The Saga Of Sulakhni

Revelling in conjugal bliss with the Light,

She walks on the path, wise and right.

Her life was perfect, euphoric and joyous.

Meaningful too, not shallow nor pompous.

Oft she dwells on the Supreme absolute,

Sits with laity and sings hymns to the lute.

Questions the blinding ritualistic grasps,

Raise the parish beyond worldly clasps.

Serves the congregation with utmost love,

And follows His Word from the heavens above.

And thus she lives as days pass by,

The saintly, holy figure, people doth deify.

Sulakhni, they call her, the virtuous one.

In the Light, she finds, her midnight sun.

Sincere and earnest, her faith is rewarded.

She says, it happens – this boon is awarded.

 

There are zealots there and scoffers too,

Plenty of them, jeering at all that you do.

And so a bunch of cynics is waiting today,

To test her faith, to mock and downplay.

Skilled ascetics, with powers immense,

Elements they control with practice intense.

Adept they are, they have mastered God,

And they walk on waters as ordinary men laud.

Flawed in their thinking, their vision is gone.

Long past the divinity, only body and brawn.

 

So they wait in hiding, as patrons sing

Songs of glory, attuned to harp with string.

Mellow and tuned, their litanies enthral.

In the kitchens, she cooks meals for all,

With dollops of faith tempered with prayers.

In the hands of Light, they rest their affairs.

She does not count nor measures cups or scoops.

Every bite is a delight, the food prompts some whoops.

With faith, she fills the buckets and breadbaskets,

Serving everyone fervently, without looking at the caskets.

The parishioners are leaving, happy and content.

Relishing the time they have beautifully spent.

Some stay back to help her clean the place,

Some help with utensils, and some mop the space.

Soaked in the colour of True Name, they all work hard,

Selflessly they serve, with devotion and regard.

Unfriendly ones, lurking in shadows dense,

Mala fide their drift, they begin the pretence. 

Forth to the shrine, to smear and malign,

Psalm songs echo, the beginning of design. 

Chanting and praying, they reach the hermitage, 

Servitors announce a total of hundred and fifty sage. 

Fickle these sain

Advertisement

ts, and unfaithful their curtsy. 

Yet the Light smiles, a brimming fountain of mercy.

All-knowing, all-pervading, the Light calls for supper.

Sardonic smiles of sages, while servants shudder. 

They bow before the Light, with flustered minds, 

And they reach Sulakhni to succour left behind. 

They sink into sadness, there's no way they can feed, 

For the sages are ravenous, athirst with greed.

But Sulakhni smiles, these are orders of the Light, 

And His shall ever prevail, boundless is His Might! 

She prays and chants, while she hands out plates, 

No one has ever returned hungry from His gates. 

Then she hands out the breadbasket to the steward chief. 

Covers it with a kerchief, and recites psalms with belief. 

The steward looks askance at the meagre divide.

Just five flatbreads, for the savage lions and their pride. 

Unwavering in resolve, Sulakhni tells him to begin, 

Not to remove the 'kerchief, but to pray deep within. 

To add dollops of clarified butter to their meals, 

Top it with sugar, to mark servings with faithful seals.

And the believers bow humbly and serve this faction, 

Glory be to Thee, the hermits are dazed at this action.

There's bread on every plate and sugar in every scoop, 

A rich meal on every platter, no one left in the troop. 

And the men eat a hearty supper with relish and delight, 

Defeated, yet sated, it is such a wonderful sight. 

Finished with the meals, they thank and they rise,

Accept their pettiness, and do away with disguise. 

But one of their men plays on, he asks for more, 

Portion after portion, he asks with a roar, 

His powers help him to increase his hunger, 

It Stupifies everyone, and makes them wonder.

Baffled and confounded they seek Her help.

How do we satiate him, they ask with a yelp.

She smiles, thinks of Lord Almighty,

And prepares the plate for the highly-tighty.

Glory be to Thee, one bread of Thy Name.

And the sage loses his powers and fails in his game.

The Light smiles and showers grace on His men, 

The sages learn from Him and return to their den.

Thus ends the story, the saga of Sulakhni, the blessed.

Faith, belief and devotion, all glitches redressed.