Answers below:

Q1. With whom would you associate the book ‘The Algebra of Infinite Justice”?

a)      Vandana Shiva

b)      Amartya Sen

c)      Arundhati Roy

d)      Anil Kejriwal

Q2. In the name of public-private partsnerships in India, gross injustice is meted out. One such instance is the commodification of water through National Water Policy, which is not only unethical but unconstitutional. It has caused as much trouble for as benefit for some. Which state and private company would you associate with the Sheonath river, which is running the state into huge losses and causing human rights violation?

a)      Madhya Pradhesh, Bhedaghat Water Supply

b)      Maharashtra, Chatrapati Shivaji Paani Puravatha Ltd.

c)      Chattisgarh, Radius Water Limited

d)      Gujrat, Borai Industrial Water Supply

Q3. With which respected Nobel Laureate in Economics would you associate the following words: “You want more insider trading, not less. You want to give the people most likely to have knowledge about deficiencies of the company an incentive to make the public aware of that.”

a)      Amartya Sen

b)      Paul Krugman

c)      Milton Friedman

d)      Gary Becker

Q4. With which organisation would you associate the following: “What we’re trying to do is pioneer a new form of social activism using all the power of the mass media to sell ideas, rather than products. We’re motivated by a kind of `greenthink’ that comes from the environmental movement and isn’t mired in the old ideology of the left and right. Instead, we take the environmental ethic into the mental ethic, trying to clean up the toxic areas of our minds. You can’t recycle and be a good environmental citizen, then watch four hours of television and get consumption messages pumped at you.”

a)      Résistance à l’Aggression Publicitaire

b)      Culture Jammers

c)      Adbusters

d)      Media Carta

Q5. A humble civil servant, he rose from the rank of a clerk to Deputy Commissioner before being dismissed by the state Chief Minister Sharad Pawar for being honest. His successor, Kalam Patil, was immediately caught red handed by Anti-Corruption Bureau while taking a bribe, and as a punishment, was promoted to Commissioner as well as the PRO. He used eunuchs to liberate minor girls from prostitution racquets, as a creative spin on the loan collection techniques employed by ICICI Bank. His autobiography is called “Zunj Ekaki’ (The Solitary Fight). Who?

a)      Sagar Khairnar

b)      Sandeep Lanjewar

c)      G R Khairnar

d)      Shrikant Warade

Q6. Which of the following can be said to be a strong criticism against the Jan Lokpal movement headed by Anna Hazare and his team?

a)      Jan Lokpal Bill does not address the root of the problem; it only provides a strong safeguard for taking care of problems after they occur.

b)      Too much power will be concentrated in one institution

c)      Both

d)      None of these

Q7. This institution’s share holdings pattern is as follows: United States (15.85%), Japan (6.84%), China (4.42%), Germany (4.00%), the United Kingdom (3.75%), France (3.75%), and India (2.91%) and the rest are trivially distributed amongst about 100 states. The institution setup up with the Bretton Woods agreement is headed by an American by mandate. The voting powers of Indian and China were revised in 2010. This institution has been criticised for its use of shock therapy to disrupt economic progress in underdeveloped countries. It does not lend capital to nations without domestic water privatization policy. Which institution?

a)      United Nations

b)      IMF

c)      World Bank

d)      WTO

Regards,

Sanket Anurag Shrivastava

PGP 15 (2011-2013)

IIM Kozhikode

 All answers are Option C. 

Anyways, I digress from what I intend to say. This is about freedom in general and freedom of speech in particular. And how organised religion is, was and has been the enemy of freedom since, perhaps, times immemorial. I say organised religion, and by that I mean the ugly sum of socio-political forces that flow in the undercurrents of innocent ecstasies, and raise their hoods when it is ensured that the clients are under the sway of ideology. Perhaps the Jews invented religion, or the Maghas of Persia. Whoever did it, was the first imperial power of the world. And, they were the ones who propheted the most out of it. Profited, I mean.

Here’s an analysis of the 10 commandments, and what they would mean today for a modern fascist military-industrial state, say, like America, or Israel:

1. Take no gods before the true god.

The state defines what is right and true. Public shall not invest their hopes in parallel schemes. Pluralism is outlawed.  Bhaad mein gayi heterodoxy.

