Vision: Wordsmith Avenue

VISION: WORDSMITH AVENUE

27TH June 2007

Some days ago, I saw this vision.

I saw a long road that stretched as far as the eye could see. I saw a young girl gamboling down the avenue wearing a pretty white frock.

The road she was prancing along on was called WORDSMITH AVENUE.

She walked from No.1 Wordsmith Avenue to number 6

She was fascinated by the wordsmiths, who upon their anvils were hammering out words. There were calligraphists churning out poetry and pretty verses and lyrics. They were working night and day, industriously and diligently.

The young girl was enamored by the pretty life-like pictures of angels and heavenly beings. The artists on the avenue told her they were making for her a family portrait of her lost family members. The wordsmiths could take any written word, and hammer it into the shape and size that the customer demanded. The poets wrote ‘deep’ poetry that could transport the reader on an ‘adventure in no-man’s land’.

The little girl entertained herself and ordered for herself words and poems and family portraits, which tickled her fancy. The entire avenue was busy churning out words.

After a while she became bored, so she walked on.

She entered phase 2 of Wordsmith Avenue, No. 6 to 66

Here she was fascinated by the seemingly unlimited choices of varied doctrines, theology, concepts, comparative religions, meditations, levitations, transcendental pontifications etc.They had engraved How-To manuals, and the runaway best-seller, How-To-Construct-Your-Own-Doctrine. It was a very attractive looking jigsaw puzzle.

Now this little girl in the pretty white frock was totally absorbed in all she saw and read. These wordsmiths were so clever with words! They looked so intelligent and knowledgeable. The Book her Father had Given her now seemed so insufficient. She took the Book, and asked the wordsmiths to add it to the fancy words, pictures and puzzles, they had just hammered out exclusively for her, and bind it tightly together. Now well pleased with her new acquisition, she carried on walking further.

The weight of the book now was much too much for her. She found a rope and dragged the book, along the road. She was tired, she was thirsty, she was hungry. Her Father had told her that all the food and water was hidden in the Book. She sat in a corner and tried to open the Book, but now she had forgotten which of the pages were from the original Book, and which were additions. As she put some pages in her mouth, some turned to serpents, some to eels, other to gravel.

Horrified, she spat out the mouthful of stones and in distaste and horror, and threw off the snakes and the eels.“ How can my Father do this to me?” wondered the little girl."I am tired, I am weary, I am distressed, and now I am heart-broken to know that my own Father would feed me such things! How can I trust Him now about all the other things He promised?”

A large number of wordsmiths came to console her. “Yes, fathers can’t be trusted these days”, you can't believe a word they say!"

The little girl was feeling faint now. She looked at the end of the avenue and thought she would find a way home, out of there from this end, instead of walking all the way back. She wanted to confront her Father for all the 'wrong' He had done to her and all the 'false' promises He had made to her, when she had done all she could, to be on her best behavior to please Him.

The little girl was slowly leaving phase 2 of the avenue and was now facing phase 3 Nos. 66 to 666.

The girl was now faint with hunger and thirst. Everything was whirling around her. She was feeling giddy. The scorching sun was piercing her skin. Suddenly the clouds became dark, and a heavy shower of rain fell upon her. All her pain and weariness was gone. She opened wide her mouth towards the sky and she was filled with nourishment. She then shook her head, the rain water on her hair, sprinkled the book she was dragging. All attachments, now with the rain water on it were a horrific sight.

The 'family portrait' and pictures of 'pretty angels’ were demons and snakes and all things hideous and creepy crawly in the work of the wordsmiths. Because of the rain upon her, the artworks of the wordsmiths could not touch her to harm her. She could now distinguish between the original Book her Father had given her, from all the additions that the wordsmiths had made.

On the ground now lay the Book, in the original form as her Father had given to her. She opened it and it was full of gifts and nourishment. She was ashamed. Her Father she now remembered was as always, Faithful.

The little girl now carefully examined all she could see and hear from a distance, of phase 3 of the avenue---Nos. 66 to 666.

She heard from afar horrible words that sounded like blasphemies against her Father, emanating from phase3 of the avenue. She heard someone practising mimicking her Father’s Voice, a great distance away, at the tail end of the avenue.

Leaving all else behind, with just her Father’s Book, clutched tightly in her hand, held close to her chest, she turned and fled the avenue at great speed. As this little girl ran, holding on to her precious Book, I saw that every step she took to flee away from the avenue, she grew in stature and beauty. Her face shone with brightness.

I saw here a rapidly growing girl, boldly and fearlessly and with great determination, running past the clutches of poets, the artists, the intellectuals, the wordsmiths. By the time she completely stepped out of the Wordsmith Avenue, she would have grown into a fine beautiful young woman.



Bombay-India

Swarna Jha