Silent Minstrel —- Mubasher Mehdi

    Thinking and constant thinking and brooding, have made his eyes grew inward. He had a beautiful face, with trimmed beard and moustaches. Perhaps, he had a Grecian features.
Since twenty years, he used to sit under a sheesham tree. It was a long terrace and a cobbled one, where he sat. Just when the darkness prevailed, people used to gather over there and of every kind. At his right hand there were nicely placed; violin, flute and harmonium. On his left hand side were; sitar, tabla and sarangi. This arrangement was from twenty years.
People asked from him many things. Some would say, write us a prayer to get healthy. Others would say give us a charm. The people keep on asking from him everything, as they consider him to be a saint.
There was a mosque near to that cobbled terrace, some one kilometer away. He washed him over there in the morning. The custodian of the mosque offered him breakfast, which he took silently and after that he placed himself on the cot given by the custodian of the mosque.
At noon, meal was also given from mosque. But in the evening, people offered several things to him, which he ate a little, and rest of it was given to mosque children. This had been his habit for twenty years and it were also that he was twenty years old when he came to this portion of the city, nearly suburbs.
There were some peculiar and notable things also before him, since twenty years. There was a dried pen, a worn out page, on which a musical notation was written and all these were on desk, placed at the terrace.
Today, he was in haste. Very hurriedly he washed himself, took the breakfast and came to his place. This was a day of summers. Its shadows started lengthening and almost it was afternoon, unusually he didn’t take the meal as well, and came to the writing desk. He wrote before that musical notation that; I am Ben Adam and this musical notation. After that line he wrote, I had never been sung, because I was never free.
Writing this his eyes grew pale, his hands trembled and the last words he could write over there were, “Only silent minstrel”.