The Four Wanderers

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The Four Wanderers

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1.

It was early morning; I was at the edge of a cliff looking at the darkening

clouds. There were momentary lapses when the sky went absolute white, and the

darkness around me was suddenly illuminated.

I saw the light bounce of my bike and onto the greenery behind me. I inhaled

the smoke of my cigarette. As I made smoke rings, I felt relieved. For a moment or

two all my troubles were far behind me. I felt no pain, felt no worries and above all I

felt nothing and cared for no one.

Another lightning brightened up the sky. It is pretty weird that in the past

people avoided the lightning as they felt that it was the wrath of god and these days,

people still fear it but now it is just one big bolt of electricity.

I threw the cigarette butt off the cliff and into the abyss down below. I kept onlooking at the faint red glow of the cigarette until it joined hundreds of its

predecessors. The cigarette butts down below were all symbols of my solitude and my

quest of self discovery. These were the moment I chose to stand alone at the very

edge of the cliff; silently hoping that by some misfortune I would lose my footing and

I too would be rolling down the cliff like the cigarette butts.

It was also the quest of my self discovery, as I would look deep into my soul

and see what I was missing. Each day I would wake up and wonder where I am. I

never knew what I would do with my time that day. Most of the times, I would take

my bike and come to the cliff.

I took out another cigarette as the thunder echoed in my ears. I took out the

lighter and tried to light the cigarette but it was out of gas. I swore silently and

pocketed both the lighter and the cigarette. I wore the helmet and got on my bike. I

raced down the path, and reached the town sooner than I had expected.

In the town, I went to a shop and refilled my lighter. I paid the clerk and

walked out. Outside his shop I stood for a while. I reached into my pocket and took

out my cigarette and lit it.

As the smoke created its usual halo above my head I looked onto the passing

vehicles. The street was busy as normal. People were scurrying like ants foraging for

food. They all sought for their purpose as I was seeking mine. I passed the street and

walked into a diner.

It was already twelve when I ordered my breakfast. The waitress was not a bitsurprised. I always had a late breakfast as I woke up late. That day I was waiting for

my friends to come. I had an omelet and a cheese burger.

As I waited, smoking another cigarette, the waitress commented that I was

smoking a lot. I just smiled at her and said that I was having a rough week. She smiled

her pitiful smile back at me and shrugged.

I knew the pity she felt for me, but I could not have cared less. She was pretty

and all that but she would have never gone out with me. They say that love is

complicated and stuff; but for me it is not. If there is no connection or a spark as they

say, then love is just not worth fighting for. We were good friends and that was all we

would ever be.

By my third cigarette and a second bottle of coke, the first of my four friendsentered the diner. I changed my seat from the counter to a table and we chatted for a



Arthur Ashish van Doesburg

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while. We talked about the new things going on in our lives. Nothing new or

spectacular had happened in my life from the last time we met. So it was him who

was doing most of the talking. He was telling me about a girl he had met online the

other night, when two of my other friends walked in.

I saw them first but said nothing. I always found it rude to interrupt a talking

man. The two of them saw us and came to our table. They pulled up some chairs and Ioffered them some smoke while we waited for the fifth.

Within a few moments, the door to the diner opened and our last friend

entered. We waved our hands to draw his attention. He saw us and waved back. He

made his way through the tables and chairs and sat beside us. We all exchanged words

of welcome. We ordered bottles of beer and a packet of cigarettes. We drank and

smoked while we all told each other of our days passing by.

From the diner we walked to a nearby pool house and spent our afternoon

there. We had a great game. Soon it became time for us to leave and we all walked in

different directions. I got on my bike and went to my apartment. I had some work left

to do on the computer but I thought I would be better off doing it in the morning. I

opened the television set and watched a movie that was coming.It was the usual action movie where the main character’s wife and children

were killed in the beginning and the people who did it paid for their deeds in the end.

As if life was that simple. What goes around does not necessarily comes around. If

one is clever enough one might even outsmart death itself. But then again, who are we

kidding.

If we believe in destiny then we do know that everything is already laid down

for us. If we do not and believe that we choose our own destiny then we know that in

some point of our lives we choose to die whether we like it or not. Even if we do not

believe in any of this gibberish we also know that our life is in a constant flux and we

do not know what will happen in the next moment or two. No matter what, death is

inevitable and not even God or the Devil himself would save us from it.

Reading the credits of the movie, I saw my name appear and disappear as it

scrolled up the TV screen. I do not imply that I was a part of the movie but that

another guy in the TV land shared my name. I always got a weird sensation seeing my

name in print. I guess it was due to my will of becoming a writer. I wanted to do

something with my life. I wanted to write something sensational that someday I would

be recognized by billions by my name. I guess that looking at the name on the TV

screen was telling me that I was still far from that desire.

I switched off the television and went to the fridge. I took out a coke and

opened it. I saved the bottle cap in a drawer beneath the counter. I guess that I wanted

to remind myself that I was drinking too much coke. But the method was not working.I took the bottle of coke with me to my desk. I put the bottle on the floor. I took out

my notepad and a pen. I was writing a short story but it was not good. I myself was

not pleased with what I had written.

I had crossed out paragraphs one after another. Half of the notepad was useless

and I had only written to the middle of the notepad. I read back the pages that I had

discarded. It was crap. I tore out the pages and rolled each individual page into a small

ball. I began shooting the paper balls in my dustbin on the other end of the room. The

crunched up balls all went in one after the other. I smiled at my skill and realized that

it was not the particular skill I was seeking for at the moment.

I took the pen in my hand and began to write. However, no words came out. I

did not know how to begin. My hand quivered and grew sweaty. I did not know whatwould please my unknown audience. I did not know what they sought and what they



The Four Wanderers

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liked. Maybe the rubbish I had written was what they wanted but even a fool would

be able to tell that it was not.

I lit a cigarette and paced around the room. I flicked the ash out of the window

and watched the white speck fall down. It was already half an hour and I did not know

what to write. I thought of life, love, pain and death but all these were tired topics.

Everybody knew what there was to know about it. And those who did not knowwould not need me to tell them all about it. I had nothing new to say that would make

people actually listen to me. I was already a weary old writer even before I had

actually written.

I just closed the book and let it lie there on the desk. I switched of the lights

and sat in the darkness for a while. The occasional headlights sent light flying from

one end of the room to the other. I was looking out of the window at the sky but it was

a cloudy night. I saw no stars or the moon. I just saw emptiness.

♦ ♦ ♦

2.I woke up the next morning a bit earlier than I normally would. I sat behind

my computer and did my work. After I finished my work I went to the diner and had

my breakfast. This time the waitress was surprised at my arrival. She said that I

should have told her that I would be early. I inquired as to why it was so, even

knowing the answer before she said it. She said that she would have dressed better. I

smiled at her joke and said that she was beautiful no matter what she wore.

She smiled and walked back to the counter to collect her tray. I looked at her

for a while. I followed her with my eyes around the diner. After she completed her

rounds she came up to me and asked if I wanted something else. I said that there was

something I wanted but it was not food. She smiled thinking that I was talking abouther.

