Kshamapati

Blessed are they, who are at peace with themselves and the world today, I thought, as I gave a final look at myself in the mirror 🪞 before leaving. I was to meet the Great Emperor Siddhartha.

Lumbini Gardens was in its splendour. The brightness and the beauty were strikingly splendid. Colourful flowers with busy bees , squirrels, parrots, Cuckoos sang their songs with happiness. The big tall trees were swaying their branches like cheerleaders. My search finally ended when I spotted Gautam Buddha sitting under a Peepal Tree in his meditative posture. He opened his eyes as I neared him. Both exchanged pleasant smiles with respect.

Our talks began when he said to me " Is there any solution to human greed, violence and abusive actions? World is turning noisy with empty rants. The significance and value of words and the languages are on the decline. Where are we heading to ? Wars are being justified ". I answered him saying nature is big enough to tame humans. The rule of the old world that only the just and wise shall give their opinions on serious matters doesn't exist anymore. It is the evil mind which is playing the game intelligently.

To this He replied " The arrogance of the evil is intolerable. Not the world for humble , honest and docile people . The wickedness of some can harm the whole world and destroy the family structure of our homes and the land especially India. I have never felt so helpless in not being to sort out issues. All the sufferings and turmoils shall come back to the tormentors".

After a long silence I looked around the Rampart we were sitting on. The large rocky stone, a sole witness to our dialogue appeared a kingdom of its own . The Prince turned Siddhpurusha looked collectively calm. I asked him a final question.

"Could you pardon India and Indians ?"

He opened his eyes wide and I was able to see the reason why his eyes remained half open / close otherwise. In the ancient India kings were addressed as Kshamapati, so forgive us as you are the king I thought in my mind and left.

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The Melting Pot

A mind that speaks and a hand that writes