The Road to East

Mecca, Arabia

Wazir Khan had heard this somewhere else. Sitting with him on the coach to Medina was a gentlemen of apparently Middle Eastern descent, but what he spoke reminded him of some place else.

“Where do you belong to, Sir?” He asked the gentleman politely.

“I don’t know?” The answer came back, short and crisp.

“Oh. I am sorry.” Wazir realized that it’s best to be courteous, even to the rudest, when at Mecca.

The gentleman continued his chant. He kept repeating the same sentence again and again. He seemed to be in trance. Wazir Khan could not resist and asked him again.

“Sir, as you are in Mecca – I believe that you have to be a Muslim.”

“Yes, I am. Why do you ask this?” The man replied - a bit puzzled.

“Because of your chants.” Khan replied.

“It might be a verse in a heavenly language! God konws!” The gentleman replied.

Wazir Khan smiled and then enquired. “Oh, is it? Are you from India, sir?”

The gentleman looked frustrated. “India? Is it east or west?”

“Oh I see, you don’t know where India is?” Wazir was clearly being sarcastic now. “Where are you from, then sir?”

The gentleman opened a folder lying on his side and took a notebook out. He read. “This piece of paper tells me that I belong to Turkey, but I haven’t been there since years. I went to Armenia, Azerbaijan, Iran, Iraq, Syria, Jordan, Cyprus, Israel, Egypt and Arabia. It does not mention about India. I don’t understand why my chants amuse you so much.”

“Wazir Khan looked at the document, rather surprised. It clearly showed that he was a Muslim. Further it testified that he never even visited India. His name was clearly spelt. BURAK ASKER.

“What does your chant mean?” He asked.

“I do not know. I heard them in a dream. I got hooked since then!” Burak answered.

By now Wazir Khan was sure that he wan’t dealing with a normal phenomena. The man was either mad, or too clever; either he was the devil or he was a sage.

“Sir, do you have any idea what your chants mean and what they are?” Wazir Khan asked.

“I truly don’t know, brother.” Burak answered rather simply.

“The chants are religious, yes, but not in Islam. They are religious chants of the archaic Sanskrit – their holy tongue of India.” Wazir Khan disclosed. He had heard them often at Somapuri.

“Are you from the East?” Burak suddenly shouted.

 “Wazir Khan turned his eyes in a partial disgust. “Where do you intend to go?”

“East.” Burak answered

“East where, sir!” Wazir Khan asked.

“On the high mountains” Burak answered.

Wazir looked towards him; even more amused. It was meaningless to explain him that how ‘big’ east was. He just said. “I go to east as well. Be my guest.”

Burak smiled. “Inshallah. God is great!”. This was all he said.