The Assassin's Song (29 page)

“Dear friend Elias!

“How wonderful to hear from you! And what a surprise to learn that you are in Israel. For how long? Didn't IIT work out? And why Israel, why not America?

“I am sorry for not having written first. I had been meaning to write
but I kept putting it off, waiting for just the right moment to write all about my life here. And what a life! But first, before I start and bore you to death, I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me the idea to apply here and helping me with the application. It is all due to you that I am here and I never forget that for a moment.

“I was sad to read about the riots in Ahmedabad. They must have happened soon after I left. I wonder why my Bapu did not write to me about them. I guess India is India, eh? Such things keep happening there.

“I wrote to Mr. Hemani but never heard from him. I wonder how he is. I remember so well that bookstore. If you have news of him from your folks, please let me know.

“Keep well, Elias, and write to me soon!

“Your friend and jigri-dost,

“Karsan.”

I never heard from him again, often wondered what happened to him.

“Dear Bapu-ji,

“I wish the blessings of God upon you and Pir Bawa's protection in your health and well-being, with which I write that I am well here, don't worry about me. I slipped on a stretch of ice once, but that was nothing serious.

“What I sent you was a list of only the required books. There are many, many recommended texts also—stacks of them. If you want I can send you a list of them, but the postage will increase.

“Bapu-ji, I have discovered that I love poetry. Yes, English poetry! I find the English rhythms rather difficult sometimes, because of my dési accent, and I even cause laughter in my class sometimes, but I think I understand the meanings and symbolism very well. And, Bapu-ji, I have also made an interesting discovery through my readings. It is this: there were poets in English who wrote devotional poems using ‘extended metaphors,’ which lasted over several verses. They are called the ‘Metaphysical Poets.’ I like especially John Donne's
Holy Sonnets.
I had to write
an essay for my course, and I recalled how you would explain some of our ginans, which also had long metaphors that developed over several verses; sometimes the whole ginan was based on a single image. But my professor wasn't impressed, and I had rather a quarrel with him. He said Donne had used worldly and scientific metaphors and wrote for a sophisticated reader, whereas Indian devotional poetry was written for simple, uneducated folk using folkloric mythology. I argued that you can use metaphors from any realm and our ginans too needed sophisticated interpreters sometimes. But he did not change my grade from a B+. He is rather a chauvinist.

“I have many questions, Bapu-ji, I am buzzing with ideas. Please don't think ill of me, or that, like Saffron Lion, I will go astray. I am only trying to understand myself, which I am sure you will approve of. Life here, among so many different kinds of people, is challenging, and exciting, because every moment I am compelled to ask questions of myself and compare myself with others. How different are they from me? To tell you the truth, talking and discussing and arguing about life with them, I find that we are not so very different!

“Bless me, Bapu-ji.

“Your loving Karsan.”

“You should be careful on ice, beta. Have you bought the right kind of shoes for winter, with rough soles to prevent slipping? If not, buy a good pair. It is false economy to skimp on the essentials. You have not gone to America to fall and break your bones.

“You are right, there is no need to waste postage to send me long lists of recommended books.

“Your thoughts are interesting. I am proud of you, my son, that you take your lessons seriously and are trying to understand yourself. That, after all, is the message of Pir Bawa, and all the sages of the past. Understand yourself. You are the truth.
Tat tvam asi
, say the Upanishads.

“But remember, the search for knowledge is a difficult one; it is like walking through a forest. You can easily lose yourself. That is why there are gurus in the world. Even our Pir Bawa had a guru, whom he left far away in the north. Your guru is your father and Saheb. You should never hesitate to ask him for guidance whenever you are confused or in doubt.
And so I am happy that you wrote to me about this John Donne and his metaphysics. But no need to quarrel with your teachers.

“Raja Singh the lorry driver was here and remembers you fondly. As do your mother and brother, and Shilpa, who again comes regularly and continues her devoted service to the shrine of Pirbaag …”

[Shilpa the luscious. It is Shilpa I've always wanted to ask you about, Bapu-ji, my guru and Saheb. Yet how can I? Shilpa whom Ma hated, I know that; Shilpa who would dig her long shapely fingers through your hair, massaging your head with oil, and at no other time did I see that look on your face that I saw then. Ma watching from the distance. And others staring enviously, your women devotees. There was pleasure on your face, Bapu-ji. What is it like when a Saheb experiences pleasure or pain? The question is this, Bapu-ji: What is the relationship between the body and the soul of the Saheb (or Pir Bawa)? It is only now I can begin to articulate these thoughts, my father, when I am so far away, on my own. But I dare not write them to you; not yet.]

“… Tell me, Bapu-ji, why are we special? Why these few people in this particular part of India? Couldn't other people, whoever they are, in whatever part of the world, be as blessed? Is it possible that we are the ones who are ignorant and less fortunate? I don't believe this of course, but these are just some of the thoughts that come to me.

“Recently in class we read a poem by John Keats, who is considered a ‘Romantic Poet.’ He writes:

“It is addressed to a nightingale. Isn't that beautiful, Bapu-ji? It leaves me breathless, expressing as it does the same thoughts as our ginans, all about the futility of the world and the temptation to escape from it. What do you think, Bapu-ji?

“Sometimes, I think, living in a small place like Haripir we tend to forget that the world out there is much bigger and there is nothing special about us. Or that all peoples are special in their own way. Or that we are all the same. And it seems that I had to come to America to learn about myself !

“As always, I think of you and Ma and Mansoor, to all of whom my prayers and well wishes.

“Bless me, Bapu-ji.

“Your loving son,

“Karsan.”

That was the start of my undoing. Teaching Keats to my father. This naive but honest, irrepressible exhibition of a budding intellectualism, an opening of mind and personality. “I had to come all the way to America to learn about myself.” How true, how dangerous. This was exactly my father's fear—that I would begin to see myself from an “
outside
” perspective: a distorted, irrelevant image from the other end of the telescope. Yet it was impossible to hide my excitement—one might as well have asked Columbus, or more appropriately Archimedes, to keep quiet.

Archimedes of course paid for his folly with his head.