by KUBOA
“I kept asking myself. How could I explain that moment? What could I say to someone as an illustration to give an idea of it, ‘the totality of silence’.”
“So have you thought of it?”
“I did. It came to me rather. Revealed itself, more than my making it. It’s, a moment of, ‘you minus you’. Does that make sense? I was thinking about it later, strolling in the gardens surrounding the Mathrimandir. What does it mean? You minus you. And then it became clear. The womb of silence is meant to make you feel the awesomeness of the totality of silence. And then you realise that to become one with it means to erase all the loudness and chaos inside. So it means ‘you minus you’. Nothingness. Nothingness, as in ‘no self’.”
“Or maybe, Jaliya, it means you plus you. Do you think that is possible?”
There is that sensibly paused moment in their conversation. She has stilled him in a way. His convictions of how he understood and interpreted his experience in the Mathrimandir has been confronted with a diametrically opposed view. The change of that single word, minus to plus has created a ‘questioning’, a query which he cannot negate.
“What do you mean Rachana? You must explain it to me.”
“Just think, what if the totality of silence means to become united, you plus you. Rather than withdraw from the self. What if it meant you are to find your union with the silence of restfulness. The divine. For you to become one with the force of the universe that holds in it all creation. And then, it would be a path towards where your self, unites with the greater self. The divine cosmic energy, of which we are all a part, I believe. I believe that is what we all seek in a way. In the cycle of birth and reincarnation. We seek rest... To escape this cycle, where we keep living some story, and then be reborn to live a story that perhaps was lived in some life before.”
A stark contrast of views caused by the simple supplanting of one word in a single line. Which is it? Minus or plus? They sit next to each other not knowing how much of their beliefs the other has been able to relate to. Their conceptions aren’t after all purely of their own individual thinking and philosophising after all. No, how could it be? The world they have inhabited before getting on this bus is far more complex than that. Far more complicated than the experience of an overwhelming silence are these ideas they each expressed relating to the essence behind Jaliya’s Mathrimandir experience. What Rachana expressed as an alternative way of perceiving it and interpreting it, has a subtle, unpronounced foundation of religiosity. Yes, they each carry an identity in terms of the religious convictions they bear. From the world outside they entered this night bus journey, carrying those religions. The beliefs they have been exposed to in their respective worlds of experience. And that is why Jaliya believes his conceptions of interpreting the totality of silence in terms of subtracting the self from the self and arriving at a symbolic zero or nothingness has the truth of Buddhism, as he understands it. The Buddhist conception of ending ‘samsara’, the cycle of birth, death and rebirth, is the attainment of nibbana or nirvana. The former of the two words being the term from the Pali language in which the Buddha preached, while the latter is its form in Sanskrit. Nibbana or nirvana has been described in terms of imagery by the Buddha himself, in the Rathna suthra. When the oil in the lamp dries out, the flame on the wick burns no more. The extinguishing of all desire. In every conceivable way, it manifests to Jaliya as a nothingness, arrived at from the equation he articulated. Yet, however much it seems like an indisputable truth to Jaliya, and however much he may couch it in descriptions and imagery meant to capture the listener, projecting that epiphanous moment to the listener by reaching inside for words, to give form to that sensitive experience, it meets a barrier. Rachana’s own repository of religiosity and perceiving the world through such vantages does not find complete harmony with what Jaliya propounds. The word, the signifier that shades her approach to this discourse is moksha. The Hindu belief of reunification with the supreme divinity, Brahma, and thus ending the cycle of birth, death and rebirth, stands contrary to what Jaliya expounded. Rachana believes it is by achieving the state of oneness of the mortal soul with its divine origin, that the cosmic fount of life can restore the ‘silence of true peace’. A lasting restfulness into man. And thus, she will believe in the ‘you plus you’ theorem. It is these two conceptions, moksha and nibbana, that have brought in the minus versus plus divide between them in trying to decrypt and interpret what silence in its absoluteness could mean. But, the question now is whether they will debate on it, verbally, with each other? That is what is most crucial in deciding perhaps the fate of the sweet harmony built up between them. While they each hold their respective silence pondering how they must proceed in their verbal interactivity after hitting this contentious incompatibility governed by religiosity, it is the sound of their breathing that speaks of their respective presence to the other in this darkness, affirming that neither has dissolved into the blackness... Breathing; the most fundamental function of the body, essential to sustain life. And how beautiful it must be to these two to hear the rise and fall of their breath, which may now even seem like some secret form of speech, devised between them to convey the simple truth of affirming physical presence next to the other... The sound of breathing? But is that all they now have to say to each other? After all the stories they shared? Did the discourse of words bring them to such a perplexity about the other that they can’t get their conversation back on track? In a way, it seems the world of words, reliance on words, and words alone to communicate, may have done them something of a disservice. What holds them now, is the silence. The silence they feel around them and a silence within, binds them together in a moment devoid of words. And this sudden silence thudding in between them, imposing a divorce from the vernacular that too had much pre-eminence to affirm their existence, must be dispelled, they both think. Yes, they think it is a must to break the spell of the darkness manifesting its being in the form of this persisting silence, because the unrealism it brings is just too much for them. Unrealism? Yes, that is exactly how they both feel right now about their present context, being severed from the world of sight by means of the absolute darkness yet to be broken by even some scant light, and the gradual sensible severance from the world of sound with only the dimming monotonous hum of a bus engine almost surreptitiously coalescing with the silence. And rest assured it is not a comforting feeling to either of them to be in this state. The feeling of being in this state is becoming daunting to them.
