Namaste Station
A story for the True Fiction Project by Jean-Bernard based in Italy.
Kabir wanted to explore all corners of India and beyond, the whole world’s shores and mountains. But such a journey would take years and even centuries. His feet were aching, his back was broken, his hands were numbed. Too many miles, too much rain and storms, too much heat. Therefore, he realized that one’s voyage has a limit. It would be wise to find an alternative.
One word plus another word plus another phrase gradually become a poem. Then a poem become a quest, a banner to be followed by an army of disciples. Love can be the universal stamp pasted on of a message sent to me, to you, to anyone who dares to listen.
It was time for Kabir to sit, to pause. He had nothing apart from a bag of medicinal herbs and a half cup of rice.
He settled his camp, just a few steps from the trail. And wrote on a piece of wood two words “Namaste Station”.
Click below to listen to Namaste Station on the True Fiction Project.
At first, nobody noticed his presence. He was just another poor man, a fakir. Asking for nothing, nor begging to be seen. A young boy from the village nearby, was intrigued by him. He made a gradual approach, poking at him with a stick, just to see if he was still alive. Amused by this innocent move, Kabir responded with a smile, yet and expression that scared the boy away.
The following morning, the boy came back with his mother. Like many others of their neighbors, their meals were frugal but they though that a piece of mango, a fistful of rice and touch of hand on Kabir’s feet will be as good as a feast.
But there is no feast without music or song. Kabir’s voice was unique, almost magic. He had mastered hundreds of râgas, those musical scales only known to the best. The boy had never heard such a melody before, neither had he heard the words of a poem. Oddly though, he understood their meaning.
“It’s because you’ve listened with your heart and not with your ears!” Kabir said. “ What is your name?”
“I’m Neeraj…I’m 10 years old…”
“Well, Neeraj, you have just filled the very meaning of your name: “Give away what you have…. to feed others”. You have just done that with me. Come and visit me and I’ll guide you through the tunnels of your life. We’ll sing, and together too.”
That was the moment that set the path of Neeraj’s life. Leaving behind his childhood , he quickly grew into a a little man. Eager to share his new “self” he recounted the episode to others in the village. But alas, received a cold shoulder response. “Who is that fool, waiting for a mode of transportation — how he’s calling it? A train? He uses tricks to insert strange ideas into Neeraj’s head. He must be stopped!”
Neeraj’s mother, on the other hand, was amazed by the sudden progress made by his son. Before the encounter, he had been a reclusive child, afraid to speak. Some of the villagers even though that he was bizarre, unfit to enjoy his life. But Kabir proved to be the best of masters. Neeraj’s mood changed. He spoke freely and seemed at peace despite the struggles he faced.
Yes, Kabir proved to be the best of masters indeed. Yet, his teaching was not based on books or rigorous lessons. Rather it was a subtle mix of feelings, senses opened with eyes closed, a breeze blowing through the mind. Strange waves of communication passing along their physical bodies, in unison, triggering an infinite silent dialogue.
Until then, Neeraj has no idea of what the future could hold. What would it be like the next day? A bad storm? Would he see a dead bird? Would it bring this “Namaste Station” sign?
“Kabir, what is a train?”
But Kabir had no idea either. The concept of a moving carriage was so logical. Ideas needed to travel. India was too wide; the world has no limit. Obviously, even the most experienced travelers had suffered while riding on the back of elephants, donkeys, camels and horses. Beyond that, that roads were unsafe. With beggars and gangs ready to slit your throat for paltry gains.
“You know Neeraj, one of these days, in the future — a group of uninvited individuals will come to this land, pursuing goals that will not be ours, bringing along with them an extraordinary machinery that will change our time perception’s. Remember that time is an illusion. Our future resides in our past because we’re living today, already. So, a train will be something that will change time. Understood?”
Kabir and Neeraj travelled together through spaces that few would be able to explore. They did it, simply by sitting there, protected by the shadow of a banyan tree. It appears that Kabir passed away in due course. No one was sure though. Some said that he was still alive, somewhere! Neeraj took his role, giving advice and recommendation to those who were interested. His reputation and name began to resonate among the population. Even the wealthy, intrigued by his fame, made their way to get a private audience with him.
Neeraj, the small boy, the little man, the wise one, become the reference point for this very light at the end of the tunnel. His camp became a shrine to Kabir, paved with a carpet of flowers, surrounded by hundreds of candles and baskets of candies.
On full moon nights, Neeraj sang for hours in front of an immense audience. People came from afar, just to listen his lyrics, the exact words learned from Kabir.
Yes….Time was an illusion. The future was already there. Bright red uniforms on the backs of British soldiers. A sign of surrender. But these fieriest of intruders were frightened by the power of the likes of Kabir and Neeraj. “The Empire is here to stay,” they said. “No one is above our will. India’s border reach far and wide, so time is of the essence. A train system is the solution”
“Namaste Station” has never materialized. But who needs a platform, rails and whistle to make it a reality. Some elders have carried strange stories over the years. Some said that Neeraj died at the age of 102. Others said that he was 150. But if you have the opportunity to travel to his shrine, especially on a full moon night, you’ll hear the music, the lyrics and your heart will beat on the rhythms of the tablas.
India has countless railways stations. If you’re curious, at peace with yourself and if you’re gifted enough to see with your eyes closed, you’ll be able to recognize among the travelers, Kabir and Neeraj singing together on a bench, on the top of a crowded wagon, sipping goat’s milk and tea made of rain drops at the local café. They understand the timetable and the destination of your life. Namaste Station is in your head.
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