And winter's here.....or is it?

It may look Gaussian, but it's anything but normal

The Sheep with the Golden Fleece

Today was like any other day from the past 12 months or so. I was yet again making my way to the 6th floor of Perry Castaneda Library with a mocha in my hand, hoping my favorite niche at the very end of the right section wasn't occupied. My head (chronic scheduler that I am) was buzzing with which of the innumerable tasks at hand I should tackle first - there were 2 papers to review, a data set of videos to process, and a mammoth project whose innards had to be dissected before the coding could even begin.

And so I exited the lift, turned right and started going past the scores of undergrads in their respective cubicles. I have walked down this side hundreds of times now - and it always takes me past the Youth section. Colorful covers in different languages, all intended for an audience that obviously does not have to worry about the reams of theses that would start in the next few rows. Today, for some reason, I couldn't resist - I went to a random shelf on a random row and picked out a big yellow book. And then I made my way to my niche.

I've always loved libraries. Whether it was our school library with its huge windows and circular tables and a collection of the most fascinating books, or Ramakrishna Mission Library close to our home, with its stern custodians in their saffron robes and stacks of books stretching into the horizon (I would go there ever since I could walk and it would always seem that there was another section round the corner). They were oases of peace, shielded from the crazy hubub of the outside world, yet transporting you to even crazier worlds - the skull-lined fence of Baba Yaga and her hut spinning on one chicken leg, the wondrous slide of the Magic Faraway Tree, the childrens' room where the magic Wishing Chair sat silently before flying off to some bizarre world, the millions of adventures of the Famous Five, Secret Seven, Hardy Boys, Three Investigators and so many more, the nonsensical stories of Bimbo and Topsy, the schoolboy pranks of William, the bumbling mistakes of Billy Bunter....the list could probably go on. As I grew, so did my choice in books, but the reason the ones I've mentioned strike a chord is because your imagination is most vivid when you're small - every detail is bursting with color and possibility and that amazement stays with you.

But I think I'm now losing that unbridled joy I used to have for reading. Don't get me wrong - I still love reading, but the joy has been tempered. The books I read are no longer fanciful tales to magic lands, and even if they are (LotR etc), I know it's not real. And of course, reading and analyzing a million technical papers is not the best way to endear someone to the written word.

I guess it was a sudden burst from the past - that excitement of getting your hands on a new book and the untold possibility that lay within. I guess that's why I picked up that book even though I knew I had to actually read "Poselets: Body Part Detectors Trained Using 3D Human Pose Annotations". So I ran a script I had written the previous night, checked to make sure it was gobbling up the videos correctly, and then for 15 beautiful minutes read "Tales from Arabia".

And in case you're wondering, the title of this post is actually one of the stories in that book - about 3 men who find a sheep with golden fleece. All 3 claim it and they go to the caliph to help them settle the issue. He asks each of them to tell a story, and the one with the best story wins. All 3 men tell tales which enrapture the audience, so the caliph says he can't decide and will take the sheep and give them compensation which they can then split. Before he does that, he asks each of them what they'll do with what they get. One says he will become a merchant, the other says he will open up a shop and the third says he will become an accountant. They all want to be rich, but need the capital, so they agree to give the sheep to the caliph. He takes the sheep but gives them sturdy sandals, coats and walking sticks. When they protest, he says they have a knack for telling beautiful tales and that they should travel Persia telling their stories rather than becoming merchants. It ends with the line "...and their lives were rich and content".

Auguries of Innocence and more

A long long time ago, I was introduced to some pretty damn good poetry. Of course, I never really appreciated the lines then. Not that I've had any great epiphany since then, but I'll be sitting pondering over something when out of nowhere, a couplet floats back into my memory from the past.

Here are some of my favorites - snatches of brilliance in my (very humble, untrained) opinion:

Blake - Auguries of Innocence
...
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
...
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.

---

Keats

In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy tree,
Thy branches ne’er remember
Their green felicity:
The north cannot undo them,      
With a sleety whistle through them;
Nor frozen thawings glue them
From budding at the prime.

In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,      
Thy bubblings ne’er remember
Apollo’s summer look;
But with a sweet forgetting,
They stay their crystal fretting,
Never, never petting      
About the frozen time.

Ah! would ’t were so with many
A gentle girl and boy!
But were there ever any
Writhed not at passed joy?      
To know the change and feel it,
When there is none to heal it,
Nor numbed sense to steal it,
Was never said in rhyme.

---

Frost

The way a crow

Shook down on me

The dust of snow

From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart

A change of mood

And saved some part

Of a day I had rued.

Seed of Sarothen - Part 4

Previosly on SoS: The second task at the statue of Zeus garnered the strength of the Gods for the Seed and Satronus, the current bearer, left Olympia for the third task.

