The place was the Valley of Yukon and it s ancient backward town Dawson, which had been inhabited by some roamers looking for gold. I had to enter Alaska by traveling on the autumn stricken road “Top of the World Road”. I was in very deep sleep in my wooden cabin when, late at night somebody gave a knock. Outside in the dark sky of Yukon the drama of the northern colored lights was going on. Would you like to see it? Only a few persons can have the opportunity. Would you like to see them?
And there, I, standing all alone in a dark street, was looking at that magical sky in surprise on which the different colored lights were playing. The waves of unseen colors, the waving snakes, the rustling snakes were making the eyes stunned. Their strange spring colors fell on me and I was colored in the same colors….Still I was busy looking at the miracle of Alaska, of the last rays descending on me but in spite of my best efforts, I was unable to describe those colors because all those colors were unseen, unheard of and unmentioned then how could a person see them, hear them and write about them. So, I wrote them only as unseen, unheard and unsaid as I was aware only of the known and those crossed the boundaries of the unknown.
Similar is the case with the magical colors of the writing of Baba Mohammad Yahya Khan which humble me down to describe, because their faces, seasons and scenes also belong to the boundaries of the unknown and to describe them still there exists no dictionary. When I am not aware of the unknown color, then how and in what words can I narrate their characteristics? The unknown deer in the unknown jungle of Baba Mohammad Yahya Khan are his own creations so what name can I give them. Just like Michael Angelo he has not to ask his created statue Moses to speak, and tell the people that he is the perfect Moses rather his created face, scenes and the idols of his seasons begin to speak themselves. When he sifts even the barren sand into the sieve of his creation, the lumps of gold begin to glitter in the sifted sand. His prose is intoxicating and killing. There is the risk to life when somebody tries to go down into his created world, because he pulls out the soul from the bottom.
He is a strange juggler, the Samiri like magician and the dissembling acrobat. It is not necessary that his stories and fables come up to the mark of reality as it is said, “These jugglers deceive you openly”. So within a person like me, the young ones of the snake rustle because we are the people of the known and do not have the awareness of the unknown. And, when we ask from Baba Mohammad Yahya Khan as from Maulana Rumi (rh) that what is this all? He replies in the tone of Shams Tabrez, that this is of which you have no awareness.
It is settled that one of us two is unaware…and who is that? It remains unknown.
This all the combination of dust, the horse of dust
The dust allows the dust to run away, and all this noise is of dust.
- Author: Baba Muhammad Yahya Khan.
- Publisher: Sang-e-Meel.
- Publishing Date: 2018.
- Pages: 808.
