About 70 miles. From Bandung. Meditated the Philosopher. They called him Eagle. For his thoughts lifted. Spirits high. To the sky.
One day a mother. In distress came. Seeking the Eagle’s help. With her. Her child. 5 years. Curious. As things unfolded.
The philosopher sat. In silence. A Batic cotton robe on top. Crisp. Glistening in the sun. And a sarong. Lungi-like. Crumpled. Soiled.
The Mother asked. Her question. The Philosopher. Whispered his reply. In her ears. She saluted. Got up. Radiant in face. And started to walk.
Her child . The boy. Hesitated. And all of a sudden. To her embarrassment. Asked . ‘ Oh Philosopher, why do you wear? Such a beautiful batik robe on top? And such a crumpled. Sarong below? Oh learned man. ‘
The Eagle smiled. Called him close. And whispered ‘Boy. You ask the rightest question. The contrast. My dear. Life is an album of contrasts. Happiness and sadness. If there is no crumpled dirty sarong, there is no crisp clean batik. You observed the beauty of the batik. Only because you observed the wrinkles of the Sarong.
Such is life, my boy. The earlier you learn, the better you prepare. For the journey. ‘