The name had fallen on him, as he was an orphan raised on the streets of different cities, growing up along the caravans of traders. And eventually he had come to like his name, for he was unknown, moving from one new place to another, no home to return to, no one that he belonged to.
A nomad, a wanderer, he travels with his camel, Arkadash, who was truly his friend. From the time he ventured on this journey, Arkadash was with him, for over three decades now.
Mejhul spent his life, with half the year in the world out there, around people and their unlimited stories. And the rest half of the year of winter months in these deserts, wrapped in the night sky and their eternal tales.
He was no longer nameless though, he was now known, known as the Listener of the Fallen Stars.
Sitting in front of his tent in this fairly cold winter, leaning against Arkadash, he remembered the day when he stumbled on this journey as a 16 year young hopeless romantic. When the girl he fell in love with asked to pluck a star from the sky and he was determined to find a way to do that.
As a child, he heard whispers from the night sky, although that scared him in the beginning, he eventually had got used to those whispers. During sleepless nights, he would lie down under the starlit sky, and listen to their chatters.
That’s how he came to be good at listening to people and their stories. There was something in his eyes, a spark, that made strangers warm up to him, and pour out their stories in greatest details.
He was called the 'Tajir of Stories' then.
He went from one city to another, listening to new stories, telling the old ones, earning his food and shelter along the way. He had stories of all kinds, for all types and ages of people, and for people in any state of life. He was loved and that’s how he had met his princess, Amira, in one of the city markets. He should have known that her mindless demand was her way of keeping him apart from her, but he was too deep in love to see that.
When he returned to the city a few moons later, she was already married to the finest and richest blacksmith in the town. That had broken his heart for the first time in his life.
It had made Mejhul more determined to find a way to pluck the stars from the night sky. Even if that was the only thing he did before he died or he died trying it.
He spoke to more and more people; old merchants, bards, jesters, oracles, witches, drunkards in taverns and so on. He listened to their stories and tales and fables, of the sky, the moon, the stars, the constellations.
When asked if he can meet the star, they mentioned that in the far end of the world, where the sky meets the earth, stars occasionally descended from the sky. He learnt that east took him to the end of the world where oceans lie, and west where deserts. And on both ends, the sky met the earth.
He was not a sailor, never liked water. He couldn’t imagine himself all alone in the middle of the dark ocean on a tiny ship. This intimidated him. Land, land was where he belonged, where he could place his foot firmly on the ground. So he chose to walk West.
They said it wouldn’t be easy. Many have tried and lost their ways, never ever returned to the world. Deserts were no different than oceans they said. You will drown in sand, and just like a storm that can rampage your sail, it can leave you deserted in deserts. There was no sense of direction; in deserts or oceans, the only guide were the stars and the winds.
He understood and yet he decided to try his fate. He bought a young camel in exchange for his stories, and named him Arkadash, a friend. Because he needed a friend on this long journey. And that’s how they both had started the journey to the far west.
On their third night on the desert, Mejhul and Arkadash were woken to the sharp howling sound of the wind. The wind was wild enough to uproot the tent and spook Mejhul and Arkadash, both of whom were now huddled against one another, in the attempt to outlive the winds anger.
But between the howls and swooshes, Mejhul could hear winds words, him swearing about these imbecile mankind not knowing their place and wandering into the otherwise restricted territories, ‘wasn’t it enough that they are ruling half of the world anyway. Can’t they leave us in peace here?’
Although these were just some disgruntled murmurs, Mejhul had perked his ears, and could make out every word clearly.
This had given Mejhul some courage, and he had spoken to wind as he would to just another person. "I am not here to cause you any trouble. I am here in search of the stars that walk the face of the Earth. I am just a storyteller. They call me Tajir of Stories."
This had done the trick, for the wind who was caught off guard, had immediately stopped its howling and had turned into a mild breeze. "You can hear me? Understand my words?"
Mejhul had smiled and said "Yes, I can hear you."