“Rachana?” He almost spurts her name. It is the silence that did it. Making him feel as though his words will somehow have to spear the thick veil.
“Yes Jaliya?” There is no mistaking it. He can sense the hidden tenseness in her. Somehow they have both been clasped by the oppressiveness of the silent darkness around them.
“No, I was just, er...just checking.”
Checking what Jaliya? What exactly did you mean to check of Rachana by saying her name like it was a projectile released on half a decision?
“I was wondering if you had fallen asleep.”
“No, somehow, it seems I can’t become sleepy.” And what is that weariness in her voice? The lively spirited convivial Rachana whose companionableness is deeply endearing to him, sounds numbed like.
“Strange. Neither can I.”
What is the purpose of dialogue? Has anyone from the millions of interlocutors on the face of this earth engaged at this very moment in dialogic discourses exchanging ideas and information through the oral medium of speech ever thought of that simple question? What is the purpose of dialogue?... Generally speaking, one may propound that the result, the outcome of the two way interaction between two talkers, proves the purpose of a dialogue; why the conversation took place, and why such verbal interaction is necessary. The outcome? Yes, the outcome, which may or may not always have a measurable degree of materiality to it. For example, when people converse to do business transactions, the economic goal involved is materially measu
reable. But then people talk for pleasure, like lovers who may utter ‘sweet nothings’, but that too reaps outcomes that are materially measurable when the lovers manifest their love for each other with bodily interactions. People may gain relief, mental respite, through conversation, which of course may not always be materially manifest of its outcome. The purposes underlying ‘acts of communication’ are needless to say innumerably multifarious. But then what is discussed here is the concept of dialogue isn’t it? Yes, when taking dialogue as one means of communication between persons, ‘dialogue’ can simply be seen as a ‘verbal exchange of words’... But what if the facts were to be inaccurate and the data value was to be lost in a certain dialogue? It doesn’t matter one may suppose, unless it’s meant for that explicit purpose, with the sole intention, of exchanging ‘data’, ‘facts’. And if that isn’t the sole basis of a certain dialogue, then the conversation may meander in all sorts of directions. So then, what do Jaliya and Rachana hope to make the outcome of the verbal exchange they just made a little while ago, which didn’t have the thrust of developing into a conversation like before?
She is. She is here. Yes...
He sounded startled. Jolted. Why?...
Say, something. Something to get talking again...
Doesn’t he want to talk? He was so good at it before.
They both want to talk. Yet it seems, to initiate a dialogue isn’t as easy right now, for some reason. But then why do they want to talk if it seems to be a tedium? Perhaps they want to exchange the facts about their state of mind right now? A factualness is to be the sole basis, is it?... But then how factual have all the stories they have developed so far, been? But still, there can be dialogues, conversations that are completely devoid of facts and show no ‘fact value’. Then of what worth is such talk? Ah, but then, there is another reason between them. Talking is the only way they can assure themselves the other exists in this abysmal darkness. And to be affirmed of another being conscious of your own presence is an affirmation to your own existence. The sound of the other’s voice has come to mean this very thing to them. Their subconscious needs that.
“Jaliya.”
“Yes Rachana?”
“Tell me about Omunkashyu.”
Once again, yes once again the subtle frostiness in the silence melts with the warmth of words spoken between Rachana and Jaliya. To them the smoothness of their conversations builds and solidifies a bridge between them. Bridging two persons who aren’t bound by the realness of a continual touch.
“Into the sweetly idyllic villages nestled in the Rhodope Mountains in Bulgaria, a detachment of soldiers were deployed from Istanbul on the word of the Grand Vizier to the ‘Padishah’ the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. It was in the year 1668....The power of the ottomans had swept across from the south to the east of Europe to propagate the word of the prophet. In their heart of hearts they believed they were uniting the world in a providential vision of oneness, under the holy banner of the prophet....To the Ottoman Empire, Rachana, the Rhodope Mountains was strategically important. Its geography made it a natural fort that marked the might of an empire which had spread its reach to the Balkans and now looked westward to march onto claim mastery over the world....To the theocratic mullahs in Istanbul, who dominated affairs of state, the little pockets of ‘non-believers’ scattered in this region seemed to hold symbolic importance... The embracement of the one true faith had to be expedited to set an example to other ‘non-believers’ in conquered lands. It would be done and done with all means necessary....And so, the conversion of a remote little village in the Rhodope mountain range, called Elindenya, was marked to be moulded into a model example testimony to the power of persuasion, or coercion, of the mighty ottomans. That was how the relentless time of violence erupted, in those scenic Bulgarian mountains, as a fiercely armed contingent came on horseback under the command of the most fearsome janissary of that time, Karaibrahim.”
“Janissary? Was it a special kind of soldier of the ottomans?”
