Shepherd's Return

Shepherd's Return

Once there was a young shepherd who enjoyed telling stories to those who loved to listen. He would sit under the magnificent wide tree on top of his favourite grassy hill while the people gathered around him, enjoying tales after tales. Some of his tales were happy, and some were sad. A few were cold, while others warm. The shepherd would sing all sorts of stories and his listeners were always there.

No one could remember when exactly the hilltop fell silent. People, with eagerness in their hearts, came to visit him as they always do. But the shepherd was there no longer.

Several of those people called out his name. For months, perhaps even the seasons already entered yet another cycle, they called for him still. The reply they received was always the same. It was silence.

Yet truth is often hidden, even from those searching for it. The shepherd indeed was gone, but he would pass the plains once in a blue moon, to catch a glimpse of his beloved hill. His return was as swift as his departure, like a winter's gust that refuses to settle down even for a brief rest. From the reflection of his eyes, one would realise that the shepherd knew his storylisteners longs for him and his tales. If one looks deeper into his eyes, one would also realise that he missed them too.

Yes, the shepherd was indeed gone, but not forever.

Then came the Day. It was the day one could once again hear the sound of a wooden staff tapping the soft ground. The day steady footsteps echoed the hill. The day the music of the flute danced in the air. The day the herd regained its watcher. It was the day the young shepherd returned to his place.

"The Day is today," said the shepherd to himself.

The shepherd was unsure if his dear listeners would return to the hill as he had returned. Regardless, his heart was set and his voice would sing stories even if the people had forgotten him. For he found joy in telling and singing.

The shepherd also thought of the answer to the question why he left ever so suddenly. He thought of many ways to answer that question, but he chose only one he thought was best without starting another long tale.

"I had to leave my dear old spot because my Lord called upon me for a test of will. Now I think the test is over," he selected his words carefully. A keen observer might recognise that his wooden flute has aged wonderfully while a learned person might recall that a wooden flute will only sound more beautiful as it ages.

"Why precisely I was gone is not all that important. Mayhaps I shall tell about it someday. More importantly, now, is that I am once again here. And I do not intend to be gone again," the shepherd, standing beside the grand tree and looking out around the hill, spoke with a clear but different voice, as if the test he mentioned changed him in some ways.

"Yes, I was indeed gone, but not forever!"