Breathless as though life had ordained its concluding traces, the monk’s fading poise leaped up at the eventual twig of hope in gulps of fresh water endowed by a young lad whose eyes read concern. Life breath restored, a saviour must get his due and so he did.
A hollow cane box and a secret preserved over centuries revealed.
Not a mere matter of chance that floated along as serendipity.
It needed time.
It needed sweat.
It needed caressing affection.
It needed murder.
Zaid’s single minded instinct tore at the adventure and its perfectly asymmetric outcome. Seasons rolled by as he forgot all else in the ploy of one discreet task. Looked after its every need, stroked its every whim with undying passion, submitted unto ecstasy in order it evolve to a form that befitted a fated goal. And then, when the time was right, killed the squiggle.
Gurgled till no pulse escaped and smothered in silence; with wrath or agony, never to fully comprehend.
One of a kind, a tribute must be.
And then he assimilated. Long and short; spools, spindles and yarns; loops and strands; tighter, terser, stifled together; a gleaming expanse that placed itself stark and serene.
Unseen, unheard of creamy lustre.
Except, it wasn’t yet over.
It still needed splashes of life.
Of a colour that could speak in silence lest he waned.
Deep, impressionable and holy.
Dipped and dyed to give it the blushing tint of blood.
A crimson silk scarf.
To be continued..... (the concluding part)
Silk, in ancient era was credited only to the Chinese for centuries, until a few monks acquired access to the ‘secret’ knowledge of sericulture and smuggled silkworm eggs in hollow cane baskets on their way to Turkey.
It is during this journey that unknown circumstances led to filtering of the ’secret’ in Syria and what later became another reason for the city of oasis to excel in trade for which it is now known as ‘Bride of the Desert’ .
Click for Part 3