2.  Do not make images in likeness of god and bow down to them.

No caricature, criticism or critique of the state policy will be tolerated. Those who lend currency to such opinions are likely to be persecuted with legitimacy. Why? Because statesmen are jealous people. The identity of the state is vulnerable to truth. Speaking truth to power is therefore an act against god. How beautifully it fits in… I used to love this line: I am a jealous god.

3. You will not take the name of God in vain.

Freedom of speech ki maa ki aankh. Alternate views and counter-culture will be thrown out of the window. The path to the mind lies in the babble of poetry and the gibberish of myth. Poetry and storytelling will, naturally, be outlawed. Censorship is the state’s prerogative.

4. Preserve the sanctity of the Sabbath.

Deny the needy of services intermittently to unjustly raise the prices for the service rendered. Call it strategy and justify it.

5. Honor your parents.

We have already brainwashed the generation that lived before you with our effective propaganda. Believe their regurgitations and save us repeated efforts to do the same to you. People, you know how tedious it is to manufacture consent? Let’s save everyone the trouble and money. These days we need to cut costs, and be more efficient while being as effective.

6. Don’t kill.

Become cabbages. Forget heroism.

7.  Don’t commit adultery.

Crimes of passion are outlawed; only crimes of logic are allowed.

8. Don’t steal.
9.  Don’t bear false witness against your neighbor.
10. Don’t covet neighbor’s wife, servant, house etc.

Property rights and protection of private property. This makes it imperative that selfishness and greed conquer free enterprise and collective inspiration. And what is state without property rights? People will be divided into Haves and have-nots, and one will have rights and they will be protected from the others. The others are hell.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

Will the Anti Christ go down with Obama, or will we see one of the greater con men in history re-elected to power? When cornered, the rat too will show courage. Let’s hope Americans have some mind left. The body is only the vehicle for the mind. But if the body is sick, the mind cannot travel far. However, if they do something, maybe the scared and cornered Indians will also imitate their newfound colonizers (I just miss England and the good old days; atleast the British really cared about Christ). Occupy Harvard and Occupy Princeton give me hope.

All the commandments must have been noble once. Time corrupts everything. No other faith (mind the disuse of the word religion) says this, except Islam. Hazrat Ali, the true successor of Prophet Mohammad, speaks profoundly in Nahj-al-Balaghah that for every concept there is appointed a time till angels tend to it and then it’s taken over by the satan, and then the phoenix cycle resumes. Sartre calls it practical hope. All forms perish corrupted with time, only the formless content is perennial, and that is Allah, tells Hazrat Ali. King in anarchy and the wisest of all men, he proclaimed that the prophet fought for the revelation, and that He (mind the capital H), shall fight for its interpretation.

The fight hasn’t changed, has it? Our collective jihad is becoming more and more united everyday. These days are special. The best of times and the worst of times. I see a little light at the end of the tunnel. With the onset of pre-screenings and establishment protocols, every day we must strengthen our resolve to fight for the interpretation of truth, goodness and beauty.

Satyam. Shivam. Sundaram. 

The distant stars and the lovely moon echo the grief of my heavy heart.
The dark night seems familiar. Come thief, steal my heart; it’s ripe.

I am too bored to breathe. My heart is sinking, and so am I.
My will flees me, and the night is darkening.
I wait for the morning.

Come again.

a storm in a teacup, rain,
sunshine, sugar, aprilness,
cloudy climate and cricket.

I love the British. Especially the English. I love, too, the Scots and the bagpipers, the Celts and their songs, the Angles and the Stuarts and their feuds, and all of them all, with all their freemasonry and their divine and unchaste kingdom conquests, and their gloriously imperial stories and their passionately trivial games, their love for complicated laws and arbitrary rules and neat little traditions. I love their brave saints and their greedy dragons, their majestic quests and their holy grails, their kindness for beautiful flowers and their affection for faithful pets. The taste for tea and buns and biscuits in the sunny but soaked, brown and breezy morning when the ball swings like the lead-motive of a Mark Knopfler solo, and the bat beats its breast at its sweet spot…

…and, most of all, I love the English language, and all that which can be done with it.

Memorable Roorkee

Remember, the beauty of the shade of a tree…

standing tall like a lone soldier at Roorkee,

when we all had dreams and desires and days –

full of leisure and love; yet, look at today:

no time to sleep, no time to dream,

Everybody wants to make me scream.

Flash back in my mind, oh the memory

of the beauty of the shade of the tree!