I wanted to stop her and tell her that it was not her I was searching but it was

inspiration, nevertheless I played her game. She told me that her shift would finish

around two in the afternoon and that I was to wait for her outside. I nodded and

smiled. I finished my breakfast and asked for the bill. The waitress came and I left a

small note telling her not to be too late. She said that it would be her doing all the

waiting. I said that it would not be so. She shrugged and walked away.

I walked back to my apartment. Again I gave another try at my notebook. This

time I was only able to come up with a title. Although I had no idea what I was going

to write about, the title just sounded so philosophical and inspiring. For me, it had a

certain depth and a historical charm but I felt that it would not seem the same on print.I took a pen and a blank A4 paper out. I wrote the title on the top of the page.

Somehow it just seemed majestic. I blew lightly on the ink so that it would dry

quickly. I looked at my watch and it was already an hour that I had spent trying to

figure out of what my article was to become.

Looking at the title I felt a sense of accomplishment. I had at least done

something in that hour. I felt a little relieved as I had come up with a title. The next

step was simply to build up something on the basis of that title. I know that it would

not make a spectacular article as it was not written with a purpose or a goal. It was

written out of sheer desperation and compulsion. It would be an article written for the

sake of being written.

Nevertheless, it would become an article; an article that I would become proudof. It would be my first piece of art in the literary world. Maybe I would be




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recognized for the potential in me; maybe I would not be, but what had I got to lose?

Renowned writers will have a tough time writing a new material as they will have to

fulfill certain expectations but not me. I would be an amateur in the eyes of the

audience. I would be new blood to them. They would expect nothing from me and if I

would be able to satisfy them, even a little, my job would be done. I could walk down

the street and hopefully hear a short compliment uttered by an unknown face. I couldonly imagine the glory I would feel when I would be recognized for my work and

above all be praised for it.

To the readers, I knew that it would be just any other article for the mind and

the eyes. To fellow writers it would be a bunch of words that meant nothing, as it had

no purpose. To the collectors of the literary archives it would be scrap. However, it

would become a piece of art.

It may not be a masterpiece. It would be no Vinci’s ‘Mona Lisa’ or Picasso’s

‘Three Musicians’ or Beethoven’s ‘9th

Symphony’ let alone be Gogh’s ‘Naked Maja’

hanging in my room but it would be the tale of four wanderers. It would be a tale of

four great intellectuals in their thirst of inspiration. They would have traveled great

distances in search of an answer to a question that had not yet been asked.I lit another cigarette as I thought of the glory that was yet to be achieved. I

smiled as the clouds began to darken and as the wind howled silently against my

windows signifying the arrival of rain. I smiled because the afternoon to come would

mark a significant change in my life. I walked to the window and threw the butt

carelessly onto the street down below. With each turn of the cigarette butt in the air I

felt a growing happiness in me. The time had come. I knew of what I was going to

write.

I closed the window and changed my clothes. I had a date to attend to do. I did

not shave nor brought any flowers with me. She was not important to me yet, I had

only brought myself; and that was enough. In fact, it was more than enough, and she

knew it.

I do not imply that she meant nothing to me; she was a fellow human being

and companion. I thought that I would enjoy her company and she knew that she

would enjoy mine. I waited for her for five minutes.

♦ ♦ ♦

3.

She came out of the diner. I threw my cigarette and started my bike. She got

behind me and I told her that she was late. She blushed and I reassured her that it was

nothing. I drove her to her apartment. It was on the other end of town from where Ilived. She went in and asked if I wanted to wait outside or inside. I told her that it was

about to rain so I might as well keep myself dry.

In her apartment she offered a drink. I had the drink in one hand, a cigarette in

the other and I looked out of the window. I looked onto the sea. The boats were

preparing for the oncoming storm. I asked her if she had any rain clothes. She asked

me if I was crazy to go out in the storm.

I explained that it was not for me but for her. She popped her head out of her

room and looked at me. I smiled. She said that she should have one. She changed

again and within a few moments we were back on the street. I skillfully drove through

the streets towards the sea. I wanted to take her to the cliff. It was not because I

wanted to share the spot with her, but I wanted to be there, just not alone.



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A part of me was telling me that I was exploiting her presence but deep down

inside, I knew that she would enjoy the moment there. If she was happy then how

could it be that I was exploiting her? It just did not make sense. I just wanted to think

for a while. I wanted to get drenched and ask myself of what I was going to do next.

All my life I never thought of what I would be doing next. I just ran on impulse. It

was an impulse that made me want to become a writer. One day I was reading a book and by the end of it I realized that it was the thing I wanted to do.

We reached the cliff within a few hours. The rain had not arrived yet. The

waves crashed against the rocks. The sky was dark. Thunder erupted through the air.

She shuddered at the cold wind. I lit a cigarette and asked her if she wanted one. She

told me that she did not usually smoke, but she also did not come to the sea on a rainy

day. She took the cigarette and lit it.

For a few moments we did not say a word. We watched a lightning strike into

the ocean in the distance. We heard the thunder a few seconds later. For a brief

moment I saw her face brighten up. For that particular moment, I felt that she was

beautiful. I knew that she was pretty but I had not thought that she was beautiful. She

smiled when she saw that I was looking at her. I smiled back.She asked why I had brought her there. I said nothing for a moment. She asked

again, and I said that I had brought her there just so that she would ask that question.

She looked at me disbelievingly. I told her that it was true. I also told her that if she

did not believe me she could put her hand in my right pocket of my pant and read the

piece of paper that was there.

She gave me a suspicious glance and moved closer to me. Her thin fingers slid

across my jeans and found their way into my pocket. She acquired the piece of paper

and took it out. I saw another smile form as she read the note. I had written the note in

my apartment that afternoon. It read that I knew she would ask that question. She

pocketed the note and looked away towards the sea. I could see her face flushing.

I knew that it was dirty trick but I wanted to show that I knew of what was

going to happen. I wanted to prove that I was sophisticated in a different sort of way. I

heard that girls liked to be known. It shows that we men understand them. Showing

that we understand them means that we care. In the harsh time when they are not

feeling safe, nothing is more priceless than being cared for.

Even though the note was full of deceit in every letter, she liked it. Apparently

I knew what she wanted to hear. I did not care that it was not what she needed to hear,

however there was time for that later. I complimented her hair and she smiled. I

complimented that too. Her smile grew bigger and her cheeks turned redder.

I was about to compliment her cheeks but I felt the first drops of rain. I looked

up and saw a few more rain drops. I told her that it was going to rain in exactly threeseconds and I began my count. I guess that my count got compensated for my deceit.

It rained in five seconds.

I told her that we should get out of there. She did not argue with me. We

sprinted to my bike. I waited for her to get on. As soon as she was on I drove the bike

as fast as I could, given the circumstances. I took her to the nearest restaurant from the

beach. I dropped her of at the entrance and went to park my bike. She was waiting for

me at the entrance. She was trying to dry her hair. I took her arm and we went in. She

said that she had to go to the ladies room. I escorted her to the door. I went in the

men’s room and splashed some water on my face. I combed my hair with my fingers.

