Undesirable

Naks Attærî and the man sage

Dhir was the wise man in the archetypal attire as a vendor: azure tie, pent, and shoes, and white shirt under the marvellous winter coat that glittered whitish-blue as the obscured star's light reflected on it.

Beardless he who resembled the appearance of peace in the sense of man was so calm that it did not matter for him to smile to look like a merry guy. And he seemed super-active that for a moment, he was on the tree, sitting with his brown flute, and playing a melody for the sparrows around him. But as the advent of a colossal yellow aura was exhibited between the ivory mountains, he flashed to the grass bed, and said, 'O...Spooky little boy, I am waiting for the tiding that is in haste for another way.'

Fastening his blond hair on the prosperous face, Dhir leaned back, adding, 'Ere the odious esplanade hail it, or inculpate your celerity, I want to perceive thy itinerary...and if thee scuffle to cognize the grimness, I would be as happy as a clam.'

There was a red-haired, little boy lying down on the grass beneath the golden star of the gray morning. Free from worries, he was snoring like a tired beast in heaven. And there were lively trees and soft bushes and grass at his comfort for his young age; about fifteen.

But when Dhir had finished his part, the yellow star conflicted the eyes of the boy and he rose him to his knees.

'Spooky...me, you say, huh?!' said young Naks, scratching his face. 'I do not mind your wit anyway, old man. But just leave now...just leave me damn alone, dimwit!'

Tall, Dhir stood so high that the star hid behind his head. That yellow dwarf shaped a halo around his dazzling face when he was gazing down at the little nose. He held it between his fingers and grinned, saying, 'O...my trickster, little friend, the dawn has become the beacon of the world. To tell you in whole, it says that you have to deal with yourself scrubbing and praying...thereinafter, you shall have some sweets and sours to become wiser and healthier than...'

'Cut it off, old man,' said Naks, freeing himself. 'I am not interested in being tidy.'

'I know that very well,' replied Dhir, kneeling down. He inclined his hand down to the little shoulder, put it on, and gazing at the mere cloud in the gray sky, he added, 'I am a trade-man...like thy father. I hold many things, and every asset of this world knows that very well for I always leave a mark in terms of sense. Therefore, I must forbid thee to be a witless and unruly lad even though thou ought for aught than shrewdness of a Sargæran...'

'Alright!' cried the boy, moving past him. 'You are too loud and stingy!'

The boy became grim by the face as he moved away from the green maple tree, and whispered, 'But I will leave you someday...these shades and this comfort...for my own good! I have a que...'

There was a river nearby where the boy headed, adding, 'Ah—well, now that I have you to look after me, I will not disobey. But do not be full of a heart, for the fool you would be...' Naks smiled and dived into the white water that was a part of a huge cascade before a dainty mountain.

A green peak with a white maple tree crown was named Olamdiar, the house of pilgrims and Sargærans. There dwelt many before the first Sargæran, and after their last birth-giver, there came Attærî, though the one who built such a realm had a name carved on the wood that was dangling down the top branch of the high tree: indeed, Olamdiar was there, and the solely old man to be called God of wisdom in the Gyrate.

However, many of Attærî were so wise that they could outrun the Elder, and Sargærans, especially Dhir was the unquestionable reason for such a dare of a mediocre man. Because everything, he savvied, was from the eerie domains he travelled in checking for the last lively home of the race near to angels: Thämutarge.

But his expedition led him to bare hand, and his pride made him obedient sentinel for outside of Olamdiar. He was living for eternity, and the wisdom—he acquired—was boundless that­ when wrinkleless he was coming back to his home, he said, 'The existence of something was once a notion, and the notion we have can make us superior to such celestial creations by our simplistic plan for living. Although we are curved by certain limits and we cannot become the god for the gods, we can create a godly image for the better ones coming after us. Eventually, making a merry world has been the postulation for everything and everyone. But I daresay that those who lived beforehand and afterward the culmination, I cannot mend their suffering.'

Olamdiar was his listener in the dying age. But there was no sense of fear or regret seen on the elderly face. He said, 'Than our mingling is evident, we will have a name that soon sounds so notorious that approaching us is naught than talking to light and armor. Yet I have spawned many wise thoughts on the tree if you mind wandering around to fathom.'

Olamdiar of the brown eyes looked into the red vision of Dhir, and continued, 'But thou hath senescence for impermanence thee yearn to turn. Because every blazing has its extremity. The atrocity of thy-or-one-self or enervation would catapult anyone sooner and later, as thou see me going...' and he smiled, standing on a gray staff.

Young Dhir was stunned and wordless for a long while, and Olamdiar left him in his fret. Olamdiar walked to the white maple away from the green of its kin. He dived into the water coming out of the tree's top. He grinned and he laughed, but then he cried in the water. Aloud it was that the ground shook, but his voice was not harkened by anyone. Even Dhir was lost in thought that it was seen on his troubled face.

The sky became gloomy. A severe storm approached that land of wisdom, but it did not sunder the last white tree. And in those howling gale, young Dhir cried, 'The land of Olamdiar is gray-green that it is the sign for peacefulness, and quiet is the aura of its unambiguous people that their heart never turns down the offer of their reason of existence...'

Magically everything stopped in the middle air: the rain, the thunder, and the water stream. Olamdiar came out of it with his wand and bearing a bright smile under the fuzzy, white eyebrows. He said, 'In the name of bearded Hansith, may your hair grow white and long that when you want, you shall have the power of bearing all that I have left for you outside.' He went near the tall Dhir and added, 'Even though the evening star has summoned you back, I can feel that you are not meant to be here...you are too an un...'

Olamdiar looked at him with wise eyes, and he did not speak further and trudged beyond the back of his grandson's friend.

Forbearance of the young man Dhir was grandeur in the era, and when he requested, 'thee had laissez-passer this sightseer once for the reason he does not know. And I ought not to ascertain by thy words, but as I went in the plight for peace, I shall go with the will of wisdom, and all I need is the blessing of the man sage.'

Dhir knelt, and bright, bald Olamdiar in the weary saffron asked him, 'Indeed, you have become so wise that we can be compared, but what a man can do over his limit of using wisdom to every ounce? I have left nothing for you to work upon, and nothing you can do to mend anything other than thyself.'

Dhir smiled looking at the god of Olamdiar, and said, 'Then wherever I am not expected, I will not go, no matter if it is my home. I left it long ago for my selfish desire, and now that I am back and rejected, I will rejoice to live alongside it. I will care for the water it provides me and for the world beyond the Gyrate. Undoubtedly! I will stay away from the shadow of this door, but I will keep looking after it and people who ought to hark my wisdom.'

'Well, I bid you farewell and wish you for the gray day in your life.' Olamdiar left the world in a trice as if air sucked his soul and rock swallowed his body.

Milieu was watching them over the cloud. She whispered, 'I cannot understand why I am not affecting these gallants.' and vanished.

After a long age of the world, more than three million centuries, that white tree was still there, growing tall that soon it would touch the cloud from where the death god was watching the first and last man of the creator race. And like the last time, Dhir was standing before the wood he was growing: the green maple. From twig to be his house, it had memories in terms of runes that Dhir carved on it. And he unsheathed his knife for the notions he had, and he wrote, 'Leave for the good! But I fear if it is true. I fear if it is just the deceiving desire to take him apart from...' he ended by the dots, smiling and saying, 'I shall not come to any judgment for the young one.' and he joined his little mate, Naks.

*

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