The Laughing Mohammedan and The Art of Gardening

On a far off land, not so far away, there lived a man, surviving the cold rule of his masters. He was sent from the deserts of the middle east to this land, on deputation for 4 years, where the people were ruled by ten nitted dominions. A strange form of governance to which he was new. His mission- to learn the abnormal sciences which this land protected.

Time flew at the pace of a snail. The shadows of hope went dimmer and dimmer. Every year opened new lessons in the textbooks of ordeal. The primary year saw him enduring the persecution of the elders, who were soon to be his mentors. The physical pain was too much to bear and he believed all of them were mental. Nevertheless, ho thought, the years to come will give him something to smile about....

The secondary annum was not very different. The elders had grown close to him. He understood the true meaning of the trials through which he was put through. But oppression was one thing that would never leave him. This time it was his masters who were bent on breaking his back and the bone. To add to all this, the outbreak of the plague weakened him and killed his morals.

The tertiary term was no renaissance. Suppression continued and things just got worse. There seemed to be no hope in this desert of despair. He wandered in search of peace, serenity and most importantly, sanity. He saw only frustration around him. Thirsty for a smile, hungry for joy and craving for satisfaction, he continues his journey, into the ultimate year. And that opened the doors for change... A new beginning... A new height

The dawn of the new year was marked by a large bonfire in front of the abodes of topaz. Men danced around the ritual pyre in a frenzy. Merry was in the air, truly intoxicating, sending a certain pleasure through the nerves. The very thought of the year being the ultimate one was so very special that there was a sudden craving for new interests, to break all traditions and conventions. The Mohammedan was not just smiling, he was laughing out loud. A strange laugh...

"O ye pious Mohammedan! What has become of ye? Why in the name of the master of high above do ye indulge in this insane laughter? Which spirit of the underworld has possessed thy faculties?" asked a concerned voice.

"Nay! Fear not o ye pious soul! Or may I rephrase, for ye art not pious. Piety is a virtue for a soul as pure as milk, as sweet as honey, as gorgeous as a dolphin. But ye art not pious, for ye indulge yerself in wine and whine for pleasure of the flesh. Me art not pious either for I'm stained with the blood of submission, scar of pain and fire for rebellion. And now I have stepped into a new garden which fills me with desires unlimited."

"O ye Laughing Mohammedan! By the masters of ruthlessness! By the might of relative credentials! By the gods of frustration! In the name of all those hapless souls martyred in the path of righteousness, where do I find this garden of immense leisure?"

"Sire, follow me to the garden, where the light of red gives you powerful images of the unseen, where ye harvest from the herbs sowed in pots, where weed is as fruitful as the crop. Mate, follow me to the lamp of red power, where ye art the gardener, sowing potted plants. As ye sow, so ye reap!"