I was wet but not that wet. I kept my hands below the air dryer and waited. I

took out my shirt and let it dry for a while. During this ritual an elderly man came in. I




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told him that I just came from the outside, without waiting for him to ask. My answer

seemed to satisfy him as he did the job he had come to do.

Once I was all dry and well, I went outside and waited for her to come. She

was more radiant than before. She had dried her hair and applied some lipstick. It is

amazing at what a woman can do to her body. I offered her my hand and I led her to a

small table at the back. I ordered something for the both of us and we ate in silence.Both of us were too hungry to say anything. Once we finished, only then did we begin

to talk. The rain was still pouring down.

While we were waiting for the rain to die down, we talked about ourselves. I

got to know many things about her that I soon forgot. I told her about my childhood,

she seemed to be fascinated about everything I said. That may sound like an

exaggeration but it is not so. People do find me as a unique character; hence what I

say is different from that of what others think. This difference enables me to be heard

with a more careful ear.

After my glorious tale of my childhood, I told her of my desire of writing and

of my problem with my current article. Although she was neither a literary reader nor

a fellow writer, she was enthralled by my experience. Had I said something that shewas already familiar with, she may not have been as much as entertained.

The human mind is a born explorer. It has always been curios of the things

around it. It wants to know what, when, how and why. It cannot stand not knowing a

certain phenomenon that it has observed. When we hear a whisper being uttered but

we do not know what was uttered, it is natural to seek what was said. It was similar

between me and her. She had seen me and had tasted a little of my words and

knowledge. She was sitting opposite me because she wanted to know more.

Love did not bring us together. It was the thirst for difference that brought her

there. I did not love her and neither did she. We were just two wanderers seeking of

what there is beneath the other person’s skin. The only difference between us was that

she would actually remember.

She asked me about the title of my unwritten article. I told her the title. Her

reaction was what I had sought when I had first written it. She was enthralled by the

blatant nature of the words. For her, it sounded so unlike me. I told her that I was the

philosophical type. She nodded her head and said that it explained the cliff.

She then inquired as to what I would write about. Even though I had already

told her about the problems I faced she inquired again. I told her that I would write in

a way in which the story would unfold by its will. I told her that I would not think

about what I was writing. I would let the story guide me.

I said that I was a writer, a messenger. I would write what would come to my

mind. I termed this as freestyle writing. There was no plot yet, there was no mysteryand above all there was no purpose. The words would just come.

She did not seem to see the glory and the artistic nature of this. She frowned

and said that it seemed absurd that a writer would write in such a manner. I explained

it to her that as it would be my maiden article I wanted to experiment. I wanted the

article to be mine. I did not want it to be tainted with an after thought nor a critical

eye. I wanted to see what my writing style would be. I wanted to develop my style but

with subtlety. I wanted to be able to seduce my audience without them knowing that

they were seduced. That is the glory of a writer. However, it is not the same with that

of an Author. The author has the power to influence millions, whereas the writer can

only influence a smaller share of that million.

She did not agree with me. She said that it was not art but mere trickery. Thereis no glory in what I did. I smiled at her ignorance and looked outside the window.



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The rain had died down. I pointed the fact out and told her that I had something to

show her at my place. She said that she had to be back at the diner before six. It was

already five. I said that she could come after her shift, or even the next day. She said

that she would like it.

I dropped her off at the diner. She smiled and kissed me before she went in. I

knew that the afternoon had been special to her. Although there was no cupid’s arrow,I knew that we had bonded. I had a lot to offer her, and she had yet to take it. She had

a lot to learn from me. Any relationship is built on the foundation of learning. The

only reason that she agreed to meet again later in the week was that she could learn

something new from and about me.

It may sound crude that I see relationships in these terms, but am I wrong?

One is in a relationship so that he is not alone. We all seek company, it may be in

different forms, but at the end of the day, we want someone by our side. We want to

learn something new.

♦ ♦ ♦

4.

Back at the apartment I was trying to do what I said I would be doing to the

waitress. I was writing. I had a cigarette in one hand, absent mindedly smoking; and a

pen in the other writing. It seemed weird that a person would do something he said

when he had not actually meant it. In the restaurant that afternoon, I had not meant

that I would be writing freestyle, but apparently, my lie turned out to be the truth.

I wrote non-stop for an hour. Then I read what I had written, and somehow I

liked what I had written. Although what I had written was very vague and ambiguous,

it had a meaning. There was a message in what I had written. A purpose was

masterfully disguised with my so called ‘trickery’. I beckoned to the reader with thesame thirst and desire of that of a ‘Siren’, the wicked women of the sea calling upon

sailors. I myself could not stop until I had read it. I guess it was one those writing that

would grip the reader on their chair and finish it.

It had an apt introduction. I had begun the article with a short tale of the

journey of a man. His destination was unknown, and yet he walked the road. He did

not know from where he came and where he was going. His only guide was the road.

He walked day in and day out. He would stop at the villages and rest. Would quench

his lust for knowledge with water and satisfy his wants of glory with food. He

regarded himself as a pilgrim but deep down inside he was a lost man.

He had given up fighting for life and love and all the worldly things. The only

true peace he actually gained was sitting beneath the trees and talking with other men.His pilgrimage was a ruse to meet other people. He did not even know his own name.

For him, he was just a pilgrim. To others he was a traveler, a wanderer.

However, it was one bright sunny day; when he was on his walk he met four

people. They said that they were four wise men traveling on a quest to seek an answer

to a question that had not yet been asked. Intrigued by the cryptic goal, the pilgrim

wondered if he too may join them on this dreadful task of acquiring knowledge.

It was some time before the four wanderers acknowledged him as a fellow

intellectual. On their journey, they talked about the worldly things around them. They

sought answers as to why men killed other fellow men. Different theories and

hypothesis were put forward. Selfishness, greed, lust and above all love were deemed

the cause for these sins. It was until our pilgrim showed that men killed each otherbecause they had to.




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It was in their blood. Only ants and human waged wars against their own

species; Cruel and harsh as it may sound, men killed men because it was all

functional. It brings societies into harmony. Men die each day due to another man’s

doing. If men did not kill men, then who would kill men?

Our pilgrim did get a handful of appraisals for his unique and distinctive

outlook, but was it true? No one questioned his reasoning and thus he was warmlyaccepted as one of them, the highly intellectuals.

The pilgrim soon began to learn the ways of the four wanderers, their

discussion of worldly things were so uncommon to that of the common. Their school

of thought differed from that of the text books and other wise men of countless

villages that the pilgrim had met and befriended. He gradually got to know of their

origins.

All of them grew up in different environments of different continents. Some

grew in hardship while others did not. Some of them were athletic while others were

frail. All of them were so hugely contrasting and yet they were the best of friends.

It was always assumed that people who had many things in common would

become the best of friends but looking at the four wanderers, there was hardlyanything in common except for the fact that they were in each other’s company.

