The story of the pearl
The Holy Quran mentions that the dwellers of Paradise will be adorned with pearls. In other scriptures the metaphor of a pearl appears in the longer "Hymn of the pearl", a poem noted for its high literary quality.
Today, one might associate one's feelings with the sad saga of a pearl torn from the bosom of a shell.
"Tumi amar shokal belar shuur" was a song that pearl fishermen who went hunting for pearls early in the morning often heard with much amazement. How could such a tune be heard from the depths of the sea? Actually, it was not a song but a deep feeling which ran like currents in the sea. The fishermen had often wanted to get hold of this golden lipped, at times apparently white lipped oyster. But it always escaped their clutches, the reason being that the pearl throbbing in its bosom saved the oyster from all such dangers. But the power of man is infinite when it comes to piling up wealth for himself! One day, when the sky became dark, appearing quite ominous, this oyster was trapped to get hold of the nacreous iridescent, the interior of the shell that gives birth to this pearl and which embraces the soft tissue of this shell. Unseen and unfelt tears rolled down as the pearl was torn from the shelled mollusc.
Thus began the sad story of this special object, valued as a gemstone, an object of beauty for centuries. Perle, as the French call it, but commonly known as pearl, became a metaphor for something very rare, fine, and admirable; and above all, valuable.
Pearls often came under the threat of being crushed and used in cosmetics, medicine, and in paint formulations.
And now comes the tale from the pearl, or Pearl:
'I became Koustubha at which people gazed without even blinking when I helped adorn; according to the Hindu scripture, the Hindu deity, Vishnu, I was fitted boldly on his chest! The reflection, refraction, and diffraction coming from me just held them stupefied!' People exclaimed, "Oh! What colour, what luster, how perfectly round and large.'' Surprisingly, I became a collector's item, being set as a center piece in a unique statue.'
While people were happily admiring, Pearl became nostalgic…
'How happy we were swimming on moonlit nights, hardly talking, just bathing in its shine in the Sea of Bahrain. He used to fondly call me Margarita, for my yellow radiance. Sadly, tons of oysters and mussels were opened by pearl fishers in search of me, until finally one day they got hold of me; they pulled me away from my helpless oyster. But do they know the truth? My heart was crippled by the veins that I kept on closing, they cut me open and I kept bleeding and I kept bleeding. Bewildered, mine was a cup of sorrow and I drank it and apprehended the essence of life's joy, clothed with a robe of longing.'
His was a yearning that flowed with dreams and ran with spirits. Alas! The ignorant, angry fool, the shell, blind with Pearl's love should have known that Pearl was not his to keep; it was for some men who were molded with the dust of arrogance! A cry of oppression poured forth, and struck dumb by grief, the shell was left to daydream. Alone, in his dreams came the apparition of Pearl, wonderful, still…
As the pearl was being extracted the oyster remained helpless, staring, through which the sweetness of pity and bitterness of grief poured out over his own being. Love did touch her soul but her body was subjected to the desires of others, and a fate at the hands of people ruled by matter and struck dumb by greed. The sun was disappearing at twilight as though it were weary of the cares of men, loathing their oppression.
The evening began to weave a delicate veil from the threads of darkness and stillness, and instead of the song "Tumi amar shokal belar shuur"; the shell was burdened with cries of grief, not caring for melodies. Thoughts kept on haunting him… 'Will the silence of the night stifle the depths of my heart's song to greet the morn? My pearl has gone to the city where the poisonous breath of men will ride upon her pristine body and cling! '
Meanwhile, a nostalgic pearl recalled:
'I was uprooted from the ancient tree of my soul. So I cut off the memory of a thousand springs and a thousand autumns, planting my soul once again in another place far distant from the paths of the past. Often wearying of the praises showered on me by people, I wished to return to the harbour of the seabed where I was born, drowning in its infinity. Life has become for me a sea of solitude and isolation. I am now thirsty unto death, put in a cage fashioned from gold and jewels, but empty of water'.
Grief however, sometimes is mute, though its eyes scintillate like the stars.
Thus pass nights while we remain heedless of others' sorrows.
Ages ago, the day greeted them, but they were frightened of both day and night. Night fell and slumber draped its mantle over the face of the earth. The sea was awake and in its wakefulness was a heart throbbing inside a shell, sorcery pervading the seabed.
'Read our story, but have no pity, for pity is shown to the weak and we are ever strong in our agonized love. Only reflection remains on how hope was transformed into despair, joy into sorrow, ease into torment… All that is left is the sea wrapped in a shroud of mist'
When the pearl was being fitted it cried out for the last time: '
I was smitten with the love of my dear shell, my soul melting with love was lonely. It was a mist desiring to be transformed into teardrops, in my beloved's bosom. But, alas, unable!'
Meanwhile, the oyster was breathing his last, singing:
'Leave me all of you, for my soul is drunk with love / leave me to drown in the arms of slumber/ for my eyelids have wearied of this wakefulness/ blow on… reed flutes and weave from their sweet melodies a shroud about my heart which is hastening toward a standstill...'
Mohsena Reza Shopna --- poet and social activist --- is a contributor to the Daily Star
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