“The most fearsome warriors of the Ottoman Empire. They swore loyalty to the Sultan and acted in fanatic devotion to him. Their loyalty could never be usurped and their very lives were dedicated unquestioningly to their master. Janissaries, Rachana, were moulded out of Christian boys taken from their villages. Boys between the ages from six to ten. They were called the ‘blood tax’.
“How terrible.” There is a gasp with those words, he detects.
“The story begins with a rear view of Karaibrahim saddling his horse. It’s daytime. A bust size camera frame, so his whole body is not visible to us. Only the top, from mid torso up. He wears a black turban with thin white stripes set well apart. His hands move slowly, pensively. The camera is still. The scene changes to show a man dressed in an elegant Turkish garb. Regal looking, his white turban is very elegantly ornate with gold. But, no words are spoken. It is night time. The camera cuts back to Karaibrahim. Still he has his back to us... His hands move slowly securing the straps of the riding saddle. Once gain it is night as the camera takes us to the exquisitely dressed Turkish man. His movement indicates he is a commander of some sort. He is reviewing troops. And once again we see daytime, that same sight of Karaibrahim. Perhaps Rachana, this is a recollection. A flashback. A thought process in pictures...”
So again you have taken me to the cinema. Here in this darkness.
“...Now the man in the white turban speaks to his men, whose backs of heads are all we may see, but only partly. The camera tracks, moves, as the Turkish commander says how he fears not that there are enemies of the Padishah who walk the earth, still. For they will eventually be annihilated, he assures... But, he says in slow controlled words pregnant with intent, he fears that there are still many subjects of the Padishah who worship the cross... And so, he declares that unless a single faith binds them, and the holy banner of the prophet flutters over all, the world will not become theirs...”
So this is how the film story begins in words. Softly spoken words of violence.
“...The camera returns to Karaibrahim who slowly turns around to reveal his face to us. Strong, impassive, redoubtable, his eyes speak of his iron will. The camera cuts back to the night time memory to show the Turkish official walking away from his troops. The camera returns to Karaibrahim who mounts his horse and raises his right hand making the signal to move forward. The camera cuts to a long wide angle shot. Dominating the scope of the frame is the mighty Rhodope Mountains, under a gloomy sky. In the foreground we see a light brownish, barley coloured plane. A column of horses moves slowly, carrying men in turbans. The camera cuts to a high angle wide shot of the cavalry trotting slowly in a row of pairs... Cutting to a low angle shot we see the column of riders ascending a mountain ridge, we see them more closely now... The mist of the mountains drifts across them. They cross a stream and come to a path to ascend the mountain again. Though they move innocuously, somehow you know they are in disharmony with the surroundings. The stillness of the mountain finds them alien...”
The sleeping mountains know what is to come. They feel the violence that is in the blood of the men on horses... Yes Jaliya, nature can feel deeply what is in the hearts of men. Nature after all carries the spirit of a mother.
“...And now as we see the camera cut to a tilt down angle, we see Karaibrahim in the foreground moving forward on his mount. Again it is a ‘bust size’ frame. The camera tracks backwards as Karaibrahim advances impassively. His face masked in a silence created by the depth of his thoughts. The intenseness within, as he rides through a cavern like passage sided by walls of living rock. His soldiers are behind him. In this narrow passage as they advance, suddenly, the peace is broken as clumps of rock fall ahead of their path from above! The horses are startled and the janissary’s eyes dart suspiciously at what is overhead. They continue... The camera passes the riders and the faces of the soldiers become detailed visages. And then a full frontal close-up shot of Karaibrahim’s face. His moustache is like of a Tur
kish vizier. Spreading sideways pointedly. There is nothing but stoniness in his visage. He is, after all, Rachana, a man now made to be a belief, an unshaken belief, and nothing more... Suddenly, we see the camera cut to the visual of a small waterwheel, the kind used in little streams in villages to power a mill. The water splashing on it glistens in the sunlight. It is but only too brief, and the emotionless face of Karaibrahim returns to confront us wordlessly. Again we see another picture. A low angle shot shows us a tree on whose branches are large bells. A soft music enters the picture...”
And so his emotions now take on another level to express his thoughts... Is the music soothing, calming, as he moves with so much emotional burdens?
“...The image of the waterwheel returns. Then we see two small boys playfully toss white flour at each other from two sacks placed in front of them... The camera cuts to a high angle shot. We see the bank of a stream, a rocky ground, and there is a single woman drying in metal pans what looks like wheat flour, in the bright sunlight... The camera in its high angle slowly zooms out to a long wide angle to reveal that the two boys are on a wood made terrace running along a cottage like structure overlooking the stream from across which on the other side is the woman... A man comes over to the two boys and ends their playful mischief, chasing them away...”
Tranquillity. The peacefulness of childhood. You cannot forget it.
“...The camera cuts back to the face of Karaibrahim...”
The face of violence.
“...Behind him Rachana we see the faces of his men in the backdrop, in the distance are the mountains. But now, we see, shading his face, a barely detectable sign of emotion. The camera takes us back to the two small boys. They are swimming in the stream, in the glistening sunlight...”