There is an
old Indian story about Truth. It seems that in ancient times a brash young
warrior sought the hand of a beautiful princess. The King, her father, thought
the warrior was a bit too cocksure and callow; he told him he could only marry
the princess once he had found the Truth. So, the young warrior set out on a
quest for Truth. He went to temples and to monasteries, to mountaintops where
sages meditated and to forests where ascetics scourged themselves, nut nowhere
could he find Truth. Despairing one day and seeking refuge from a thunderstorm,
he found himself in a dank, musty cave. There, in the darkness, was an old hag,
with warts on her face and matted hair, her skin hanging in folds from her bony
limbs, her teeth broken, her breath malodorous. She greeted him; she seemed to
know what he was looking for. They talked all night, and with each word she
spoke, the warrior realized he had come to the end of the quest. She was truth.
In the morning, when the storm broke, the warrior prepared to return to claim
his bride. ‘Now that I have found the Truth’ he said. ‘what shall I tell them
at the palace about you?’
The wizened
old crone smiled. ‘Tell them, ‘she said, ‘tell them that I am young and
beautiful.’
So, Truth
is not always true; but that doesn’t mean Truth does not exist.
This article is an excerpt from the book “Bookless in Baghdad” by Shashi Tharoor. You can check out this book here- https://goo.gl/ZKovv9
Know more about me @ www.shashiprakash.in
Know more about me @ www.shashiprakash.in