The wind had let out a woot, swirling around the huddled man and camel, until he heard Mejhul scream "That’s not a good idea. We will choke to death in this sand storm." Realizing his mistake the wind had immediately sobered to a breeze again, slowly dusting off the sand from their bodies.
The wind started in it’s husky voice ‘Tell me oh wanderer. How is the world out there? It takes me years to get the whispers from far off land. I haven’t seen an avare for ages. Oh welcome, welcome to our land." And he went on and on, unable to conceal his excitement. Mejhul who was equally aching to share his stories, started off narrating his favorites; The blind bard and his parrot, The Khiata(seamstress) and her magic spindle, The notorious ayakkabıcı (shoemaker) and on and on.
Arkadash, noting that they were safe, had long drifted into deep sleep, snorting and grunting every now and then. The wind swirled around Mejhul, listening to all the stories with deep fascination. When the dawn broke, wind brushed against Mejhul and said, “Come, o Avare, I will show you the path to the far end of the west.”
Mejhul gladly accepted the offer and said "Only if, tonight you will share your stories, oh brave Rüzgar".
Wind had made their journey more comfortable, directing them to oasis and small vegetation along the way, helping them refuel and move on. Every evening they spent trading stories outside Mejhul’s tent, to the music of crackling fire and Arkadash’s snores, until one of them drifted to sleep.
Mejhul could now hear the whispers of night sky more clearly, the farther west he went, more dominant were their chatters. One night, he asked Rüzgar about the whispers, and the wind said "Oh, those are the stars chattering away. They get more noisy as you go farther into the west. I am too old to tolerate their chitter-chatters." He said making an irritated sigh. "But you are young, you might find their conversations interesting. Another few miles and you will be close enough for them to hear you and you can talk to them, like you talk to me now. I can safely put you in their hands and they will guide you in your journey further. When you return here, just call out my name, I will come find you to take you back home."
Stars were not as welcoming as the wind though. They were glad to see him no doubt, and were eager to chat with him, but they would not come close to him. Neither would they give him any indication of how to find stars on the earth. They were suspicious of him. What if he is here to steal them? He calls himself a Tajir, what if he is here to sell us to the world?
Mejhul had understood their apprehensions. He had no intention of trading the stars, he could make a comfortable living as Tajir of Stories. One night, he opened his heart to a group of constellation. This time he told them his story, about his childhood and about Amira. He told them everything, and it had felt good. After ages, he had felt like he had found a family to lean on. He mentioned that although he had started the journey to pluck a star and prove his worth to Amira, he no longer intended to do that. He did not want to do anything that would upset the stars or the wind. They were the closest to a family he had ever felt.
It was that night, when the group of constellations had embraced him into their world, and promised that they will take him to the stars that walk the face of earth.
Every night after that, more and more stars stopped by, to tell their intimate stories, and listen to stories from their favourite part of the world. And finally, he had reached that last stretch of desert, where the stars walked. These were the shooting stars that the world saw, zipping through the sky, eventually ending up here. The night sky called them the Fallen stars.
His first encounter with a fallen star, was very dramatic. He had seen a star crash into the sand, few feet away from his tent and had immediately rushed to it, to find it shining brightly, brushing off the sand and looking at him in equal confusion. The star had gasped and said “What is a man doing here? Am I hallucinating?” To which Mejhul had replied “Not really o bright one. I am Mejhul, Tajir of Stories. I wanted to meet the stars that walk the face of earth. I am blessed to have met you.”
The star had jumped back, hopping on it’s two pointed edges, saying “You can hear me?”
Mejhul said in an amusing tone “I can. In fact, it’s the stars and constellations who guided me here. We exchange stories in the night.”
The star was so glad to hear this, that it had done the same twirling like the wind had. “O blessed one. I am so happy to meet you in my final days. I always worried that my stories would be dust in the wind, with no one to listen to. Especially, all the wishes those hopeful hearts whispered during my fall, I wanted to tell them it’s been heard. That I will walk the moon and universe to bring those dreams alive.”
