I was 15 when I first jumped off a mountain.
It was scary and exciting. With a parachute behind me attached to a good pilot, the Solang Valley adventure has become a core memory.
I loved it so much that I’ve researched a lot about learning paragliding over the years.
When I eventually decided to learn it in Bir, my father sighed and said six words, “It’s not safe. Don’t do it.”
While I wanted to rebel, reason, and get my way, I silently accepted his decision.
He cared for me – even more than I did for my life.
Murad was very much like this.
He was a famous sculptor.
No one knew much about his personal life, but his rise to fame was attributed to years of toiling and learning under great masters before making a name for himself.
A classic rags-to-riches story, he started with nothing.
His craft had made him what he was, and he prided himself on creating perfect pieces that collectors paid crazy money for.
But if you read Hastākshar regularly, you already know that there’s a twist in this tale.
This fine day, Murad was on his way to his studio in the market, when he came across an old baba.
Seeing the frail sage, he offered some food and water.
The sage thanked Murad, and blessed him.
Before leaving, he whispered, “O kind Murad, you’ve lived a noble life. But it has to end. I bring a message from death. 15 days from today, the yamdoot will come to take you.”
Blood drained from Murad’s face.
He tried to tell himself this was not possible. He was just 37 years old – not the age to die.
But he’d seen much younger than him helpless against destiny.
He was panicking, figuring out ways to cheat death. That’s when he got the idea.
Although the yamdoot knew who he was and what he looked like, he would hide in plain sight.
Over the next two weeks, Murad used what he excelled at: his craft.
The plan was to confuse the yamdoot and ensure that he didn’t recognise Murad.
He built eleven sculptures which looked exactly like him.
And the plan worked.
On the 15th day, Murad asked his team to arrange the statues in a circle. Once done, he went and positioned himself between two statues.
When the yamdoot came to take Murad to the other side, he was astounded: which one of these twelve figures what the real Murad?
They all looked alike.
He had previously heard of Murad’s skills from the sage, so the yamdoot was sure that one of these was a human, and the others were just sculptures.
The yamdoot came up with a plan of his own.
Feigning laughter, he exclaimed “I’d heard a lot about the great Murad, but am sad to see this. He has failed! While 10 of these sculptures are perfect, the other two have tiny mistakes!”
“What!? How can my creations ever have mistakes? Never!” shouted Murad, immediately realising his mistake.
The yamdoot identified the real Murad and took him to the land of the death.
Kshudhit was stupid.
Dr Hitanshu, the brahmin Agastya – they all made such silly mistakes in their life.
And Murad joins the list, right?
Could he not have kept his mouth shut?
It was literally a life and death situation. Why did he need to feel hurt and react to defend himself?
And that’s the problem.
Murad felt the sculptures were created by him, the output was his.
Hence any criticism on them became an attack on him.
Murad forgot that he never did anything. Things only happened through him.
He was separate from what he created. Whether good or bad, the output was not his.
But when he started believing that it was, he lost his mental freedom and life.
Let’s not repeat his mistake, okay?