I had written only up to so far. I rested on my bed and looked up at the white

ceiling. I was proud of what I had written. It was good. I felt that it was phenomenal,

not the story line or the plot as they would say it, but the presentation. My writing

style was unique and yet so subtle. I was for sure that I had a way with words. The

dialogues and the conversations between the four wanderers and the pilgrim were

delicate and yet it was spectacular. The depth of their vision and intellectual caliber

was extremely high. And the best part of it all was the way I had actually managed to

portray it.

Even I did not believe that I had written this. When I was reading it for the

second time, I came to conclude that it was indeed my own. There were many places

for me to improve my skills, but I left it as it was. I wanted to show a sense of

progressiveness in my writings. Let the readers find these changes for themselves.

I was happy with myself. I was proud and wanted to dance for a while, but I

had an ounce of self respect left, so I wanted to share of what I had written with

someone, someone who I knew. I tore out the pages from the notebook and placed it

in my pocket. I got out of my apartment and went to the diner. I thought of calling my

friends but it was already late.

The waitress came over to me and told me that it was late and about time to

close, so I should order fast. I told her that I had not come to eat but to meet her. She

was flattered. She went to the counter and exchanged some words with the guy on theother end. Apparently, he was the manager and she was asking if she could leave

early. She came back to me and said that there were a few dishes to clean. I was to

wait for ten minutes. I nodded and went outside.

The night was cold. I lit a cigarette to warm myself. I looked at the streets. It

was more or less empty. Only a few vehicles were running. Late night workers

returning home to their wives. I wished that I would not become one of them. It was

not that I did not like work, I loved to work, it would keep me busy and give a sense

of purpose in my life, but if I was working, that meant that I was not writing, and that

was what I wanted to do.

I looked up at the stars and saw the Orion constellation. Ever since I was a

child, I always wondered what made it so prominent, amongst other constellation, butthe answer was always there. In any scattered sky, when three consecutive stars



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formed a straight line, it would stand out as it was different than that of the usual

scatters. This difference made them unique and prominent. The Belt of Orion was the

first thing that caught my attention in looking at the stars.

I was seeing the stars after a very long time. I had almost forgotten what it was

like to gaze at these heavenly bodies and let my mind wander across time and space. I

thought about my pilgrim, but not for long. I wanted to be spontaneous in my writing.I looked at my watch and fifteen minutes had passed. I lit another cigarette and

continued gazing at the stars.

♦ ♦ ♦

5.

It was twenty minutes later that she came out. The first thing she did was

apologize. I said that it was alright. I did not ask for her excuse, because it did not

matter to me. What was most important was that she had come. I told her to get on my

bike. She jumped on and I drove her to her apartment. Inside she asked me whywanted to meet her.

I opened my jacket and took out the papers from the inside pocket. I passed it

on to her and I asked her to read it. I told her that it was the article I was writing, and I

needed a second opinion before I continued. She was thrilled that I had come to her

for her opinion and that she had become a part of my literary life as well. We both felt

that we were growing closer.

She opened the pages and sat on the bed. I walked up to the window and

opened it. A cold wind collided with my chest. I asked her if she would mind if I

smoked. She gave me the green signal. She was not bothered by it. I lit a cigarette and

looked at her read.

I was not looking at her because I loved her or because I found her beautifulbut I was studying her faces. I had read the article enough times to know what part

came when. I wanted to see her reactions to my writing. I made a mental note of when

her eyebrows furrowed, or when her lips twitched, or when I saw her smile. I wanted

to see what all my readers would go through. I needed to know so that I could plan as

to how I would sway them into my direction. I needed to master this trickery.

She took some time before she finished. I knew her reactions before she told

me. I would have written that too on a piece of paper, but I knew that I would be over

doing it. She told me that she liked it. Although she was not an avid reader, she

confessed, she did like what she had read. She said that the article had broadened her

sense of perception. There were many things that she had already known, just not

realized. The article was more of an eye opener.She did agree upon the fact that I was a good writer. She also told me that

there were some areas in which I could have written better. This was what I was

waiting for. I needed to know where I could improve my content. I took out a pen and

sat beside her. I asked where and she pointed it out.

I worked together with her; we discussed what would be the better word and

the appropriate angle. By the end of the night, the article I had written so far had

finally taken a concrete shape. It was three in the morning when I left her apartment.

I went to my apartment and read the end product we had come up with. Under

the bedside lamp, I read the words carefully; I did not want to miss any mistakes. I

slept at four that morning. I was extremely tired and woke up late in the afternoon.

The repeated knocks on the door woke me up. I got up slowly and opened the door.




10

She walked in my apartment with two boxes of Chinese food in her hands. She

said that she assumed that I would be still sleeping as I had not come to the diner in

my usual time, and she had brought the food because she knew that I would be hungry

when I woke.

I took out some plates and two bottles of coke. We ate in silence. For some

reason her presence was awkward. From her face I could see that she felt thedifference in the atmosphere. The night before, when the both of us were working on

the article, we had a sense of togetherness. It was like two high school students doing

homework. However that morning, it just felt as if something was amiss.

When we finished eating, she said that she had to go. I asked her to stay. We

could write the article together. She said that it was my article and that I should write

it alone, and on top of that she had to go to work. I knew that it was not so. I did not

stop her, if she did not want to be there, so be it.

I walked her to the diner and we departed. I smoked a cigarette as I saw her

enter. Before she entered, she turned and waved. I waved back. It was now official;

she had now become my girlfriend. Even though we were at a distance I saw her lips

form a smile.I walked back to my apartment. I took out another bottle of coke and was

drinking it when one of friends called me. He told me to come over to the pool house,

to spend the afternoon. Even though I wanted to write and finish my article, I said that

I would be there in fifteen minutes. I got my wallet and the keys to my bike.

I drove to the pool house and joined my friends. We played for a couple of

hours and then we went to a pub on the opposite side of the street. We drank some

beer and talked. I told them about the article I was writing. They all seemed eager to

read it. I told them that whenever they had the time they should come over to my

place and read it.

One of my friends said that he had seen me with the waitress the other night

and asked me what that was all about. Generally I would have played it innocent and

would have asked him what he was talking about, but I knew that it would not work

and prove my innocence. Therefore, I told them that she was helping me with my

article. From the looks from their face I knew that they doubted me but they did not

question me any further. After that we talked about an upcoming sequel of a movie.

Most of our conversations were like that. Before we could actually conclude a

certain topic or a discussion, the subject would change. The new subject would then

again be changed before its completion. So most of the times, we were talking about

the same things over and over again.

In due course of time, my article again became the topic of the conversation.

All of them liked my writings, and were actually intrigued of what I had written.Since, they were in the dark of my new article; they all begged me to tell them what it

was all about.

I am a storywriter not a storyteller, so I could not actually convey the true

content of my writing as well as I had imagined. So, I only ended up telling them that

there was a pilgrim and four wanderers, who walked around in circles in thirst of

inspiration. Apparently, it was not exactly what I had written.

Since there were five central characters, and we were a group of five, it would

almost be natural to assume that I was writing about our circle, but it actually was not.

The pilgrim was not a portrait of me and neither did the four wanderers depict any of

my friends. It just so happened to be that way.