And that’s how Mejhul had turned from a 'Tajir of Stories’ to ‘Listener of the Fallen Stars’.
There were just a handful of stars that fell every year. Sometimes just one, and sometimes up to ten. But he would wait till the last month of winter, collect all their stories and the wishes people made to these falling stars. There weren’t many wishes, as not many can spot a shooting star, and even if they do, not many believed that they could make wishes come true. Once the star fell, it would walk the earth for five nights before it crumbled to stardust.
Mejhul had named this first star he met as Rüya. She had a sparkling excited voice. She told him to collect her stardust and take it back to those whose wishes she had heard. So they know that they have been heard, and can keep the hope alive. Rüya had said in a sad tone “You know, the stars miss listening to man’s whispers. Maybe, you could help in making people believe in dreams again.”
Mejhul made no promises, he knew that men had a fickle mind. But he did promise to take a bit of her stardust to the hearts who made the final whispers.
That night as Rüya crumbled to stardust, Mejhul had found a new purpose for his life. He would spread their stories and keep them alive in the hearts of those who had last seen them in the sky.
He had given a name to every fallen star. Some already had a name while others were glad to choose from a city they loved the most or what Mejhul suggested. Over years, stars got to know that there was a listener in the far end of the west, who waited for fallen stars, and they made their way to him in their last days. Mejhul and the fallen stars strolled in the cold night, chatting about the wishes and the stories, until they crumbled to dust.
His journey back to the world was mostly silent and short one, as there wasn’t anything new he had on his way back for Rüzgar or the stars.
Back in the world, he would travel to all those cities the stars had mentioned, knock on the doors of the dreamers and share the stardust with them. He also shared the star’s name, so they could keep the star alive with them. He obviously had to be very careful, to not raise any suspicion with rest of the household, and speak to only the person who had made the wish. For it truly was between the person and the star, he was a mere messenger. His years of life as storyteller came in handy, he got his way around with no hassles.
Year after year, he would meet Rüzgar, the constellations, the stars and the fallen ones with the same excitement as he had the first time. However now, it was more intimate, like coming back home after a long journey. With the old age slowly catching up on him, he was worried that all this would be lost again, into an unknown after him. So he had been watching and looking for anyone similar to him, who could bravely take his place when he died. He had never married, so he did not have any children to thrust on this path. And even if he did, not all had the ability to hear and talk to the nature. So when he was on the roads back in the world, he had actively looked for any signs that nature would give in finding his disciple.
During one such quest, he had seen a thirteen year old girl whispering to the ants like she was having a serious heart to heart conversation. When Mejhul had inquired about her, the tavern owner had said she was an orphan and was working as their errand girl in return for food and shelter. Mejhul had walked to the girl and asked her name, to which she had looked up at him with those deep black eyes and said “Rüya”.
He needed no further signs. His first star, his disciple, his daughter, Rüya, a dream.
As he sits here in the cold winter, leaning against Arkadash, listening to crackling fire, smiling at how his life had turned out, he hears Rüya’s voice calling him gently. “Baba. When will I get to meet Rüzgar-baba? Will he like me? Will he tell me his stories like he tells you?” She was a child, an inquisitive one at that. She had held his hand without a second thought, when he had asked if she would be his daughter and join him in exchanging stories with the stars. He knew his family in the far west would accept her like their own, as they had taken him in years ago.
“One more night my sweetheart. And yes, they all will love you.” Mejhul smiled, stroking her hair gently. She laid her head on his lap and said “Baba. Tell me the story of Rüya, your first star.”
So, to the background sound of Arkadash’s grunts, crackling fire and chattering stars, the nameless recites the whispers of a dream to an innocent heart, while a mild breeze strokes them to a gentle sleep.
And miles away, even today, hopeful hearts close their eyes and make their wish to a shooting star, knowing that somewhere far away, Listener of the Fallen Stars will make their dreams come true.
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