---

The members of the caravan coming from Athens were just waking to the first beckoning rays of the sun when they saw him stumbling over the dusty terrain. His haggard, weather-beaten face made him look much older than his 41 years. To the merchants’ surprise, he was heading towards them with astonishing rapidity. Instinctively suspicious, their hands went towards their scabbards – they had silks from India and Persian rugs which they had no intention of being robbed of.

But as the man came closer, it was starkly apparent that he couldn’t even rob a child. His face and arms were covered with dust, his clothes were shredded to bits and there were painful abrasions all over his body as though he’d been dragged around. He was walking with a limp and his eyes were lustreless, sunk deep into their sockets.

“Water!” he cried as he almost collapsed onto one of them, who backed away as quickly as he could.

An earthen cup was brought, the contents of which the stranger drank like a dying fish. The merchants herded him into their tent and gave him some more water and some food. Their duties of hospitality fulfilled, one of them spoke –

“My name is Kaizad. I’m a merchant from Arabia. Who are you, stranger?”

The man struggled to speak. He just kept shaking his head.

“What happened to you? Were you attacked?”

Satronus nodded.

“Filthy thieves! My gold – all my gold!”

“You were carrying gold! What for?”

“I have to finish my job, my task. It's very important. I need to...” His voice wavered.

“What kind of task, man?”

Satronus was silent for what seemed an endless moment.

“I – I’ve forgotten! Oh my God! I’ve forgotten!” he screamed with a note of hysteria in his voice.

The merchants forced him to sit as he frantically tried to get up, turning his face away from them.

“Relax my friend, calm down. You won’t be able to remember if you think too much about it. Surely you can recall some little detail.”

“No!” screamed Satronus, his voice cracking.

“Where you were coming from – um – maybe where you were going. Come on, something!”

Satronus paused and his eyes widened. The merchants held their breath. In a barely audible whisper Satronus said- “Halicarnassus. I have to go to Halicarnassus.”

“There!” beamed one of the merchants, slapping Satronus on his back. “It’s coming back to you! Do not despair, my friend, for good always follows bad. There is light after every darkness. We are headed to Marmaris; we can drop you at Halicarnassus on the way. Perhaps you’ll remember the rest when you get there.”

“Speaking of light after darkness” said another “do you realize the sun is high above the horizon? We have to start moving on!”

Satronus soon found himself facing a monstrosity better known as a camel, ironically named ‘Jamil’ which was Arabic for beauty. Jamil deigned to bare its teeth and grunt at him; and a few minutes later Satronus was gripping its hump in sheer terror as he felt mountains heaving under him; the camel turning its head back occassionally and snorting at him to remind him who was boss.

***

THE WISDOM

Halicarnassus, 348 B.C. – The Mausoleum

Satronus waved goodbye to the merchants and gave the nastiest look he could contort his face into at his camel which was at that moment baring its yellowed teeth at him again. He stood watching them grow smaller and smaller till the landscape swallowed them up.

He turned his eyes to the towering and strikingly beautiful structure that rose in front of him, then to the Seed which he held in his hand – the Seed the robbers had thought was useless. His face creased into a smile. That act of amnesia had come in handy. He had been robbed once and he wasn’t ready to trust anyone, however trustworthy they may seem. It saved him from having to explain about the Seed and besides, faking memory-loss appeared so genuine considering the state he was in.

Satronus walked up to the Mausoleum, gaping at the rows of sculptures that greeted him. He gasped as he stared into the eyes of a crouching lion, amazed at the life-size statues of people and horses, wild beasts and creatures surrounding the Mausoleum. He looked up, gazing at the columns that rose into the sky supporting a massive pyramid-shaped roof crowned by a chariot pulled by four horses, their manes sculpted to appear waving wildly in the wind.

He unfolded a tattered piece of parchment and read the verse that had brought him to Halicarnassus.

“The third is a splendid tomb

Beautiful and white

With wisdom of the perished

Their power and their might

Take it to the ashes

The symbol of the dead

Take it Bearer-the time has come

What’s needed has been said”

“The time has come indeed” said Satronus, folding back the parchment.

He stepped inside and looked around for somebody he could approach. But there was nobody except a few others who’d come to pay their respects to King Maussollos. Not knowing how exactly to proceed, Satronus walked towards the white and gold sarcophagus and was bending down over it when a commanding voice startled him –

“Who do you think you are!”

Satronus jumped and looked around for the source of those forceful words but he saw no one.

“I’m waiting for an ANSWER!”

Slightly nervous, Satronus spoke –

“Where are you?” Then ashamed by his own meekness, he added, “Or are you too afraid to show yourself?” The moment the words had left his mouth, he wished he could take them back. But the damage had been done!

“Why you miserable creature!” roared an obviously raging voice and Satronus took a couple of steps back as he saw the man who spoke. He was the biggest and at that moment, angriest man Satronus had set his eyes upon.