This may have looked like a big coincidence but I do not believe incoincidences. It was just that I wanted to show that the four wanderers had come from



The Four Wanderers

11

four different directions and that the pilgrim was the one telling their tales. It was his

search. Not that of the four wanderers.

I did not bother to explain all of this to them as I knew they would find it out

on their own. I was about to ask them a question, when the topic of our conversation

changed again. I just took a sip of my beer and smiled at myself. These were few of

the reasons as to why I liked the company.

♦ ♦ ♦

6.

It was late evening when I came back to my apartment. I took a quick shower.

I was drying myself when the phone rang. I answered the call and it was a wrong

number. I opened my computer and checked my mails. There were a few friends

online and I chatted with them. I talked about the new things happening around my

end while they told me about theirs. For I always felt this like a formality. It was not

as if something would happen if I knew the weather of a place far from me.After an hour of surfing the net, I closed the computer and turned my attention

to the notebook lying on my bed. I opened the notebook and picked up the pen. I

wanted to continue writing. It was for another half an hour that I was writing, before

the ink on my pen finished. I rummaged through my belongings in search of another

pen.

Once I got the new pen, I continued my trance-like behavior. I was writing and

writing. Only for a few times did I stop to go to the bathroom or to drink a glass of

water. It was only during these momentary breaks, did I stop to reflect as to what I

was doing.

I had let the article got the better half of me. I did not do anything to prevent

that from happening. Instead of the article embracing me, I was embracing the article.I must have felt that the article was my escape. An escape to what I did not know, but

I felt that if I had given myself to the article it would redeem me from a sin that I had

not committed. I guess that the best way for the article to come out in its best form,

was for me to let the article to take over me.

Like I had said, I am a messenger, a courier for this article to come out. If I

had to let the article become the boss of my soul, so be it. My hands were already

tired and sore, and yet it did not stop me. I just could not help but write. It was as if I

was a writing-junkie. The pen in my hand moved on its own accord. I was not able to

stop it.

I did not even remember what I wrote. It was only when I had read it later on,

did I come to understand what I had written. The only thing I knew that I had done inthe past hours was that I had written. I did not know how I wrote, or how I came to

think of it, but apparently it was good.

It was around eight o’clock when I realized that I was hungry. I was finally

able to put down the pen and walk away. I guess that the article, if it had life to think

on its own, decided that I should be freed for a few hours to replenish my energy and

allowed me to leave it.

I left the apartment and went to the diner. In the diner, I met her. As there was

no big crowd, she sat across me and talked. I told her of my afternoon with my friends

and of my writing experience. I must have sounded a bit too worried because she said

that it was all in my head. It is absurd that an article, a piece of paper would be able to

take control of my mind and body.




12

I smiled at my stupidity. She was right. I guess that I must have felt that way

was because I was too engrossed in my writing. Maybe a part of me wanted to make

this experience a little bit magical or mystical. Maybe I wanted to feel that I was

drawn by some unexplainable power of the article.

Nevertheless, I told her that I written twice as much. She seemed excited and

asked me if she could come over and read it. I said that it was feasible provided shegave me a free meal. She smiled and said that it would be a little bit problematic but

she could arrange it so that she was cooking for me. I said that I did not wanted to die

yet, so I would skip her cooking.

She laughed and said that she would bring something that would surprise me. I

said that it did not matter, as long as my hunger was gone, I was satisfied. She got up

and went. A few moments later she came back with something that looked delicious. I

ate in her company. I asked her if she had cooked it herself, but she pointed out that

she was a waitress not a cook.

♦ ♦ ♦

7.

After my meal, I waited for her shift to end. I spent my time listening to the

music of the old jukebox. There were a few old songs that I liked in the machine. I

was on my second cigarette when she came. We were ready to go. I took her to my

apartment and I gave her the notebook. Even though my handwriting was not that

clear, she understood what I had written. I sat opposite her and watched her as she

read.

In the pages that she read, the four wanderers and the pilgrim had made their

way to a village where the great soothsayer of all times resided. Even though the

pilgrim had come to the village before, he never knew about the soothsayer. Thepilgrim did not believe in soothsayers and clairvoyants. He always felt the future is

unpredictable, and those who try to see into the future, are not fully appreciating life.

What joy or glory is there knowing of what is going to happen? Life is meant to be

spontaneous.

Nevertheless, the four wanderers had traveled great distances to come here, so

he did not argue with them. And on top of that he too was intrigued by the presence of

the soothsayer. He wanted to see what the soothsayer had to say to them.

They met the soothsayer under the shade of a large tree. The soothsayer had

just awoken from his afternoon siesta. The soothsayer was well treated by the

villagers. He was brought many gifts for his services and he was also highly

respected. The soothsayer wore leopard skin across his waist. He carried a canecarved from the finest oak. It was a gift given to him by a rich merchant from the

neighboring village.

The soothsayer beckoned our travelers to sit before him. He offered them wine

to quench their thirst. He said that he knew why they had come. But before he

answered anything, he told them to take rest. The soothsayer rose and said that if there

was anything that his guests needed, they should just ask.

With that, he left the four wanderers and the pilgrim on their own. They talked

about the soothsayer’s mystical aura. The pilgrim was taken aback at the soothsayer’s

display. He had expected the soothsayer to be a bit more ascetic. He had imagined

that the soothsayer was a hermit; however, he was regarded like a king.

As the pilgrim drank another glass of wine he felt dizzy. Then it suddenlydawned over him that the soothsayer was a fake. The wine he drank was poisoned. He



The Four Wanderers

13

told his four friends of this new development but his discovery was rebuked. Why

would the soothsayer try to poison five fellow scholars?

The pilgrim, tried desperately to persuade his newly found friends, but it was

all in vain. The pilgrim got up and kicked the glasses off his friends’ hands. The four

wanderers, alarmed at their companion’s outrageous behavior got up and tried to pin

him down.Within moments of this commotion, the soothsayer quietly came in and sat.

When he spoke, his words were icily cold. He inquired as to what was happening in

his dwelling. The first of the four wanderers apologized and said that the pilgrim was

under the illusion that the wine offered from the great soothsayer was poisoned. He

added that the pilgrim was delirious at that moment.

The soothsayer turned his gaze at the pilgrim and asked if what the wanderer

had said was true. The pilgrim stared at the soothsayer and said that he had drunk

wine from all parts of the world and he knew the difference between wine and

poisoned wine.

The soothsayer asked for the goblet from which the pilgrim was drinking. A

servant behind the soothsayer brought the goblet before the soothsayer. Thesoothsayer smelled the goblet and said that it was indeed poisoned. He gave his

apologies and beckoned his servant to bring an antidote from the druid.

He explained that the wine was given to him as a gift. Apparently he had

overlooked the possibility of the wine being poisoned. It was his mistake and he

apologized. The pilgrim also apologized thinking that the soothsayer was trying to

murder him.

The four wanderers looked at the pilgrim in disbelief. He had actually saved

them from death. The servant came and gave the antidote to the soothsayer’s visitors.

After that, the six of them sat on a bear rug and talked.

The pilgrim spoke first. He said that the soothsayer knew of why they had

come and asked if he had the answer to the question that had not yet been asked. The

four wanderers exchanged worried looks at the directness and the boldness of their

companion. Not even the village magistrate spoke in such manner with the

soothsayer.

