told him that he had indeed obtained the kingdom of heaven. "I don't need any more," he said. God asked him what greater reward he hoped for. "I want the girl who gathers wood." twenty four It is said that Kabir the weaver was favored by God. So crowds gathered around him, asking him for medical advice and asking him to perform miracles.But he was confused; Hitherto his humble origins had bestowed on him the most precious oblivion in which he sang sweetly, blissfully with God.He begged for it to be returned to him.

The monks, jealous of the humble man's reputation, conspired, and a whore went to humiliate him.Kabir came to the market to sell the fabrics he spun; suddenly the woman grabbed his hand, scolded him for treachery, and followed him to his house, saying that she did not want to be abandoned; Say to yourself: "God answers prayers in His own unique way." After a while the woman felt a shiver of terror, and knelt on the ground crying, "Save me, save me from the depths of my sin!" He replied, "Open your life to the glory of God!" Kabir sang while weaving, and his singing washed the stains from the woman's heart; and when the song set off from the woman's heart and returned, it found a home in her sweet voice. One day, the king, in a fit of irrepressible willfulness, issued an imperial decree calling Kabir into the palace to sing before him; The weaver shook his head and refused, but the messenger hadn't fulfilled his master's mission, so how dare he leave his door? When Kabir entered the hall, the king and his courtiers were shocked because Kabir was not alone, the woman followed him.Some snickered, some frowned; the king's countenance was clouded at the sight of the beggar's arrogance and immorality. Kabir returned home in humiliation, and the woman fell at his feet and wept: "Why do you have to suffer such humiliation for me, master? Let me go back to my ugly reputation and suffer!" "When God comes with a brand of humiliation, I dare not drive him away," Kabir said. 26 This man does not have any real work, only various whims. It puzzled him, therefore, to find himself in Paradise, after a life wasted in trifles. It turned out that the angel who led the way had made a mistake and led him to a paradise-a paradise that only accommodates good, busy souls. In this paradise, our man wanders the roads only to block the flow of serious business. He stood in the field by the road, and they warned him that he trampled the seed he had sown; Push him, and he jumps up; squeeze him, and he steps forward. A busy maiden came to draw water from the well, her feet darting along the road like nimble fingers over the strings of a lyre; The loose locks hanging from her forehead peered into her dark eyes. The man said to her, "Could you lend me your pitcher?" "My jug," she asked, "to draw water?" "No, draw some patterns on it." "I have no time to waste." She refused contemptuously. Now, a busy soul can't resist a man with nothing to do. Every day she met him by the well fence, every day he repeated that request to her; finally, she gave in. Our man draws mysterious, intricate lines and daubs all sorts of exotic colors on the pitcher. The girl took the jug, looked left and right, and asked, "What does this mean?" "Nothing interesting," he replied. The girl took the jug home.Under various lights, she held the jug and tried to find out the mystery. In the middle of the night, she left the bed, lit the lamp, and looked intently at the jug from various angles. It was the first time in her life that she encountered something meaningless. The next day, the man was wandering by the well fence again. The girl asked, "What do you want?" "One more thing for you." "What's the matter?" she asked. "Let me weave these strands of colored thread into a headband to hold your hair." "Is there any need?" she asked. "There's no need," he admitted. The hair tie is done.Since then, she has wasted a lot of time on her hair. In this paradise, the well-utilized stretch of time flow, began to show irregular breaks. The elders were perplexed, and they conferred in the Privy Council. The leading angel admitted his malfeasance, saying he had led the wrong person to the wrong place. The man who had strayed into Paradise was summoned; and his turban was of a dazzling colour, which plainly showed the magnitude of the mishap. The leader of the elders said: "You must go back to the world." The man let out a sigh of relief: "I'm ready." The girl with a headband in her hair chimed in, "I'm ready too!" The first time the chief of the elders meets a scene that doesn't make any sense. 27 It is said that in the forest, where the river meets the lake, there live several fairies in disguise; only after they have flown away can their true nature be clearly seen. A prince came to this forest, and when he approached the confluence of the river and the lake, he saw a village girl sitting on the embankment, stirring the clear water and making the daffodils dance. He whispered to her, "Tell me, what kind of fairy are you?" Hearing this question, the girl laughed loudly, and the laughter resounded all over the hillside. The prince thought she was a laughing waterfall fairy. The news that the prince had married the fairy reached the king, and the king sent troops to take them back to the palace. The queen saw the bride turn her face away in disgust, the princess flushed with anger, and the maids asked, are fairies dressed like this? "Hush!" said the Prince in a low voice, "my Fairy has come to our house in disguise." When the annual festival came, the queen said to her son: "The king's relatives are coming to see the fairy, and tell your bride not to disgrace us in front of our relatives." So the prince said to his bride: "For the sake of my love for you, please reveal the truth and let my princes have a look." She sat silently for a long time, but nodded in agreement, but tears rolled down her cheeks. The full moon is bright and clean, and the prince, dressed in a wedding dress, approaches the bride's room. There was no one in the room, only a ray of moonlight shone through the window and slanted on the bed. The royal family followed the king and queen, and the princess stood at the door. Everyone asked, "Where is the Fairy Bride?" The prince replied, "In order to reveal the truth to you, she has disappeared forever. 