Parables

The Farmer, the Daughter,
the Serpent and the Doctor

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Now there was a farmer with many children, and the youngest was a daughter, now a maiden of age. She was of bright, happy spirit, and much trusting in her ways. Some spoke of her as naive and others innocent; that had no relevance to her.

One day upon the busy thoroughfare she saw a wounded serpent, run over perhaps, and she tended it. It did bite upon her helping hand, as that is the nature of those creatures. It was then that she managed with aid to reach a doctor, who did heal her in time. Weeks later, the doctor chastised the young lady for reaching out to such creatures, and she nodded and smiled all through the lecture, and returned home.

Well, it was not long after that she came upon another serpent, in the very same lane, and it, too, seemed wounded by traffic. This one looked much the same to her, but regardless, she tended it. And it did bite her upon her reaching hand, and the doctor was called once more. Her illness lasted long, but by the doctor's experience she was saved, and her spirit diminished not. The doctor spoke severely to her, urging her to change her ways, and not tend serpents; and she smiled and nodded as always she did. He spoke with the farmer as well, pleading with the man to watch his daughter more closely if he loved her.

Upon the way yet again, the maiden came upon a third serpent. And she did smile and reach, and he did bite her upon her hand, and so she took ill, and was saved by the now very angry and sad doctor. And as she lay upon the bed convalescing while the farmer stood smiling simply, holding her hand lovingly, the doctor growled at the both, and took out a pair of white, diamond-studded leather gloves.

"Your daughter is sweet and fair, and I would save her, though her nature is fixed--she is dumb, and foolish," said the doctor. "Put these upon her, so she is not bitten, as she pays me no heed."

The farmer still stood, serenely, and watched as the young lady returned the gloves. "These she will not wear," he explained for her, "for a covered hand in my family's tradition shows no trust when the hand is extended to another, and this she knows."

The doctor nearly boiled, for it was his duty to save people, and she was very fair and gentle at the least. "Very well, you leave me no alternative," he said when he had calmed. "Her hand is thrice-bitten, and nearly of no use now from scarring." The countenance of the maiden was unchanged, smiling as she lay there, unafraid of the verdict. The doctor grimaced, but continued: "Therefore I will remove her hand, so that she will not be bitten anymore. She will reach to tend serpents no more, and her life will be long." He brought forth his scalpel.

The farmer shook his head, slowly. "Give me your scalpel then, I will remove her heart. This I will do for you as her father, in the name of health and sensibility," he said gently.

The doctor became confused, and upset all at once, and cried out the obvious that she would die, and by what right did he have to make such outrageous decisions for her? The maiden remained unmoved.

The farmer nodded, and said calmly, "So shall it be. For when you remove her trusting hand, so too you will take from her what she is, her life; and she will be dead to what she was. You will shorten a life of trust and brightness, in favour of a longer one of reticence, untrust and fearfulness. Quench not a spirit that only wished to help for a short while. Her wisdom is judged foolish and faulty by you and many who see her, but her wisdom is not from this place, and my daughter pleases me."

The doctor, exasperated, put his tool away, and packed up. The farmer said to him, "Thank you for saving her that she may reach yet one more time."

With that, the doctor angered yet more, and departed in frustration, claiming he would no longer make any attempt to deal with fools who cared not for their own lives. He returned to the city feeling betrayed, hurt, rejected and unfulfilled, not knowing why, though a man of good heart and intent. And the farmer watched him go, standing over his daughter, patting her hand lovingly as she healed.

I tell you that the doctor is simply a man who loved life and cared for this maiden daughter very much. But who is the farmer? Who is the serpent? Was the daughter naive and innocent, as said? And will you be comforted if I tell you she was deaf as explanation of her behaviour, and find closure to this parable, or will you linger in its words?

kh. Taroneh Afsoon,
Eve of 449th Prayer of Affirmation

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The Feast

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Yeki boud, yeki naboud yek shah-e sarzamini boud..........

Now there was a king of a land whose custom was to select each year a new chief advisor from among all his peoples. He made his selection at a great feast prepared in his palace, and all the emirs, princes, dignitaries and magistrates of the land were annually invited.

It was this particular year, however, that there attended the feast a plain man of the streets, and this attracted the disdain of the guests. They asked him for his invitation, but the king stayed their hand and told them he was indeed invited. All took to their usual tables, and the hall was crowded, but the plain one sat alone, the subject of scorning glances all around. Neither did he lift his eyes, not once, feeling the awkwardness of his own presence among the dignitaries.

Goblets were set, and fine wine was served--but for the plain one, who was served pure water. To this, the guests spoke in hushed whispers among themselves at the king's rudeness: surely all guests should be treated royally? The plain one enjoyed his water, unhearing.

Next came tureens full of rich stew, and freshly baked loaves, all placed before the guests, except for the plain one, who was served a plate heaped with dry crusts. The magistrates ate heartily, debating quietly as to why the plain one was served in such ill fashion; and that one ate his crusts with seeming contentment.

Lastly came the roasts, platters of choice meat and gravy and vegetables, all set before the guests as was custom. But the plain one was served a thick gruel, which he ate as one who has been starved daily. Slabs and joints were consumed as the guests shook their heads in dismay at the plain one's misfortune.

Now the feast concluded, and the princes and emirs pushed back on their cushions contentedly, and drummed their fingers on their sides. In the fullness of their meal, they conversed so:

"A fine roast, but last year's was better--"

"Surely the cook has changed, and last year's was a true chef--"

"If only the king had selected stock from my district--"

"The inside was nicely done, but the outer was a bit overdone for my taste--"

"I don't know why he bothers with the vegetables--"

"Perhaps next year he will be adventurous and serve us something really splendid--"

"Imagine the king serving a guest gruel, and everyone else roast--a poor host indeed, surely a sign of meanness and madness--"

At this, the banquet hall became suddenly as silent as a stone.

The king raised himself up slowly and fixed his eyes upon the guests, and asked, "Which of you knows his subjects better than I, your king?"

No answer was dared offered, for he knew them all.

"I see this man drink filthy drainwater each day. When he was served pure water, was he not treated royally?"

No one replied.

"I see this man never has enough to eat each day. Was not this one content to eat dry crusts, heaped high upon his plate?"

No word was said.

"I see what this man is fed each day. So I ask you, has this one who was served thick gruel, ever eaten a finer feast?"

Not a breath stirred.

"I tell you this," concluded the king, "here is one who appreciates what little I have given to him. How much more, then, will he appreciate the riches I will bestow upon him." And thus the king made his selection, and chose the plain one to be his chief advisor over all of his riches, and cast the others out, back to their respective seats of power.

Khoda, let me choose carefully...my table at the feast.

Taroneh Afsoon, author,
Eve of 480th Prayer of Affirmation

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