“I am the guard of the Mausoleum. Do you even think I’ll be scared of you?!”

Satronus had ceased to think in his nervousness.

“No-no. I didn’t mean that. You see I had –”

“I don’t care what you mean or don’t mean. You are forbidden to approach the sarcophagus – EVER! Now get out!”

“But you don’t understand. I have the Seed. It must – ”

“I’m not going to repeat this again – get OUT!”

Satronus opened his mouth to protest but the guard put his hand on the hilt protruding from the scabbard at his waist. Considering he would prefer an intact Bearer to a decapitated one, especially since it was his own neck in question, Satronus turned and walked out.

Out on Halicarnassus’ streets, Satronus was at a complete loss. He had no place to stay, no one he could go to and no gold he could pawn for local currency. His only thin ray of luck was in that the merchants had given him a silk kerchief as a sign of goodwill – which at that time Satronus had found highly ridiculous – but now thanked his stars for. Having sold it, he paid for a decent meal, then asked the owner of the place for directions to the nearest temple.

The owner was only too happy to oblige after realizing that the customer making the queries had eaten quite a substantial meal and given an equally substantial tip in spite of looking more like a beggar.

Satronus thanked him and left with a full belly but an anxious mind, hoping the temple could offer him shelter and assistance.

As the owner watched him go, he called out to one of the boys serving tea –

“Find out what that man is doing here. He is not as poor as he appears.”

So while Satronus carefully navigated the meandering streets of Halicarnassus, he remained oblivious to the small shadow that crept after him. When Satronus finally reached the temple, he was somewhat disappointed by its appearance. It was small and made entirely of stone. Besides, having seen the temple of Zeus, he probably would never find any other temple that would match the standards set by it.

He turned around and saw a faintly familiar face looking at him. He walked up to him, conscious of the fact that the boy’s nervousness seemed to increase with every step Satronus took towards him.

“Er – excuse me, but can you tell me if this is the only temple in this area?”

The boy’s face broke into a smile and he gave a small chuckle of relief.

“Oh yes! This is the only one. But you can go see the Mausoleum – it’s much grander!”

“No-no, I’ve been there. Thank you.”

Satronus was about to turn away but he asked –

“Have I seen you somewhere?”

The smile on the boy’s face fell abruptly.

“No. No, that’s impossible, sir” he replied in a slow and cold voice. Then, just as abruptly, as though a sudden idea had caused a wave of friendliness to rise in him, his face creased into a smile again.

“I can help you, sir. Just tell me what you have to do.”

“How can you help me?” asked Satronus in equal parts good humour and incredulity.

“Trust me, sir!”

“You don’t even know who I am!”

“You appear to be a good man. I’ll help you. You’re a stranger in this city and you will need help getting around!”

“That’s true…but surely there are others who need help as well. Why suddenly do you pick me?”

“You came to me, sir”

“Hmmm…listen, it’s very kind of you; but you have no idea what I’ve come here for. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

Satronus turned and began walking away but the boy ran up beside him –

“Sir – sir, listen to me. Do you even know the priests in that temple?”

“No, why?”

“Do you think they’d welcome in a stranger, looking, beg your pardon, completely like a rag-picker, into their temple. And whatever your reason is for coming here, they will never help you once they make up their mind that you are not a decent man. The people here stick to their first impressions, you know!”

“Do I!” Satronus exclaimed ruefully. “But, again, how can you help me?”

“Look, the priests know me well. I come to this temple often and they -er- like me. You see, my grandfather was a priest too, not here but, well, I know the customs. So, if I introduced you as a friend or uncle or something of mine, they won’t object to whatever it is you’re doing!”

Satronus pondered over this proposition. He didn’t see any cons, except…

“What will you get out of this?”

The boy put on the most innocent face he could.

“Do not doubt my intentions, sir. I only wish to help!”

“Oh well” thought Satronus, “What harm can a boy possibly do?”

Aloud he said, “Alright. I need to think this over. Meet me here this evening.”

“I’m glad I could help you, sir. I only mean good!”

***

“So, what did you find out?” the owner of the small eatery whispered to the boy.

“Not much yet. But he has already taken me into his confidence. He’ll be telling me everything in a few hours!”

“Good. Very good. You report directly to me”

“Of course! What are you going to do with him?”

“You mean ‘to’ him!” and the owner laughed at his own joke. “Anyway, that’ll depend on how much he has with him. But I was thinking of the usual.”

“Oh come on, he’s alone!”

“All the more easier!”

“There’s no need to kill him! You can just send your two favourites to deal with him”

“Maybe. I’ll see what has to be done”

“What do I get?”

“You’ll get as per what you deliver”

“Oh don’t you worry about that, sir, don’t you worry about that!”

***