A group of children in their childish play pick up a pebble from the ground and call it a precious stone. Now the game begins. This gem belongs to one team which has to face a war cry from the opponents who try their best to take it away. The pebble suddenly begins to get great value and weightiness and the children who were till then simply involved in an activity, turn into enemies. I'm sure you would call such kids immature and unripened; but come on, they are just kids after all.
The toughie begins to emerge when adults set out to delight in playing such games too. Would you ever imagine that they too could battle for stones?
One country then begins to play war and robs another of its crystal which was in the first place gifted to it by another kingdom. They soon begin to indulge in a battle of words.
‘It belongs to us.’
‘It was gifted to us.’
‘Give it back to us.’
The game moves on. The stadium is packed with on-lookers who enjoy the match of the rock. I too as a spectator am intensely occupied in watching the competition, when suddenly a whisper murmurs in my ear. ‘How foolish is this man! He knows he has to leave behind his every beautiful marble construction and yet, he fights and argues about just a jewel.
Instead, only if he were to search for the precious gem of a relationship with his creator deep in his heart, he would not waste his time fighting over gathered perishables. That treasure found deep within, would in fact make him scoff at his momentary collections in the course of existence.
If today, I were to meet the rebel poet Nazrul Islam, who wrote to arouse the spirit of the nation, I would feel sorry for his passion.
“Does the memories of past glories/ Bring tears to your eyes?/ Does the thought of royal stories/ Draw from your bosom tender sighs?/Oh, grieve not for the throne and the crown,/You who have seen Persia, Greece and Rome drown/ In seas of oblivion,/You who have seen them rise again with renewed vigour./March on, March on, March on,/ Rousing yourselves from this fatal stupor.”
A passion so great would yet only lead to war. One fatal suspension of sensibility would soon lead to another fatal shock of eternal damnation.
I would instead send him a small text message:
Here then, when the passion of the mind would be replaced with the passion for the Spirit, every citizen of every nation would become an emperor, awakened from the eternal stupor.