On Love (a Parable)

‘What is love?’ – asked a disciple of the Master.

The Master replied: “Tell me what is not love?”

And then to make it clearer he took them to the nearby fields where a farmer was tilling the soil while another was sowing seeds. Yet another was watering the plants while someone else was plucking them. 

“Here look,” said the Master. “The farmer who is tilling the soil is doing a labour of love even though the soil may not like this touch of hardness that it must bear, the upsetting of its layers of sand that has settled over the centuries.” He continued, “And the farmer who is putting the seeds in the womb of darkness and pouring over it the waste of earth is also doing a labour of love, for the seed is still hard and must soften through all this darkness and waste till it is ready to receive the Light.”

“And when it sprouts, the farmer puts a fence around it and prunes and limits its freedom lest it is not eaten away by the animals that sprawl around. The delicate and tender plant may find it hard to bear the touch of his scissors but this too is love.”

“And when the plant has grown and the fruits and flowers are ready, he carefully selects them and sends them away so that the flowers and fruits of his sacrifice reach out everywhere and bring new blossoms and more fruits and flowers. This too is love.”

‘But what about the plants and the earth’, – asked another.

The Master stood silent awhile as if lost in the wonder of love that he found everywhere. When he came out of his reverie, he spoke again: “The earth holds these and many other countless possibilities silently in its bosom. It waits for the right farmer and the right season, it bears the hard touch of the farmer’s plough so that one day the flowers and the fruits that it hides in the mud may emerge out of its dark womb and be offered to the sun. What else is this but love?”

“And the seed lets go of its hard crust, the plant of its shelter under the earth, its sap rising upward as an invocation to the sun and its fruits and flowers give themselves freely to the bird and the bee so that through their droppings more fragrance and more sweetness can arise out of the earth. What else is this but Love?”

And the disciples stood speechless in wonder and a fresh waft of air moved amidst them, – the wind that gives life force to the plant, dries up the farmer’s sweat, brings about the seasons by following the paths of the sun and carries the pollen far and wide for fresh blossoms. And the Master spoke not but the disciples heard in the winds a hymn of love whisper softly a song of hope in their hearts and a renewed joy in their souls.

Alok Pandey