From Tomas Tranströmer of Sweden

This is no power-point presentation. Pay attention. This matters. This is your life. You were given this to accomplish your deepest desire, to satisfy your most beautiful curiosity, and to know your name among the names. Your name is He. Have you heard of Him?

The fans move at the limit of their power. Go, relieve them. The cool wet breeze is enough. Switch of all unnecessary lights. Don’t waste power. The music is too loud. Play it at a volume where you really wish to let it sink in. See? It’s better now, isn’t it?

The insects are benign. Don’t worry about them at all. They are all about minding their own business. They don’t have to suffer the fate of humans. They are programmed to do their jobs like slaves of natural forces. They find heat, they move towards it. You swat them, they die. They eat each other. Kinda like MBAs, but not all humans have to suffer the fate of them soddy sons-of-bitches. He is not an MBA. Just an aspirant. Mastery is a long long way off. He is not a Master. Not anymore.

Silence is better. On second thoughts, silence makes noise more prominent. Better fill this alien space with something familiar. Sit!

Ma sedendo e mirando:
e souvrumani silenze, e profondissima quiete… 
Io nel pensier mi fingo,
ove per poco Il cor non si spaura 

The world’s taste is indeed absurd:

an anonymous song of doubt and rebellion;
an instrumental composition of questions;
points, counterpoints and their repetitions.

On One hand:

The slow moaning winds, the gently kissing breeze;
a perfumed gust of air from your lovely wet hair;
wildness, wings, wine, cherries and cheese.

On Other hand:

The hot sweat of swollen storms, the sun gets tanned;
the crimson sky yields, it descends down fields;
ultraviolet promises arch, the entry is banned.

————————————————-

ये ना थी हमारी किस्मत के विसाल-ऐ-यार होता
अगर और जीते रहते यही इंतज़ार होता

I was never destined to be united with my beloved
Even if I would’ve had a greater life, I would still have continued to wait.

‘Here do all things come caressingly to your talk and flatter you, for they want to ride upon your back. On every simile do you here ride to every truth. Here fly open unto you all being’s words and wordcabinets; here all being wants to become words, here all becoming wants to learn from you how to talk.’

This is my experience of inspiration. I do not doubt but that one would have to go back thousands of years in order to find some one who could say to me: It is mine also!—”

- Frederick Nietzsche, Crazy Man, Evil Genius and Philosopher, Writer of ‘Thus Spake Zarathustra’ 

Sleep, run back and forth,

regret we made a mistake and err again,

judge others and absolve ourselves,

we have time to read and write,

edit what we wrote, regret what we wrote.

we have time to make projects and never follow through.

we have time to dwell in illusions and stir through

their ashes much later.

We have time for ambitions and diseases,

to blame destiny and details,

we have time to look at the clouds, at the ads, or some accident.

we have time

to chase away our questions, postpone our answers.

we have time

to crush a dream and reinvent it, we have time to make friends,

to lose them. We have time to take lessons and forget them

soon after, we have time to receive gifts and not

understand them. We have time for everything.

No time, though, for a little tenderness.

When we’re about to do that, too, we die.

I learnt some things in life that I want to share with you!!!

I learnt you can’t make somebody love you.

All you can do is be a beloved person. The rest…

depends on the others.

I learnt that however much I care,

Others might not care at all.

I learnt that it takes years to gain trust and

that you can lose it in just a few seconds.

I learnt that it doesn’t matter WHAT you have in life, but WHOM.

I learnt you can get by and your charm is useful for about 15 minutes.

After that, however, you’d better know something.

I learnt that you should not compare yourself to what others can do better–

But to what you can do better.

I learnt that it doesn’t matter what happens to people

But what I can do to help them.

I learnt that no matter how you cut it,

Every thing has two faces.

I learnt you need to part with your loved ones with warm words,

It might be the last time you see them.

I learnt that you can carry on for a long time

After you said you can’t.

I learnt that the heroes are those

who do what’s needed, when needed,

No matter what the consequences.

I learnt that there are people who love you,

But don’t know how to show it.

I learnt that when I am angry,

I have THE RIGHT to be angry.

But I don’t have the right to be a bastard, too.

I learnt that true friendship continues to exist

even at a distance. And this is also true for real love.

I learnt that, if somebody doesn’t love you

like you want them to,

It doesn’t mean they don’t love you with all their heart.

I learnt that no matter how good a friend is,

He will nevertheless hurt you every once in a while,

And you’ve got to forgive him for this.

I learnt that it’s not always enough to be forgiven by others.