29 When the mountain stream, like a shining scimitar, plunged into the dull scabbard of twilight, suddenly a flock of birds flew overhead, swiftly onward with their loud, laughing wings, as through the stars A sharp arrow. All this disturbs the heart of all things that stand still, and makes them full of passion for speed; the mountain seems to feel the pain of the storm cloud in the chest, and the green tree longs to break free from the deep-rooted fetters. The vigorous flight of this flock of birds tore away the veil of silence for me, showing a great trembling, fluttering their wings in the deep silence. I see these mountains and forests flying through time towards unknown worlds: the twilight quivering with sparks as the stars flutter past. I feel my body surge with the passion of a bird flying across the sea, opening a path, flying the limits of life and death.At this moment, a chaotic voice resounded in this wandering world: "Not here, but somewhere else, in a distant bosom." 30 The crowd listened in amazement to the singing of the young singer Kashi, whose voice was like a sword with a trick in it, writhing in hopeless tangles, cleaving them to pieces and cheering. In the auditorium, old King Pratap sat wearily patiently, for his life had been surrounded and fed by the songs of Balajra, like a happy land beautifully adorned with the lace of the river. and his long rainy nights, those quiet hours of autumn, spoke to his soul through the songs of Baragjera; and with these songs his joyous nights adorned lamps of all colors and resounded Ding Dang's silver bell. When Kashi stopped to rest, Pratap smiled and winked at him, and whispered to him: "Master, now let's listen to some music, not this little kid who imitates jumping and jumping." Cat, the new song that chases the panic-stricken mouse." The old singer, wearing a white turban, bowed deeply to the audience and sat down.With his eyes closed, his slender fingers plucked the strings of the instrument, and with timid hesitation he began to sing.The hall was large, and his singing was weak, so Pratap deliberately shouted "Excellent!" But whispered in his ear "Louder, friend!" The audience was restless.Some yawned, some dozed off, and some complained about the heat.The hall was filled with an absent-minded and chaotic hum, while the singing pitched vainly like a boat ready to capsize; at last, it was drowned in the tumult. Suddenly, the old man was traumatized and forgot a part of the lyrics.His voice groped painfully, like a blind man in a fair, groping for his lost guide; he tried to fill the gap with whatever tune he could think of, but the gap remained open; tortured The tunes refused to oblige, they changed suddenly and burst into whimpers.The master's head was leaning on the instrument, and he couldn't help bursting out the first cry of the baby when it was born. Pratap patted him lightly on the shoulder and said, "Come on, our meeting is elsewhere. I know, my friend, that truth without love is alone; with the moment." 31 When the world was young, Himalayas, you rose from the cracked breast of the earth; you were mountainous and mountainous, and you challenged the sun fiercely.Then comes the moment of maturity when you say to yourself, "Enough is enough, no more stretching to heights!" Your fiery heart of freedom, which God looks at the clouds, discovers its limits, and rises silently to the sky. Salute infinitely.After this repression of your passions, beauty plays freely on your breast, and trust surrounds you with flowers and the joy of birds. You sit in solitude like a mighty scholar; on your knees lies an ancient book of innumerable stone pages, and I wonder what story is written there—is it the holy ascetic Shiva and The Eternal Wedding of Love Goddess Vani? ——Is it a scenario where the God of Fear hopes to possess the power of the God of Weakness? 33 My eyes felt the deep tranquility of the blue sky, and tremors spread through my body, like a cup with green leaves stretching out from a tree, waiting to be filled with the excitement of the sun. A thought rises from my heart, like a warm breath rising from the grass in the sun; this thought is mingled with the gurgling of the water on the shore, and the sigh of the weary wind in the alley - I think that I have been Living with all the life in this world, I have given my love and my sorrow to the world. 37 Please grant me the sublime courage of love, this is my prayer - the courage to speak and do, to suffer for your will, to abandon all things, to be alone.Please give me the strength to carry out dangerous missions, please give me glory with pain, please help me to conquer the hard feelings that I give to you every day. Please grant me the sublime belief in love, this is my prayer - the kind of life that lies dormant in death, victory in defeat, strength hidden in beauty, dignity in taking pain and not complaining Faith in the pain of complaining.