“Silence” story by George
In the village of Darshan there is a shrine to the silent word.
The image carved in stone looks like this 0v0. Some say it resembles a butterfly. Have you
ever heard the cry of a butterfly? Nor have I.
Pilgrims travel great distances to the shrine to worship there and receive the blessing of
silence. Mother had saved away in a small ceramic jar for several years, a few coins here
and few coins there, in orders to make this pilgrimage of many miles and bring her only son
along with her. G was for his sake as well as her own that she wanted so much to go. Her
particular concern was that her son, from morning till night, would not be quiet. He
commented on everything he saw. “The bird is flying. The wind is blowing in the trees. The
old neighbor across the way is blowing his nose…”. On and on he spoke, one word upon
another.
Mother and son traveled along the mountain road, with so many things to comment on and
so many people to talk to. “The yellow ribbon on the girl’s hair is pretty. Oh what fine looking
cows. The goat in the field is eating clover. The man coming down the road was a good
man, even a holy one. As mother and child approached, he said to her, “You have many
blessings” He did not stop to explain. Mother pondered the words. She believed he meant
she would be blessed by the shrine of the silent word. She pressed on with greater devotion,
patiently in during her peculiarly unsilent son.
“This man with the limp needs a friend. May we visit him on our return? The sun is trying to
break through the clouds. Oh how I wish I could give it a push! Ho there” he said to a pig “did
you have a good breakfast?”
He was a friendly child and people took kindly to him. On the whole journey, they never had
to sleep out of doors and ate many meals in the warmth of kind hospitality.
Finally the long awaited moment came and they reached the shrine. After such a long
journey and so many prayers, the mother expected great things. Indeed, she was not
disappointed, for from that moment on the boy was silent.
On the return journey he peered about as before, stopping to observe one thing and
another, but no comment was made. When a passerby came their way, he smiled but said
nothing. The mother’s heart was relieved at last for the quiet but she was also troubled,
“What have I done?” she wondered.
After they had traveled many miles they met again the holy man. He stopped to speak with
her.
“Sister” he asked, “Have you seen the bird flying?”
“Yes master”
“”And did they not have a song?”
“Yes master”
“Sister, did you see the wind blowing in the trees?”
“Yes master”
“And did the wind not whistle?”
“Yes master”
“Ah, what a blessing to be alive” and placing two fingers upon her forehead, he said,
”Rest your heart awhile little Mother”
At once she felt a great peace.
She opened her mouth to thank the holy man but to her surprise no words would come.
Mother and son continued their journey I silence. People would greet them and they would
smile in return. Often the older ones would say, “Aha, so you have been to the shrine of the
silent word?” expecting no answer to this question.
At long last when they reached their home again, the son said,
“We are home Mother”
And she in return said, “Yes son, it is good to be home. What did you see along the way?”
“Many things” answered the son.
“Will you speak of them?” she asked.
“No, but one only” he answered.
“And what is that my son?”
“A butterfly spoke to me in its silent way”
“And what did it say my son?”
“Ah, Mother, such a word cannot be spoken”