Sometimes you’ve got to learn to forgive yourself.

I learn that no matter how much you suffer,

The world won’t stop in its tracks because of your pain.

I learnt that your past and circumstances

might influence your personality

But YOU are responsible for what you become.

I learnt that if two people argue,

it doesn’t mean they don’t love each other

And the fact that they don’t argue

doesn’t prove they love each other.

I learnt that sometimes you’ve got to put a person first,

And not his deeds.

I learnt that two people can look at the same thing

And see two completely different things

I learnt that no matter what the consequences

Those who are honest with themselves

go farther in life.

I learnt that your life can change

in the course of a few hours

By people who don’t even know you.

I learnt that when you think you’ve got nothing to give

When a friend calls for you,

you’ll find the strength to help him.

I learnt that writing,

Just like talking,

Can soothe the pain in your soul.

I learnt the the people you love the most

Are taken away from you much too soon.

I learnt that it’s too hard to realize

Where to draw a line between being nice,

not hurting people, and standing up for your beliefs.

I learnt to love, So I can be loved.

– Late Octavian Paler, Romanian poet, a civil socialist in post-1989 Romania

Kiss of the Hoopoe

Dearest WhoPoo,

May the tree of Knowledge
where you perch,
grow and be fruitful,
and may its shadow be a blessing.

May the leaves of the tree
and the feathers of your wings and tail
rustle and wrestle in the wind,
making the music of angels–

which makes the deaf hear sounds,
and the dumb sing freely
of the glory and the grace.
Peace be upon your face!

So tells a particle of sunny dust
on the feet of Solomon’s trust,
where it kissed the beautiful earth’s crust.

Dear A,

I have sent many but not enough tears your way in gratitude. May they add to to our collective repentance, and find their way back to their proper source. How else shall the rivers of paradise be filled? May the Holy Father and Mother of our soul be pleased with our purification rites. May peace be upon our gathering and our dwelling.

I had resigned from my job finding myself utterly incapable of continuing any more. I was instantly content. I declared a personal Sabbath for some time. Little did I know that resting is hard work. You would be pleased to know that this was the Holy month of Ramzan, the very same month that you were initiated into the holiest of holy secrets.

There I was, back in my home, where the shelves were lined with the glories conferred upon me in the past. The gardens, how they were beautiful, full of flowers of different kinds. I also met my mother and father. Although it had been a long time, they could still faintly recognize me; and yet I wonder if they see any trace of you in me at all. Holy Father, do make my wonder go away to its rightful source.

It was ten years ago I left my house in search of my roots, and I return after ten years, as a rootless loser. What have I known– nothing, except your address. Our master remains hidden still. What does he feel– that I will eat him? Hah! I would eat the dirt under his feet, if at all, like I did in in innocence of my childhood. Like we all did…

These years of exile have taught me one thing. How should I say it, because the moment I say it, it is destroyed. It is like a silence, a profound silence. Indeed, I dare say, it is better than weeping and repenting.

Dear A, won’t you believe me if I told you that Sabbath is a silence for purification. This silence is felt only in this world, our world, and perhaps not in those inhabited by the angels and other beings. Is it wrong then that I claim a friendship with you, instead of your dominion?

I was born in the city of Nagpur, located right at the center of India, at the time of dawn, on a Sunday. Sabbath comes naturally to me. So, this one day, in the month of Ramzan, I was sitting at the porch of my blessed house, gazing at the sky, and its unseen horizons. And our Master too was looking back. From where He sees, there are no clouds, no lights, no meanings. But from where I saw, I could see all that he had created. Little that I know while I was lost in the horizons, that soon the horizons would be lost in me. I was becoming.

I saw, on the sky, a story painted large in the clouds. I saw the winsome lamb hurling himself head-forward into the resting Lion. The intention of the Lamb is most crucial. His horns are used only to gather speed so that his haste is fulfilled;  it never so much as imagines that it might hurt the Lion. The Lion meanwhile is resting after feasting on its daily dose of Sunlight. And he dreams that the Lamb is coming at him. There will be a collision any moment. The wind is hurling these absurdly-shaped clouds closer to each other, goya it wants them to meet. But the pace of the heavenly breeze is slow enough so that I can see and grasp the full import of my vision. Before they collide, I see, wonder of wonders, lights flaring up in the sky.They go up and down like a small set of twinkling stars balls being juggled, so close that I feel them and see them, and so far that they ought to be rooted in the horizon beyond the sky.