The soothsayer smiled and told the four wanderers that he was not God to be

treated with such divinity as provided from the village; it is a person’s choice as to

how to talk with a fellow man. He did not mind the curtness of the pilgrim, and so

should not the four wanderers be worried of their companion’s action.

The soothsayer then turned to the pilgrim and told him that he did not have the

answer to what they were looking for. He knew of their quest and was intrigued by it.

He knew of their arrival and of their purpose of their visit, but he did not hold theanswer. He told them that he knew a man in the neighboring village that would be

more competent of answering their queries.

Although he did not possess any materials that would aid them in their quest

he offered shelter for them for a few days. He mentioned that he would take it as a

personal insult if his offer was to be refused. He confessed that he would keep them

away from their quest for a personal gain, but he added that if they were to deprive

him of their company, they would be no less selfish than he was. The pilgrim saw the

logic behind the soothsayer, and was now comfortable at his presence. He began to

understand the truth behind every soothsayer’s art.

♦ ♦ ♦




14

8.

She looked up at me when she finished reading. Her eyes glinted with

pleasure. I saw satisfaction in her eyes. It was the same look of happiness I had seen

in an old man’s eyes before he passed away.

She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. I guess that

she was stunned as the four wanderers were when the pilgrim saved them from being

poisoned.

By the time the shock had faded from her face she asked me if I had written it

and not copied it. I told her that I had written it. She confessed that the plot was

predictable and not so spectacular and it seemed to have come out from a child’s

favorite folklore, but she claimed that it was written in such a fashion that words

would not do it justice.

I asked her if there was anything in which I could improve upon, but she said

that she did not find any flaws. The spelling was astoundingly accurate and there were

no grammatical errors. She said that it seemed as if I had improved my English

overnight. I told her that I had cross checked it several times before I went to thediner.

She sat on my bed looking at me as if I was going to become the next

Shakespeare. She asked me of my writing style. She really wanted to know if I was

writing freestyle or if I had a secret manuscript beneath my pillow. I said that lying

would do me no good and even if I had a secret manuscript, I would certainly not put

it below my pillow.

We then talked about the characters in the article. I described the pilgrim to

her as a man of principles and ethics. I did not imply that he was moral. He followed

his own ethics. He did what he sought fit and did not bend to others will. I said that I

was trying to show that trait of his in the meeting with the soothsayer.

I also told her that the four wanderers were scholars, not loafers in a wildgoose chase. She asked me what the answer of the question that has not yet been

asked was. I told her that I did not know. It was the part that made the article special

and intriguing. I explained that as I was writing freestyle I did not know of what I was

writing. It was only after of what I had read was I able to figure out the significance

and the meanings of my writings.

She seemed to be confused of what I said. I tried to explain myself but it did

not help. I just ended up saying that I did not think when I wrote, it was only

afterwards, when I stopped writing and read it later, was I able to figure out what I

had actually written. She nodded her head and I left it at that.

She then asked about the setting of the tale. During the whole of the article I

had not mentioned any date. I said that, I had intentionally done so. She asked whyand I told her that through that way, people could imagine the setting and the time on

their own accord. They can then relate the story to their life or fantasy.

A good piece of writing is when a person is able to picture the things he has

read. By giving the reader the information that is essential, he can then picture the

article in his imagination, rather than forcing him to see the story through my eyes.

This is why, reading books are more enjoyable than watching a movie. And movie

adaptations are rarely better than the books.

I told her that anybody could picture the tales of the four wanderers as ancient

people traveling across either deserts, snow, forests, hills or even water. The pilgrim

might as well be a man from the future, but that is totally for the reader to decide.

She mentioned that I had used no names in my article. I told her that by doing

so I was enabling the reader to become the narrative and relate the characters to



The Four Wanderers

15

someone they knew. Through that writing style the reader would theoretically enjoy

more, but that would all depend upon the taste of the reader. I assumed that it was the

unique approach of my article.

She also asked me as to why I referred to my writing as an article rather than

calling it a story. I told her that although it sounded like a story, it was not one. It was

an article. A story is something in which there is a plot, a purpose but this tale of thefour wanderers has no plot yet. It is a mere article for the time being as it is not

complete. I told her that it was an article as I was not sure if I would let it become a

story. When I began writing the article I was under the impression of giving a

message, telling a story that would change the common man’s perspective.

Apparently, the article did not turn out the way I had thought it would. It

turned out to become tale. It was more of a story than an essay. I wanted to have an

introductory paragraph of a man who searched for something that did not exist and

then move on to a topic that shows that we all men go for the same thing, but it

appears that, the story got a grip on me. My focus changed and I was telling the tale of

four wanderers as if they actually existed. It was as if my destiny was to write about

them. I could not help but write about their adventures that did not happen.I smiled at what I was saying. She seemed to have lost her train of thought

while I was explaining all of this to her. I suggested that we watch a movie and forget

about my article or story for the time being. She said that it was a good idea. We

moved from my bed to the couch in front of the TV. I switched it on and there was a

movie about to end. I went to my refrigerator and took out two bottles of beer and

gave her one. The movie ended and a new movie began.

It was a movie that I had already watched but she had not. I told her that it was

a good movie and that we should watch it. Half way through the movie I found that

she was already sleeping. I switched off the television and placed a blanket over her.

I watched her sleeping for a while, and then I got up and continued writing. I

wrote for a half an hour before I too fell asleep on my desk.

♦ ♦ ♦

9.

I when I woke, she was already gone. She had a left a note on my desk where I

had been sleeping. The note read that she had to go and visit her grandmother that

day, so she would only meet me the next day. The post script said that she would want

me to finish the article by then. She had drawn a big heart and a lot of X’s and O’s at

the bottom.

I folded the note and pocketed it. I guess I enjoyed her company as well. Iwent outside and breathed in the air. I lit a cigarette and walked to one of my friend’s

apartment. I joined him and his girlfriend for breakfast. He asked about my article. I

told him that it was near completion, only a few thousand words left. His girlfriend

asked how much I had written. I told her that I had already written about 10,400

words.

My friend let out a short whistle. He told me that he never understood how I

could write so long. All my past articles, which I had written while freelancing, were

long. I told them that it was what I did best. I wrote long articles because I had a lot to

say. I added that whenever they felt like it, they should come by my apartment.

I left them and went back to my apartment. I wanted to write, but I wanted to

go to the cliff more. I got on my bike and drove to the sea. I made my way to the edgeof the cliff and I looked out to the open sea.




16

The sun was halfway up the sky. Its reflection on the water was beautiful. I

thought to myself about the days that had gone by. My article was not yet a story. It

was yet to be completed. I had a lot left to write. I had to answer the questions now. I

thought about what I had meant when I wrote about the four wanderers seeking the

answer to the question that has not yet been asked.

I guess that I wanted to have a paradox in my article. I guess that it would bethe only thing that would make the reader turn the page. I knew that the determining

factor that would deem my article to be spectacular was the paradox. If I was unable

to present it properly, I was doomed.

