Mini left her play, and ran to the window, crying: 'A Cabuliwalla! A Cabuliwallah!' Sure enough in the street below was a Cabuliwallah, passing slowly along. He wore the loose soiled clothing of his people, with a tall turban; there was a bag on his back, and he carried boxes of grapes in his hand.
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A few mornings later, however, as I was leaving the house, I was startled to find Mini, seated on a bench near the door, laughing and talking, with the great Cabuliwallah at her feet. In all her life, it appeared, my small daughter had never found so patient a listener, save her father. And already the corner of her little sari was stuffed with almonds and raisins, the gift of her visitor. "Why did you give her those?" I said, and taking out an eight-anna piece, I handed it to him. The man accepted the money without demur, and put it into his pocket.
Alas, on my return, an hour later, I found the unfortunate coin had made twice its own worth of trouble! For the Cabuliwallah had given it to Mini, and her mother, catching sight of the bright round object, had pounced on the child with: "Where did you get that eight-anna piece?"
----These lines from Rabindranath Tagore's "The Cabuliwallah" makes every reader (at least me) feel that the "Cabulliwallahs" are people who are soft golden hearted with lots for love and no materialistic greed.
But with the changing times and number of wars waged and the number of dead, number of people abducted and never returned home....this beautiful innocence of Cabulliwallah is fading.
Kabul --the fantasy land of great writers and film makers has now turned into a land of nightmares and dead.
Too greedy is man to understand the value of that great fantasy land of kings and wealth. The stories of Kabul right from the pen of Tagore to the silver screen of movies has always fascinated the audience.
But the stories are rewritten by the tips of guns and missiles, with the kings replaced by the terrorists and the golden wealth replaced with ammunition.
Men, being the destroyer, can also be the re-creater of that land of sand dunes where the fairy tales for the newly born are cooked
.........................................
.........................................................
.....................................................................
A few mornings later, however, as I was leaving the house, I was startled to find Mini, seated on a bench near the door, laughing and talking, with the great Cabuliwallah at her feet. In all her life, it appeared, my small daughter had never found so patient a listener, save her father. And already the corner of her little sari was stuffed with almonds and raisins, the gift of her visitor. "Why did you give her those?" I said, and taking out an eight-anna piece, I handed it to him. The man accepted the money without demur, and put it into his pocket.
Alas, on my return, an hour later, I found the unfortunate coin had made twice its own worth of trouble! For the Cabuliwallah had given it to Mini, and her mother, catching sight of the bright round object, had pounced on the child with: "Where did you get that eight-anna piece?"
----These lines from Rabindranath Tagore's "The Cabuliwallah" makes every reader (at least me) feel that the "Cabulliwallahs" are people who are soft golden hearted with lots for love and no materialistic greed.
But with the changing times and number of wars waged and the number of dead, number of people abducted and never returned home....this beautiful innocence of Cabulliwallah is fading.
Kabul --the fantasy land of great writers and film makers has now turned into a land of nightmares and dead.
Too greedy is man to understand the value of that great fantasy land of kings and wealth. The stories of Kabul right from the pen of Tagore to the silver screen of movies has always fascinated the audience.
But the stories are rewritten by the tips of guns and missiles, with the kings replaced by the terrorists and the golden wealth replaced with ammunition.
Men, being the destroyer, can also be the re-creater of that land of sand dunes where the fairy tales for the newly born are cooked
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