Sixteen

 

One night, she had asked her father what stars were.

He had seemed surprised by her question. ‘It is a bit too early,’ he had whispered to himself, ‘but one never knows. He could be near at hand.’

Her father had cupped her face in his hands and had gently said that stars had to do with death. ‘If you cannot let go of the dead,’ he had said, ‘or if the dead are unable to let go of those they leave behind, the sky is denied a star.’

It all sounded so very complicated and confusing. ‘What is death?’ she had asked. ‘What does “to let go” mean?’

Her mother had left a bunch of jasmine flowers on Little Girl’s pillow because she too did not know what answer she could give to her queries. Perhaps, the little girl understood her parents’ silence meant that dying had something to do with going away and never coming back. She remembered how she had put her arms around her parents and said in a scared whisper, ‘I hope you never die. I cannot let you go anywhere without me. Please,’ she had tearfully begged, ‘promise never to leave me.’

How indeed does any parent make such a promise?

But she was not to know that.

At least, not then.

Her father had taken her tiny hands in his and said, ‘Someday we must all die. Some, sadly, must die before others. When we die and we let go, we become stars! So, you will always have us somewhere in the sky.’

The sky was filled with innumerable stars. As she lay in bed, she had wondered if the stars were indeed the dead. Holding her parents close, as if frightened that they may not be there when morning came, she had drifted off to sleep under the jasmine-covered tree.

And so, the nights would pass and every morning she would wake up to the sound of the birds and of her father playing the flute. She would then sit beside him, with her eyes closed, and drift away as she listened to the divine music which spoke of the morning and of the things to come, of dreams and of journeys to take.

Such music is difficult to describe. There is a sort of magic and mystery about it because it speaks not only to the heart but also to animals and to plants. Each note seems to flutter like a butterfly, lingering briefly, before it silently fades away, only to be followed by another note, which tugs at the heartstrings.

So divine was this music that at times she would weep. ‘These are happy tears,’ her father had once told her, ‘for it means that you have been in the presence of God.’

‘How did you learn to play the flute so well?’ she had asked.

‘I do not know,’ he had replied with his arm around her. ‘One day I picked up the flute and the music came naturally. Perhaps, there is a magic that we do not fully understand.’

He had told her that the flute belonged to his father who was an extraordinary musician. ‘He could make flowers bloom in barren trees and trees grow on parched land. There was a magic about his music,’ he had said, ‘that I cannot explain. It was as if it could protect you from the dark.’

She had nodded. ‘I feel like that when I hear you play,’ she had said.

‘I am just a beginner,’ he had said, ‘for my father spoke to me of a legendary flute player known to all as The Master. I have heard it said that his music has such incredible power that it can even control the forces of nature!’

The little girl had listened with astonishment. Could music really do all this, she had wondered. Could it make the sun set? Could it make day into night? Could the seasons be changed?

They had talked for a long time that morning. Her father had told her that someday she too would play the flute.

‘That day when you hold the bamboo reed in your hands,’ he had said, ‘it would seem as though it had always been a part of you. Every breath in your body would speak through it, whether it is sorrow or joy, suffering or happiness. It will fulfil you and make you complete.’

‘Never forget,’ he had then added, ‘that nothing can ever take that away from you. And when negative and evil thoughts come, this music will be your strength, for it is pure and it is untarnished.’

She sighed as she walked. Her heart was heavy, as she remembered how the music had always reminded her of the night and of the stars.