I lit a cigarette, thinking about it. The wind gradually grew stronger and I had

to squint to see the horizon. On other occasions, when I came here, it was to relieve

myself of my tension and of my worries, however, that day I grew more worried

because of my article.

In a way, the article had robbed me of my former life and presented me with a

new one. I would not say that my former life was better nor will I say that the new one

is better. Both of them were different and incomparable. Life is always in a state of

flux. Who are we to deem which alternate reality is better?I heard the cries of the sea gulls being swept away by the wind. I looked up

and saw the birds. Birds have always been a symbol of freedom to men. Who would

not wish of spreading their wings and fly to a safer place where they were not bound

by any chains?

I stayed in that spot for a few more minutes before I decided that I had an

article to finish. If it were not for the article, I guess that I would have stayed there for

an eternity, but then again, it was due to the article that I was there in the first place. It

is ironic how life works.

I went back to my apartment. I took off my jacket and drank a bottle of beer

before I sat to write. I washed my hands and face. I wanted to be fresh for the ritual I

was about to perform. I knew that it would take another couple of hours before the

work for the day was done.

I lit a cigarette to inaugurate my writing. I wrote and I wrote until I could write

no longer. Within a few hours, my wrists grew tired and my muscles had cramped. I

went to the bathroom and kept my hands in the cold water. I did this for about fifteen

minutes. My hand grew numb but the pain had disappeared. I smoked a cigarette from

my left arm as the right was in no position to hold it.

♦ ♦ ♦

10.I woke up from my afternoon nap. My hand felt better. I again washed my

hands and face and grabbed the pen again. I knew that what I was doing was not at all

good for my body, but then again, I was a smoker. I could not care less of my body.

I smoked a cigarette and started to write. Within an hour, my hands began to

ache. Each sentence I wrote was written faster than the last. My writing speed had

increased substantially. If only I had such speed during my examinations. I took a rest

for five minutes, enough time for a cigarette before I continued writing again.

I knew that I had written twice as much as I had with both days combined but

I could not help myself. When a writer would write something spectacular, it was his

obligation to complete it at any cost. There would come also a stage when a writer

just cannot help but write. It is not as if the article has a hook on him but rather, thewriter has a hook on the article.



The Four Wanderers

17

I was writing because I enjoyed writing this article. I wanted to complete it

and read it for myself. I wanted to see if what I had produced was worth all the labor

and effort. I wanted to show the world that I was a good writer and that I had a lot of

potential. Even though I had no publisher or any idea as to how I would publish my

article. All I knew was that I would put it out on the public and someone would take

notice of me.My thought of glory would be if someone took any notice of me. All I wanted

to hear or see was that someone’s life had changed in a far away place just because he

read something I had written. I guess that is why I chose a theme best suited for an

ideological man. If I could broaden his horizon, I guess that my job was done. If I

could make him think and see things through a different perspective I knew that I had

made a difference.

The human mind is a queer mechanism as it is very persuadable. When one

thing is told to it, it remembers it very well. If a certain theory is presented in front of

it, it will accept it without any doubt. It will be able to see it through the presenter’s

eyes. It is able to readjust its logic sensitivity and agree with the theorist.

If a critic was to step into the picture and point out the flaws of the theory thehuman mind will then switch its tuning into that of the critic. It was persuaded without

much difficulty. If another theorist steps in and explains a new better theory, the mind

will again agree upon the new unchallenged theory until it is made to think otherwise.

My trickery was primary based on this feature of the human mind. I needed to

provide something new and exciting to the human mind that would make it want to

read it. This was why mystery novels were far better to capture the attention of a

reader than a culture identity crisis article.

I stubbed out my cigarette and drank a glass of water before I continued to

write. I assumed my usual position and wrote. I was writing for about an hour when I

decided to give it a rest for the day. I was over exhausting myself. I should not be

tiring my body. I closed my note book. It was already dark outside and I was hungry.

I went to the diner. I was half expecting for her to be there but she was not. I

ordered a heavy meal and ate it. The waitress’s friend came over to me and asked me

if I were the writer guy. I said that I, most probably, was him. She smiled and asked

me if she could read my writing. I said that I had no problem with it. I asked her to

come by the day after and I would show it to her.

She seemed happy and gave me a free glass of beer. I raised a toast to her and

drank it. I sat there for a while. I listened to the old jukebox rattle. I made smoke rings

and watched them disperse into the atmosphere. There was already a haze of smoke

over my head.

I left the diner around the time it closed down. I went back to my apartmentand sat in front of the window for a while. I looked out of the window. I had not read

what I had written through out the day. I guess that I would read it before I slept, but I

was feeling tired and wanted to sleep.

I got on my bed and looked at the white ceiling. Even though the light was off

and there was darkness around me, I saw the darkness dim and fade to black.

♦ ♦ ♦

11.

When I woke, I was not feeling hungry. This was unusual. The only thing I

wanted to do was to read what I had written. I guess that my craving for knowing of what I written about the pilgrim and the four wanderers was far greater than my




18

hunger. I did not wait to brush. I threw away my blanket and rushed to my desk. I

opened my notebook and began to read.

The pilgrim and the four wanderers left the soothsayer’s dwelling and slowly

made their way to the next village. During their stay with the soothsayer, they came to

know of different philosophers who had also pursued a quest similar to that of their.

They also found out the assassin, who had poisoned the wine.The assassin was sent by the village magistrate of the neighboring village.

Everyone was surprised except the pilgrim. The four wanderers could not understand

why a learnt man such as the magistrate would try to kill off a fellow scholar. They all

pondered and spoke their minds out. The soothsayer told them that it was to be

expected. He described them the difference between a learnt man and a scholar. A

learnt man is he who knows many things but a scholar differs from him in the aspect

that the scholar is able to use his knowledge for the greater good.

For a scholar there is no right or wrong, the only distinction he should be able

to know is between what is moral and what is not. The magistrate must have felt

hatred or intimidated by the soothsayer for reason he could not see. In order to feel

better or safe, he must have sent the assassin.The pilgrim pointed out that it was not a question of hate or of being

intimidated but a question of survival. The magistrate must have felt threaten by the

soothsayer’s influence. People of the neighboring village who would have troubles or

problems would come to the soothsayer, not the magistrate. The magistrate’s function

was being carried out by another person of another village. He had lost his power and

influence in that village.

The only way he saw to restore his power and influence was to get rid of the

rival. He was threatened by the soothsayer’s existence not hatred. If the magistrate

hated the soothsayer, he would have not opted to kill him. Hate alone would not drive

a rival to the grave.

Everybody looked at the pilgrim with respect. The soothsayer said that he

would have never thought of the scenario through that perspective. The pilgrim

bowed slightly acknowledging the compliment, even though none was uttered.

On their way to the neighboring village, the four wanderers asked the pilgrim

how he knew that it was the feeling of being threatened that drove the magistrate try

to kill the soothsayer. The pilgrim pointed to the woods and said that it was nature. In

the wild, the mother wolf will kill to defend its cubs, not out of hatred. Other

carnivores kill to survive. In this case his life is at stake, if they did not eat then they

would die. The notion of not being able to survive is to be threatened.

