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Silk Road: Living in a godlesscity
By Anwar Iqbal,
UPI South Asian Affairs Analyst
WASHINGTON, (UPI) -- I lost my God and thecity lost its name. Like all cities, it had a name, a nice oldname that reflected its character. But first the city adopteda new god, the god that ate blood and spat fire and brimstone.It was a fearsome god who ordered chopping and beheading, floggingand amputation.
Soon after the city took a new god, it lostits character. People were no longer named by its name. They weresimply called the city dwellers as opposed to the villagers. Yes,that was their only distinction. They lived in a city.
But there was no bond, no love among them.They did not trust each other. But did it only happen to my city?I guess people in many cities around us stopped trusting eachother. It was a strange disease that spread across the entireregion and affected everybody.
They were incomplete men, unable to recognizeeach other. Even those who had nameplates on their doors did notknow their own names. They did not know who their mothers were.And it was strange. In the past people have had problems withthe identity of their fathers but they always knew who their motherswere. Not anymore.
"Whose children are we? From whosewomb were we born?" they often asked each other. They hadheard that their mothers became barren soon after they adoptedthe new god. So they did not know how were they born.
They often asked her if she was infertile,why did she have this divine light on her forehead? And the painof creation in her face? Why did the elixir of life ooze out ofher breasts?
She never answered.
"And if you are our mother, returnour identity to us. Tell us who brought us up. Whose arms we heldfor support while growing?" they pleaded.
She was silent.
Some said they were children of the ocean,born out of the rage of the storm when it churns the sea intofoam and froth.
Like little fish, they leaned on every wavefor support but were tossed around.
"Are we plants, growing on our own?Some obscure form of life in the depth of the sea? One momentwe shine, the next it is dark. Are we fish wandering from seato sea?
"Are we foam and froth? Why do we runto the beach with the retreating waves, rushing to our own death?"they asked, to no reply.
"Will we be scattered like the sand?Mother, are we the rock on the beach? Or the sea birds sittingon it? Are we nameless birds, flying aimlessly in the blue sky?But even the birds have names?" they wondered.
"Are we related to the stars that brightenup the sky? Are we related to the sun or the moon?"
Little did they know that there were skiesbeyond their vision too! There were many suns and moons. But theireyesight limited their vision. For them the Milky Way was justa bright line on the sky.
"Mother, who are we?" they asked."How are we related to you? If you are the mother what isit that divides us? Who has poisoned this land that only hategrows out of it? Who could answer these mother- less children,born out of rage, fathered by lime and brimstone spitting gods!"
Every morning the sun came to their windowand stole another day out of their lives. The wind blew dust intotheir hair.
The time wove a net on their faces. Theystopped looking at the mirror. This cobweb of time, this grayinghair, wrinkles on their foreheads, scared them.
"Is this our image? Is this our identity?"they would whisper to each other.
But they refused to accept what was offered.
"This is not who we are. It is a conspiracy;a magic. The sun and the wind are plotting against us, leavingtheir marks on our withering body?" they would argue.
"Mother, why don't you tell us whowe are?" they would ask again and again.
But what could she say? She was strugglingwith her own identity.
It was difficult growing up with this facelesscrowd. They were not only nameless but also quarrelsome, alwayslooking for an excuse to fight. They were so engrossed in theirlittle disputes, that they seldom noticed me when I walked pastthem. For them I did not exist because I never participated intheir quarrels.
I walked past them silently, my chin touchingme chest, watching my own steps. Trying not to stumble on theuneven path.
What could I say to them? I had no miracle,no cure for their woes. I did not share their dreams or desires.I don't even have the snake charmer's basket to take out tamedsnakes and make them dance on my tune to charm this nameless crowd.
I was always left bewildered when they askedwho I was. "How could they want to know my identity whenthey did not know their own?" I often wondered.
They had powerful leaders. Pompous. Mighty.Influential. When the leaders came out, people ran before them,announcing their arrival. Their soldiers were ferocious fightersand proudly filled many graves before themselves falling to theenemy's bullets.
Their intellectuals claimed to know thesecrets of the earth. Where are they now? Why don't they ask them,how do I know who I am?
Yes, it is true that I was born among them.But what difference does it make? We went to the same school butwhat did we learn?
From the doors of our youth, we set outto earn a living and never returned. I only know that I likeda particular hour of the day when my shadow walked with me. Italked to him. He talked to me. We often argued. But always walkedhand in hand. Each foot following the other. If I stopped, hestopped. If I sat, he sat. He was very faithful. The night tookhim away.
But he returned the next day, like a faithfulfriend.
After all, we have to go to the same grave.