An Ancient Book Finds its Voice
Once upon a
time in town perched high up on the mountains there lived an illustrious Turk, Mustafa
Curuk Ali, with a fair amount of holdings and a rather a large size family.
Mustafa was tall and robust and had clear blue eyes that were most discerning.
He had a beautiful wife called Hatice and together they had six children, three
boys named Ali, Nofel, Yuksel and three girls named Ayten, Jale and Ayse. Mustafa had vast fields that needed tending
and he always hired seasonal help to till the soil, sow the seeds and later
still, do the harvesting. On the side he ran a small grocery store (shop) where
his prices were fair and many were allowed to receive necessary supplies even without
promissory notes, based on the honor system, if they happened to be short of
funds that week or month.
Mustafa
Curuk Ali was an honest and upright man that cared for many things and was well
respected in the community. An eccentric
of sorts, he did have a wild side to him as well and if warranted, he was not
above breaking stringent rules he felt were unjust. His grocery store in time became the
gathering place for the idle locals. For he never turned away company fair and
foe, and all without exception felt welcome to simply gather around, specially on
hot summer afternoons, to drink cool refreshments or partake of the local coffee while they
conversed, caught up in the newest hearsay or local gossip.
This happens
to be the backdrop to our true story.
In this
small town called (Kasaba, Baf) Paphos, there was a historic chapel where
locals often congregated to pray and hear sermons and seek advice from the
spiritual leader. The benevolent Hoca Ali Dana (Turkish term for religious leader)
was a tolerant, compassionate old man who at times went far beyond his allocated
duties. For instance, he would still take time to gather food and distribute it
to the needy outside of his congregation. He went beyond the far reaches of
town to outlying villages and visited isolated abodes, to lend a hand and to
help alleviate any suffering from natural disasters.
Once a week Efendi
Ali Dana would give a sermon to the local congregates. He was not particularly
good at his sermons and contented himself if he did not put the gathered few
into deep slumber.
In this holy
place there happened to be a very old book, displayed in a nook in a far
corner. The old relic rested there, unread and long forgotten.
One day, Mustafa
Curuk Ali took notice of this book and after glimpsing inside and liking what
he read; he decided to borrow it for a time to peruse the contents at his own leisure.
You see Mustafa
had one other advantage over the locals, he was somewhat of a learned man and besides
being literate, he knew several languages, a skill he had acquired when during his
youth he served in the Foreign Legion in Europe. Obviously he was a more
interesting individual than the norm; yet he’d chosen to live a quiet life in
this town on this Mediterranean island called, Cyprus. Mustafa Curuk Ali able to read and translate
various old languages enjoyed reading the contents of this book.
The spiritual
leader Ali Dana eventually noticed the absence of this ancient book but chose
not to raise an alarm that might accidentally offend someone innocent. He had
faith that things would eventually come to light and that the book would
eventually turn up where it’s supposed to be.
Over time
several anecdotes began to circulate in the town and it reached the ears of the
spiritual leader. These were moral stories he knew quite well and suspected their
true origin came from the missing book. Still he bided his time till he was ascertained
of the location from which these stories spread.
Then one fine day he paid a visit to Mustafa
Curuk Ali and, when they were alone, he, not mincing any words, abruptly
queried him.
“Of course I
took it” Mustafa openly admitted, without hesitation or the least sign of remorse.
“It was resting there idle in the far corner gathering dust and doing no good
to anyone.”
The
spiritual leader ( Hoca) Ali Dana nodded
thoughtfully as twinge of guilt tugged at his heartstrings. True enough, this
ancient relic had been long forgotten in that poorly lit sector (nook). He’d been too bogged down with other
responsibilities to give even a single thought to the contents of the ancient
book. Meanwhile it was as if the antiquity
had found its voice. As he considered
how far and wide the stories had spread now, he could not help but feel elated
and most grateful. For it had enriched
and motivated many good people and affected the simple folk as much as any
weekly sermon could. After all, everyone loved a good story (tale) and there
was no one better than Mustafa Curuk to tell it, for he turned even the most mundane
facts into thrilling and delightful narrations.
The
spiritual leader Ali Dana, at long last smiled, and uttered words of his
blessings. Yes, he left the book with Mustafa
Curuk Ali to continue on with his good mission of spreading the words of wisdom
wrapped in tales from the pages of that ancient tome.
Long time
later, when the contents were widely known and well absorbed by many good folk,
the book was returned, in the same condition, back to its old place where it
could then once more be asleep.
Fin