I cannot believe my eyes. It must be a firecracker, I tell myself. They are not, because they stay in the sky until I am convinced that I am seeing a miracle. The Lamb is not coming to the Lion to be eaten by it; although it has every intentions of sacrificing itself; but it is going to be embraced by the Lion. The whole geometry of the clouds changes gradually and the meaning and its import too change, after the lights have dwindled. From behind the lights, the sun is beginning to come through. The redness and the blueness are fading. I think I have forgotten to blink for a long time. I hadn’t slept for a week before this. Who would believe me?

I am stable. I am neither dancing in ecstasy, not weeping in sorrow. I know what I must do. I am in the lawn in front of my house, walking upon that gesso ground, treading upon the grass as gently as I can, with prayers under my breath. I have no sense of time or my clothing. Anyone else would deem me insane. But its dawn, and most people are asleep. Thank God.

After the ritual that both you and I know too well, I return back to see that the Mother has woken up. I have no story to tell her. Anything that will come out of my mouth would be a lie to her. I rush to the wash basin to cleanse my mouth. I do, indeed, love to brush my teeth.Over the past few months, I have taken up bathing and adoration of the body as a hobby.

What else is there to say, but the usual. I must go back to sleep, get up, and carry on our collective work. We are indeed grateful for everything. May all our sins be remembered fondly.

Peace. Love. Action.
S

The experience of such insight is an ecstatic end in itself, but not the end of ends. This experience is commonly known to lead good people to humility, non-violence, blissful state of mind, righteousness and wisdom. The Buddha used to say that this is the only way to Perfection, just as the upholders of Advaita lay stress on kundalini-arousal as the only way the feminine can reunite with the masculine, and just as Jesus proclaimed that the path to salvation (where the Son becomes the Father, and the father, the son) is narrow. In this way the plurality of the opinion makers converges on a single truth in a dimension that is beyond normal sight. Hence, vipashyana.

One of the popular techniques that has become popular is the system that has developed out of the Buddha’s Satupasthana Sutra. It is considered to be the Buddha’s how-to-guide on insightful meditation. It helps one to develop mindfulness as to the clinging of thoughts to body, or being attacked by Mara and Brahma, and how to stay lucid in a state of confusion. Thus, it is also to be understood that although all Buddha-folk are arihant-folk, but not all arihant-folk are Buddha-folk. The Sutra is given below in a marvelous rendition by Thanissaro Bhikkhu:

http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/mn/mn.010.than.html

At the end of the day, vipashyana is vi+pashyana, which means beyond seeing. This is the state that I understand and define as as lucid insanity.

Narayan Kavach

How do I begin to tell you about myself? Although I am abominable, ugly, and sick, I am also beautifully black, clothed in my own colours, and invisible even to myself. All I have to draw attention to myself is the memory of a reed, the attenuated strains of whose melody melt in my ears and remind me of the Passion when I used to blow at its knots. But I can’t even hold the reed now; both my hands have fallen off, and I have become useless. I saw you flirting with the reed, and I couldn’t resist pitying your foolishness. It would have been better that you had eaten it, instead of trying to blow in it. I know you will never trust a thief like me, but I trust you completely. I trust you to be yourself! You will never be like that Dog you see, always barking and challenging. You are too foolish to be arrogant. You are so innocent, you never call anyone foolish, and not even yourself. Blessed, indeed, are the fools!

Call me L (for Lahb), the burning flame of envy, eternal friend of ignorance. I keep whispering into the hearts of all kinds of men sobbing the song of my miraculous despair. You, who have been an ass, ought to know the measure of this song. It lulls the red dragon to coma, and it puts all brave men into the sleep, and it is the song that quells the fire raging in that golden city of dreams. It is my redemption song. I tell you of this song to save myself. I am enlightened purely by self-interest. We are not much different, you and I. Let us go then, you and I…

Do not fear me, for I am not the object of your fear. I am not your friend either, for I befriend the ignorant. Asses are friends of my mortal enemy, so fear me not, for you are indeed an ass to have come this far. Perhaps you weren’t listening when Mother proclaimed, ‘Fools rush in, where angels fear to tread’. Keep your spine straight and listen. I tell you a great secret. You have read about me in the books. I too have loved the Hero of The Book, and that love has made me immortal.

