The Master and the Cloth 

Near the top of the mountain, I looked down. My two companions and the local guide were waiting next to the black car in which we had crossed three hills and four valleys. I could see them—they looked like mere specks—but they could not see me because of the mighty rocks and foliage around me.

I realized that, for some reason, I had to climb this mountain alone; they could not accompany me. I tried to think of the reason and could not remember, but it did not matter. I was surprised, though, that I had climbed so high.

As I turned my head to move forward, I saw a village. It had not been there a moment ago. I wondered, trying to justify its presence, if perhaps it had been hidden in the mountainside and could not be seen by anyone coming up the hill. It looked like a primitive village that had been frozen in time.

Near the edge of the village I saw a bearded man coming toward me. With him was a donkey loaded with firewood. He passed me on the narrow road without looking at me. I nodded, but he did not pay any attention. His attire caught my eye. He was dressed in several layers of warm clothes, yet he was barefoot.

I had the feeling that the man said something to me, although I did not hear any sound or see his lips move. I looked back to see him disappear around a bend. I had a funny sensation that the donkey was smiling at me, even though I was looking at his rear end. I was sure that I had also heard the wood greet me. Then I realized, “Ah, I am in the Enchanted Land.”

I entered the village through what appeared to be the marketplace. It consisted of a narrow road with shops on both sides. It was a small market, and in a few moments I had walked to its end. There were some dwelling places, but they blended so well into the hillside that they were difficult to see. On the side of the hill was a house from which a little girl watched me. From her vantage point, she could see my every movement. I waved at her, but she did not respond.

I went back to the market. I observed that there was only one shop for each kind of merchandise or service. There was only one grocery store, one barber shop, one potter, and so forth. The shops were relatively well-stocked with goods, but there were no customers. Yet, the shopkeepers were engrossed in some kind of work.

The colorful display of the fabric store caught my attention—the materials were absolutely out of this world. It was obvious that the shopkeeper had not arranged the colors intentionally, but the result was striking.

I felt as if I were being drawn into the colors, as if I were being sucked into the display. I found my attention focused on one piece of cloth. It was perhaps the most intricate design and best-woven piece of material in the whole shop. Yet, there was a layer of dust on the cloth as if it had lain there untouched for ages. I wondered why such a beautiful cloth had not found a buyer. This should have been the first piece of cloth to be sold. Why did it remain on the shelf?

As I wondered, the piece of cloth spoke to me. Somehow I was not surprised. After all, this was an Enchanted Land. The cloth told me the following story.

*****

Many years ago, the people of the realm were preparing for the coronation of a young king. Special fabric was ordered for the coronation gown. As the weaver wove the cloth, he sang this song:

Oh, you common piece of cotton,

How lucky you are!

For you are the one who shall make

The mightiest of the land look even mightier.

For you shall adorn the most adorable.

For you will touch the skin of the one who cannot be touched by any other.

Oh, you common piece of cotton,

How lucky you are!

For you bring me the honor of touching you.

The weaver would sing this song with great devotion. The whole town knew when he was weaving the cloth, and they would rejoice. People stopped by each day to see the progress of the cloth. So, the cloth knew all too well what its destiny was to be.

Then, one day when the weaving was finished, an old man came to buy the cloth that was meant for the king. But the cloth would have none of that. She protested with all her might.

“But, I am the tailor!” explained the old man.

“Go away, old man!” the fabric shouted. “I know your ways. You will cut me into pieces. I am too important to be cut up. Do you realize who I was made for? Only he can touch me.”

Reluctantly, the old tailor bought another piece of cloth and left. This piece of cloth was nothing compared to the first one, but he made do. 

Day after day, the beautiful cloth waited for the king. But he never came.

On the day of the coronation the king paraded through the streets dressed in his royal gown. The beautiful cloth was shocked to see that the other piece of cloth had been made into the king’s gown. “What an outrage!” she shouted. “That was my destiny—mine and mine alone. How could this have happened?”

*****

As the cloth was telling me this story, I saw an old man pass by. His body was hunched over with age. He wore thick, bifocal lenses on wire frames. The skin on his hands was shriveled. Yet, he carried himself with great dignity and radiated an aura of love.

I was not quite sure whether I was really seeing the old man or seeing the memory of the person. It was as if he was made of a fine mist. The street was now filled with fog. I followed the man. He was aware that I was following him, but he pretended not to notice. 

The old man walked a short distance, and then went through a big gate which led into a courtyard. On the other side of the courtyard was a much smaller door and he had to bend low to get through. I followed him. On the other side, the old man was ushered into the presence of the king. I could only get a glimpse of the king, as my view was partially blocked by the tailor. The king did not seem to notice me.

The king was an old man himself, with a long gray beard. He invited the tailor to sit in a place of honor. It was obvious that the king had great respect for the man. This was the man who made the king’s clothes and made him look good. The king called him “Master Sahib.”

I went back to the fabric shop. As I gazed at the beautiful cloth, she whispered sadly, “I was the one who did not recognize the Master when he came.”