love and heart break

The most beautiful heart

One day a young man was standing in the middle of the town proclaiming that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole valley. A large crowd gathered and they all admired his heart as it was perfect. There was not a mark or a flaw in it. Yes, they all agreed it to be truly the most beautiful heart they had ever seen. The young man was very proud and boasted more loudly about his beautiful heart.

Suddenly, an old man appeared at the front of the crowd and said, "Why, your heart is not nearly as beautiful as mine." The crowd and the young man looked at the old man's heart. It was beating strongly, but full of scars it had places where pieces had been removed and other pieces put in, but they didn't fit quite right and there were several jagged edges. In fact, in some places there were deep gouges where whole pieces were missing. The people stared—how can he say his heart is more beautiful, they thought.

The young man looked at the old man's heart and saw its state and laughed.
"You must be joking," he said. "Compare your heart with mine, mine is perfect and yours is a mess of scars and tears." "Yes," said the old man, "yours is perfect looking but I would never trade my heart with you. You see, every scar represents a person to whom I have given my love—I tear out a piece of my heart and give it to them, and often they give me a piece of their heart which fits into the empty place in my heart, but because the pieces aren't exact, I have some rough edges, which I cherish, because they remind me of the love we shared.

Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart away, and the other person hasn't returned a piece of his heart to me. These are the empty gouges—giving love is taking a chance. Although these gouges are painful, they stay open, reminding me of the love I have for these people too, and I hope someday they may return and fill the space I have been waiting for. So now do you see what true beauty is?"

The young man stood silently with tears running down his cheeks. He walked up to the old man, reached into his perfect young and beautiful heart, and ripped a piece out. He offered it to the old man with trembling hands. The old man took his offering, placed it in his heart and then took a piece from his old scarred heart and placed it in the wound in the young man's heart. It fit, but not perfectly, as there were some jagged edges. The young man looked at his heart, not perfect any more but more beautiful than ever, since love from the old man's heart flowed into his. They embraced and walked away side by side.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I encountered this simple but profound piece during my web wanderings some time ago and saved it lovingly. Last year, my friend’s daughter who used to confide in me, had a bad case of a heartbreak. You know, there are various degrees of heartbreak case—mild, bad, severe, critical and so on. For the past two years all her spare time she thought only of her man (yes the boy was 4 years older than her, good looking and  authoritative) and went on talking with him for long hours whenever possible and whenever they were not meeting together. One fateful morning she by an accident discovered him having another lover—nothing wrong in it, nothing greatly unusual. It happens all the time around us. But it is like a kind of death. The person who goes through this undergoes a basic change. It is like a very painful, deep wound and a feeling of deep vacuum and all-encompassing loneliness. Faith and trust change their meanings. Love becomes a dreaded word. The beautiful sunny world turns dark and clouded as if forever. She was distraught and suffered alone.

I didn’t know anything of this.

One day after spending a few hours in my friend’s house, while getting up for leaving, it struck me, “Where is she?” Whenever I come, the first thing that I see is her young radiant face. For two hours I am here and she didn’t come. “Not at home?” I continued my query. I had never seen my friend so sad. He just nodded helplessly, “She is practically confined to her bed for the last three days. We called the doctor. He couldn’t do much. Said, ‘Nothing seems to be wrong; might be a case of depression.’ I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay let me see.” I proceeded to her room.

There she was—lying on the bed—pale, eyes closed. Hearing my footsteps her eyes opened. I sat down on the chair nearby and touched her forehead—no fever, that’s good. Took her pulse—running a trifle slow but that’s ok. I asked, “Stomach?” She nodded negative. “Any pain?” Again negative. “Okay, give me an hour, I am coming back.” I went out of her room. I told the same to my surprised friend.

I returned in an hour with a print of this “best heart” story and gave it to her with a suitable introduction. All along, my diagnosis was heartbreak, but the faint but meaningful responses during my brief introduction established it as a fact. “Just read it slowly. No hurries. That’s a request from an old man.” I told her and left.

Two day later she called, her voice changed, “I understand, I feel a little peaceful now. The pain is less.” Not the previous self but much better. Now she had started living again, she needs just a little more time, I said to myself.

It took about three months more for her to bounce back. During this time we had long discussions. Young people need to tell things that churn in their mind.

Now she was more mature, more experienced and more confident.

“To become a woman you must have at least one heartbreak of the first degree.” Later I told her.  And she smiled.