Say:

In the name of The God, most merciful and most compassionate:
I take shelter of Him who reveals,
from the badness created through darkness
and from darkness when it enters
and from the badness of those who blow in the knots
and from the envy of the envious when they envy.

Say, still:

In the name of The God, most merciful and most compassionate:
I take shelter in the Lord of Mankind,
in the King of Mankind,
in the God of Mankind–
from the badness of him who whispers, who falls,
who whispers in the hearts of all men,
who is from amongst the men as well as the genii.

Having said this, poor ass, you are well protected. Now listen with sinless hearing to the tale that I tell:

Ha! The Shaikh, whom you know well and love, and whom you consider as your favorite, was averse to initiating the young ones before they had come of age. However, out of love for some chosen ones whom he loved selflessly, he gave them the mystery which perplexes you. Amongst them, there was only one who understood it the way it ought to be understood.

Open Tzimtzum! He was The Hero whom you so love that you want him to ride on your back. Ass, know thy limits. You must become a horse before that happens. You are meant for being ridden by someone else. The Hero, because he was from amongst men, found it difficult to contain the Passion of this mystery. He fasted for 40 days and 40 nights, keeping silent, not speaking a word. Although his mind prayed and fasted, and his soul rejoiced in the mystery, the body that his soul wore, would not let him be. Do you wish to know what happened then?

You know how the Hero, that unparalleled of all heroes, whose sword was faster than the lightning, used to dig wells for pleasure. Well, when it became difficult for him even to breathe because of the Passion of the Mystery, he went inside one of his wells. He stooped down to the earth, and confided this mystery to the womb of the earth. Foam and froth covered his mouth as he spewed the doctrine of the mystery. Some of that nectar from his mouth entered the earth. Know, you ass, that this was far more powerful than the song of despair. The mystery is eternal and never-ending, and he who embarks on it goes mad at the first step. Be careful, you ass, know thy limits. Do not complain!

Be quiet! So it happened that the potency that was hidden in the bowels of the earth, became a seed and grew into a plant. That plant became a palm-like tree, neither tilting to the east nor the west. It was illuminated with its own glory. My father knew its secret through his own enlightened methods. Cursed was he and I repay the debts to this day. Uf!

Forgive me, O Father, for I have sinned. Father, please do not forsake me again. Handlessly I crawl and creep on this earth like a serpent, who cannot flap its wings and who dreams of light, but cannot see the bright jewel on its own head. Mercy! Mercy! You Ass, why wouldn’t you weep and repent? Have you no heart?

Phew! Let me continue. I saw the tree with my father and my heart yearned to possess that marvelous tree. My Father warned me about even touching it. I burned and burned till I turned red with anger, and my Father could not control me. Out of sheer love, he cut off a branch of that tree and made it into a reed with his bare arms so that I could play it and call my cows, sheep and flock at my will. Believe me, O ass, I played that reed so beautifully, that no one could resist its mellifluous sound. This was the illusion, dear ass, for it was not my whisper, but the secret of the holy branch from that tree that made the livestock behave like mesmerized beings. When I blew into its knots, the breeze came my way loaded with grace and wetness: even the grass bent low with humility; the cattle danced, the women forgot their husbands, and the dreams came true. All those who gathered to listen to the music, wept with ecstasy and rejoiced with tears in their eyes. None was left untouched. Yes!

My fame spread far and wide and it reached the Shaikh. I was called into his presence. He asked me to play it in the presence of his followers, those pure souls clothed in bright linen. When I played, all of them levitated above their seats, and acknowledged the supremacy of the music as that conducive to their dreams. All were charmed, except the Shaikh, who knew that whole story about the reed. He asked me for it, so that he could try to do the same. I gave him the reed in my innocence, as I believed the Shaikh to be incapable of deception. I saw in him no cunning. The Shaikh blew into the reed upside down. Know, O Ass, that this was the end of the power of the reed. It played no more, and it when I tried to whisper my song into it, it broke into many pieces. What was never mine was taken away from me. Do not think anymore, ass, but know! Know it!

This is the tale, that has been told for your benefit. When I saw you playing with the reed, I thought you should have rather eaten it. To play the reed in a fashion like yours is not just illegal, but beyond any conception of beauty. Hence, it has been told to you, know thy limits. Know!

Now, go forth, go! Sleep, dream, rest, be awakened, play, and be as merry as an ass can be. Let him ride on you, who fulfills you. Believe! You are…

In the name of the God, most merciful and most compassionate.

Palm Sunday