Once upon a time two explorers came upon a clearing in the jungle. In the clearing were growing many flowers and many weeds. One explorer says, “Some gardener must tend this plot.” The other disagrees, “There is no gardener.” So they pitch their tents and set a watch. No gardener is ever seen. “But perhaps he is an invisible gardener.” So they set up a barbed-wire fence. They electrify it. They patrol with bloodhounds. (For they remember how H. G. Well’s The Invisible Mancould be both smelt and touched though he could not be seen.) But no shrieks ever suggest that some intruder has received a shock. No movements of the wire ever betray an invisible climber. The bloodhounds never give cry. Yet still the Believer is not convinced. “But there is a gardener, invisible, intangible, insensible, to electric shocks, a gardener who has no scent and makes no sound, a gardener who comes secretly to look after the garden which he loves. At last the Skeptic despairs, “But what remains of your original assertion? Just how does what you call an invisible, intangible, eternally elusive gardener differ from an imaginary gardener or even from no gardener at all?”
– from ReasonReason and Responsibility: Readings in Some Basic Problems of Philosophy by Antony Flew
Look to this world or look to thyself,
mock the lamp of civilisation breeding the darkness around our soul,
while being lambed down,
soaken in blood and sweat ,bland words and blank eyes
smitten over the markets to fill our void self,
of tomorrow’s smile, while silent to break the sile of theirs,
none to be kept or given, everything to be lost in today’s gamble,
until the day something is left to cry about,
Oh baby, I am resigning, on a fate never found and confined,
Yet I resign, to fill myself with despair and pain,
For it is only the worth now.
To have immense and yet feel so heavy in oneself.
I am nobody because my body is a loan from earth
I don’t own my thoughts because they are imagination from my mind
I am not my mind because my mind is just made up by me
I am nothing because I am a tiny atom in the vast universe
There is no good or bad for me
All I do is ‘perceive’ and ‘perceive’
That’s all I am capable of..
I wish I could make everyone perceive…
– Bijunath Gopinathan.
The stories of these two forgotten villages, both situated in the frontier district of Kupwara, are different from each other. In Warsun, the people had resisted the tide of militancy and were punished by the militants for garlanding a Union minister. And yet the authorities did not believe that a village so close to the Line of Control could be entirely innocent, so they too punished the people for what they assumed was a self-protective lie .
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