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Crystal

       
Imagine a white, pure place. With a heavenly glow. Imagine a beautiful crystal vase perched on a glass stand slightly towards the right side of the room. There might or might not be other people, other things in the room but you are oblivious of it. You are mesmerized by the crystal. You want to go close and touch it. You want to hold it. Perhaps own it. But there is a halo-like, soft, transparent dome surrounding it. It makes you stand where you are and look at it from a distance. The crystal, oblivious, is hurting inside at being put on display. She doesn't understand the presence of the shield. Does not recognize it.

 You just stand and watch.

 The crystal squirms inside. Sensing the presence of life around her but never really understanding it. She knows a few caretakers.Trusts them. One by one they disappear into the oblivion. She stares after them longingly, with empty eyes, wanting them to stay, knowing they can not. You stand there and watch this unknown turmoil inside the crystal make her glow. Somehow, enhancing her beauty. Hooked, you keep watching. The crystal sits there, innocent, oblivious and beautiful.

 Suddenly, from the blur around you, comes running a little boy, bursts into bubble, pick up the crystal, shakes it, holds it, tries to take it away, fails, slams it back on the glass counter and the world stops.

 You hold your breath.

 For fraction of a second life stops except for a small rainbow that tries to emerge from where the crystal had hit the glass but then an ugly crack emerges, killing the rainbow. There is chaos. Smoke covers everything. Blood splatters. There are loud voices. A pain fills the air, making you feel like the earth will burst open or the sky will envelope it all.

 It doesn't happen.You are dizzy from it all. Then the smoke starts to disappear, the blood stains dry, you seem to regain your balance, the voices disappear.

 You try to stand up straight and open your eyes. You are alone. The room is deserted. Empty. Like no life ever existed here. The crystal is still perched on the glass stand. Violated. Dusty. Numb. There is dust every where. The room looks haunted. Still trying to regain your balance, you struggle to keep your eyes open and inch closer to the crystal. It sits desolate on its perch; looking dead, but you know it's not. The glow is gone. You hope to be repulsed by the ugliness as you get closer but you are not. You just stand there and watch.

The crystal opens her eyes. Its a long, painful procedure. She wonders what had happened, with a sudden flash of understanding realizes she is alive now, figures out that she is a crystal and then, illuminated by this sudden bolt of lightening, sees that she's broken. There is a huge crack running down the center. She instantly loathes herself. Her idea of being a crystal broken. Understanding dawns and she realizes there was a bubble that is missing now. Not knowing where it came from, she wonders whatever happened to it.

She closes her eyes, unable to take in the sight of herself. Cries out in pain. No one but her heart hears it. She hopes that the Creator would come and heal her, that He would hear the cry for He lives in her heart. Maybe He does. She doesn't see Him. She feels as though she ought to give herself up to someone so the Creator can fix her through them. Someone who'd protect her with all their being. She opens her eyes. The room is empty. No one exists. She realizes it's too much to ask for. A solitary tear rolls down her face, getting absorbed in her body through the crack.

You hear Iqbal, his voice reverberating through the room:

"Don't be so protective of it, for your mirror is the mirror that, when broken is even more beloved to its Maker".

You stand there and watch. Happy that she finally realizes who she is.

She sits there, violated, longing to be whole again. Trying, through the tears flowing down her face and absorbing through the crack, to come up with a sales pitch for herself. In a business-like, matter-of-fact voice, she says:

"I am a crystal. Made by the best of creators. A beautiful artifact. One of its kind, unique.

Someone, 1400 years ago, gave me that name. Called me (and my kind) Qawareer (Crystals). My kind? you ask. Well, yes. There are other crystals around me. Just none like me. There is only one of me. The Creator has a special way of creating. He never replicates, even when two of His creations seem identical.

It was few years ago that I heard my name. I was told I am a crystal. I was surprised. I did not feel like a crystal. I did not feel like anything. I was just there. I had heard why and how but had never really wondered who I was. I just was and that was enough.

I came to realize who I was when someone was allowed in the safe space around me. I had been kept very softly. Cherished. Cared for. Tended to. Groomed. Loved. There were incidences of negligence, sure. But I was whole. Whole and beautiful yet blissfully ignorant of it. I was guarded. Which is surprising. Surprising because there wasn't any one particular person to guard me. I was just there. Sure, there were people around me, good and bad, but no one ever really harmed me. Some tremors came, sure. Some mischievous children tried to come close but just went away. It was like there was an invisible bubble of protection around me."

She halts. unable to go on. Then she squares her shoulders, looks in your eyes, smiles and says:

"Now I know I am a crystal. Understanding came to me with my brokenness, making this, (she points towards her scar) a part of me."

Her voice tapers. Silence echos. Iqbal's words hang in the air.
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