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The latest and the most expensive model of Rolls-Royce stopped in front of a sky scraper. A full uniformed driver emerged and immediately opened the door for Ryan Slate to come out. Ryan passed his hand once over his costly three-piece suit and stopped out of the car. Slowly, he walked towards the entrance, where a guard saluted him and opened the door for him.
Inside it was like a ‘modern heaven’. The building had been built, decorated and furnished by the best experts available; apparently a huge fortune had been spent but it was nothing for Ryan. Being one of the richest men in the whole world, Ryan could have paid for hundreds of such luxurious buildings. A lift transported him to the floor, where his private office was situated.
“Morning, sir,” his private secretary welcomed him.
“Morning, Julie,” he nodded, “how’s this day going to be?”
“Busy, sir, really busy,” she smiled.
Ryan flashed a small smile in reply and entered his office. Gracefully, he rested himself on his chair. He closed his eyes and began to prepare himself for all those meetings and appointments.
The intercom beeped.
“Yes,” he picked it up.
“Sir, an old man is here and wants to meet you. He claims that you know him and that he is like a father to you.”
Ryan paused for a brief moment.“Send him in.”
After a few moments the door opened and a person came in. His white beard and white long hair smelled of wisdom and experience, his complexion was fair and he had shining black eyes; he wore a grey robe and in his right hand was a staff. His gait was steady and, apparently, he didn’t need a staff but somehow that staff was providing support to him in an indefinable way.
“Father,” he stood up slowly, “after so much time. I had begun to think that you would never come again.”
“I had my reasons, Ryan.” He walked to a chair in front of the table. “Sit down; we have something to talk about.”
Ryan went back to his seat. Who was this old man? Ryan didn’t even know his name; he had been calling him ‘Father’ ever since he first met him. Ryan’s parents had died in an accident when he had been just a baby. He was brought-up in an orphanage; and it was there that he had met this old man. He was perhaps one of the staff members but he was very rarely seen, though all other staff members treated him with great reverence. He had found something special in Ryan the first time they met. Then he started to make his visits after a week or two just to meet Ryan. He treated him as if he were his own son. He had told him that he was destined to go a lot farther than many people; that he had to pass through a number of levels of his life before he reached the final point. He had always helped him and had converted a penniless orphan into the richest man of the world. He had guided Ryan at every step of his life and if there was someone who was to be given the credit for Ryan being what he was now; that someone was this white haired person. Over the years he had changed very little; he seemed to grow very slowly.
“You have made quite some wealth during these years.” Father spoke.
“Yes, thanks to you.” There was a short pause.
“Are you satisfied with your life, Ryan?” His eyes were penetrating Ryan, scanning every movement, no matter how small.
“Of course! What else do I need? I’ve got a zillion dollars in my bank accounts all over the world. My company has shares that would be worth millions. I have all the facilities a man can dream of.”
“Hmm… this is not a good symptom,” he muttered. “Ryan, this is not your destiny. You must move forward.”
“Sorry, I don’t understand.” Ryan looked at him and a strange fear arose in him; a sudden feeling of dread and despair. He could sense that something not very pleasant was about to emerge from his father’s lips.
“You must leave all this; all this wealth; all this money; all these luxuries.” The old man said calmly. His tone was steady and confident, and it indicated that he was fully aware of what he was saying.
“What! Are you mad?” Ryan stood up. Anger rose up in him like the waves of a stormy sea.
“Listen to me, I know this is the most difficult ordeal but you must pass this. You have completed so many stages of your life, you cannot stop here. There are still many stages to conquer. You have to understand.”
“Why should I? Why should I? I have worked so hard to achieve all this and now you want me to throw away all what I have. I won’t do this.” Ryan was nearly shouting.
“I never knew you were so weak, Ryan. What is this money? And what do you know what comfort really means? This is nothing but an illusion, a trap. Unfortunately, a person rarely comes out of this snare. People all over the world have failed at this stage. But you are a traveller, Ryan, and staying anywhere before the destiny is akin to death for a traveller. You are a strong one, Ryan. I had seen this strength in you when you were just a boy. I knew that you were the one I was looking for. And you successfully conquered all the levels till you reached this point. But now, it seems that you have been weakened by this money. Your heart is filled with love for wealth. You have become a slave to it. But I believe that you still have enough will power left in you to pull yourself out of this. You must willingly abandon all your wealth and enter the next level, and there you’ll see how insignificant these worldly possessions are, how worthless and mirage like. Come with me, Ryan, and you won’t need all this money. There are things better than this. There is so much more for you to experience.”
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Awais Aftab
Writing has been a passion, a love ever since I learned to write. For me, writing is a means of expression of 'secret tears and secret pleasures'. True writing comes from the heart and often it is the one to find you, not you the one to find it. Writing gives me power, the strength to carry on, the will to live and to live in a better way. It helps me find deeper meaning in the world around me and to understand myself much better. I can't survive without writing. For me, my writings are the whispers of life, in which the glory and sorrow of life echoes. For me, these are the glittering tears, whose every flash encompasses a thousand aspects of life. I believe that, 'I write; therefore I am.' However, true ease in writing comes from art, and I still have to learn a lot about that.
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