They reached the neighboring village before nightfall. They spent the night in

a house of a friend. During the night, the pilgrim looked at the stars. He spent a fewmoments pondering that all the great philosophers paid a lot of attention to the stars.

While he was looking, one of the four wanderers came up to him and asked him as to

what he was looking for.

The pilgrim looked at him and told him that it was inspiration. He knew what

he wanted to be in life, but he lacked the inspiration as to how he would get it. There

were many things he knew but he lacked the source to express it. He did not want to

become a scribe. He wanted to pass on the knowledge as he had acquired it.

The wanderer thought for a while. He too looked up and wondered as to how it

would be possible for the pilgrim to do what he was saying. It would not be possible

to teach everyone the same things he had learn in the same manner. It would take time

and a lot of effort but these were the things they did not have. Becoming a scribe waswhat people did to pass on their knowledge. They chose to write as it would be more



The Four Wanderers

19

or less durable. Children of the next generations would be able to turn the pages and

learn for themselves.

If the pilgrim did not want to become a scribe then someone should. The

wanderer proposed that he would become a scribe and tell the tales of the pilgrim. The

pilgrim thanked the wanderer for the notion of his sacrifice but he did not want any

one to become a scribe for him.He concluded that he would travel and tell everyone of his tales, and of his

journey. He knew that he would not be reaching out to many people as he could have,

but it was the path he was comfortable with. Passing on knowledge is delicate and he

wanted to be there to assure that the right interpretation was passed.

The wanderer agreed with the pilgrim. He pointed out that looking at the stars

would not actually help him traveling and telling tales of wisdom and knowledge. The

pilgrim smiled and said that he was looking at the stars for inspiration, not help. He

looked at the stars as many before him had done in the past and thought of great

things. They had the peace of mind and were able to think straight. It was a moment

of temporary peace.

The stars reminded the pilgrim that he was not the only one looking up at thestars that night. There were other people like him. He told the wanderer that God had

made all men different yet; there was something that would bind them all together. It

was neither blood nor love. Let alone religion or faith.

The wanderer ventured if it was nature and the stars. The pilgrim smiled at his

companion’s feeble attempt. He explained that it was the thirst of knowledge. One of

the things that were common amongst their party of five was the quest of seeking the

answer to a question that had not yet been asked. Five people from different parts of

the world were together searching for an answer. They searched for something that

they did not know. They all sought knowledge.

The pilgrim looked at the stars to remind himself that he had to pass on the

knowledge he had gained and should make sure that it strives through the generations

to come.

With these words, the pilgrim went back inside and left the wanderer gazing at

the stars. The wanderer thought of what the pilgrim had said and wondered if he too

needed such inspiration. He looked at the stars for a few moments longer but he felt

nothing.

The next morning, they went to the house of the person whom the soothsayer

had told them to visit. Before they knocked on the door, the old man opened it and

beckoned them to enter. He asked them to sit on the grass outside his home. They sat

down without hesitation. Being a guest in another man’s home, one must follow the

desires of the other man.The old man went into his house and came back out a few moments later

carrying a jug of water. He offered water to them. The four wanderers seemed hesitant

too drink it. The old man assured them that it was not poisoned. One of the wanderers

asked him as to how he came to know of their incident.

The old man told them that he knew it long before it actually happened. He

also mentioned that he knew why we were there. They asked him if he knew the

answer to what they sought. The old man stood silently for a few moments. He slowly

shook his head and told them that he did not have the answer.

The pilgrim asked him, as to why he had invited them into his humble abode

knowing that he could not provide what they sought. The old man sat down beside

them and spoke softly.




20

He said that he had called them in not to answer any questions but to remind

them of what they were doing. He said that the quest they were embarking was

sacrilegious. It was an act against God. There would be no glory at the end of the

road. He bitterly added that if there ever was an end.

He drank a little bit of water before he continued. He warned the five that

searching for what they sought was not to be found. There would only be suffering.He told them to leave their pursuit while they had a chance. It was not worth wasting

one’s life over the search of something that did not exist.

The four wanderers looked at the old man in disbelief. The old man was

telling them to abandon their quest because it was not worth it. What glory did not

exist in the most perilous journey? Where was the satisfaction when a quest was not

finished? How would a man be able look at himself knowing that he had abandoned

his purpose in life? Would God be able to forgive?

The pilgrim looked into the old mans eyes and saw pain, grief and sorrow. He

asked the old man whether he too had embarked on a similar journey. The old man

said that he would not answer the question but all he could say was that they had to

give up their search.All the questions that have existed there had all been answered and there

would never be a question that has not been asked. He said that if they were to

continue, they would be selling their souls and never getting it back. He said that the

quest would kill them from within.

They would grow old to become a void and nothing more. The pilgrim asked

his name but he said that he had none. His life was completely destroyed. He had no

name, no life, no past and above all no future. He was a body without a soul and

begged the pilgrim and the four wanderers not to go on that quest.

The old man frightened the four wanderers. His wrinkles and thin body which

accentuated the veins of his hands aided in giving the aura of a man who had lost

everything. The pilgrim said that they were ready to drop their pursuit, provided that

the old man gave a new one. He argued that he was not able to live without a purpose

in life.

The old man sat for a while in silence. He said that the pilgrim knew his

purpose and that he should pursue it. He told him to go out and complete his

pilgrimage. He had a lot of places to go. He suggested that the four wanderers spread

their knowledge. He offered them to open a school and enlighten the students for the

future.

The pilgrim asked for a final time if the old man had tried to find the answer.

The old man looked at the pilgrim in the eye and the told him that he had ventured

into the depths of hell to find his answer but at the end of the day, he was a better off dead than alive.

♦ ♦ ♦

12.

I typed the remains of my article on to my laptop and printed it out. I left a

printed copy on my desk with a small note to the waitress telling her to read it. I left

the apartment and went to the cliff.

I had completed my maiden article. I had written other small articles before

but not professionally. The next step was to find a publisher who would publish my

creation.



The Four Wanderers

21

I went to the cliff and stood there for a moment. I lit a cigarette and all of a

sudden, my troubles were far behind me. I had completed my article and was no

longer tied down at my desk.

I was finally able to complete what I had started. I liked what I had written. I

only hoped that it was not only me who shared that feeling. I thought of the future,

wondering if I would be walking down the street and meet people who I had nevermet and hear words of appreciation from them

The whole purpose of my article was to bring a change into someone’s life. I

still called my article an article and not a story because it was not yet a story.

It would only become a story, the moment it got released from the press. It

would become a success when the sales would be high. And it would become a legend

when a boy of eighteen years would read it and close his eyes wondering where the

pilgrim went after he met the old man.



The Four Wanderers


In the depths of the human soul, Mr. van Doesburg explores the difficulty

and the passion it takes for any writers to please their readers.The Four Wanderers is a tale for the ones who believe

that everything has a reason and that the world is not as it seems.

This story begins with a search of self discoveryand a quest for an answer to a question that has not yet been asked…

© Cover Illustration: Arthur Ashish van Doesburg

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