The Mirror of Beauty

The probe of the human mind has marked every inch of success but the art of drawing parallels for what beauty is has remained a great mystery. For some philosophers, beauty is the degree of attraction and admiration, provoked in an observer. But it is argued that the same beauty does not affect everyone the same way. It varies dramatically. A few think tanks have defined it as a degree of perfection, but perfection in one field may not be of any interest to an observer. So beauty is very difficult to explain fully, but it may be said that it is a game of comparison. Suppose there is only one woman in the world, now the question is whether she is beautiful or not. The answer unambiguously is that you can’t say anything because you don’t have another woman to compare with.

But sailing beyond the ocean of imagination, one realizes that there is a factor that determines the degree of beauty, i.e. a personal dictionary, which translates the mortals and assigns degree of beauty. The holy words of human history will peep out from the gale of truth and will strongly proclaim that Juliet was a goddess for a Romeo a god for her and rest, the particles of dust. Heer for ranjha was enough, and he for her, to lead whole their life together with few straws of love. But remember, if all the lovers of the world of the world are invited to a party to ask who amongst all is the most beautiful, they certainly shall stamp the claim of beauty on the hearts and souls of their own beloved which indeed is not their narrow-mindedness but a natural fact that ‘beauty lies in the eyes of beholder’.

One day a great historian whispered in my ears a story…
‘once upon a time there was king so fond of beauty that he called his most loyal and faithful negro slave and ordered him to go from east to west and from north to south and fetch him such a paragon of beauty that neither moon would have risen with such splendors nor the oysters of ocean would have given birth to such magnificent pearls; neither ladies of paradise would have looked so charming not the preachers of beauty would have been able to give such bewitching example, neither any artist would have created such mind blowing portrait nor a poet from the depth of his imagination would have been able to compose such riveting verse; neither any dove would have its pinion soar such marvelously not the Aphrodite would have marked such excellence. And if I say for her that she is the most beautiful spirit God ever created, then the claimants of beauty should have said:’ we are like lumps of coal in a mine and she a diamond among us.’ So, go my man whose head crown of my faith rests, on whose shoulders stars of firm belief shine and on whose chest medals of sure obedience are stamped. Go and present me the beauty that should be praised and witnessed by the twinkling stars.’

The negro servant bowed down and went away calmly to the peaks from where the sun pierced its shining fingers into the dark curtains of night, from where Shakespeare and Shelley enjoyed drinks of inspiration, from where the portrait of Mona Liza was found and from where moon extracts its gleaming light; and thus he went through plains to mountains, through valleys to deserts, through unfathomable cares to celestial cities and through each and every inch of this world where life seemed breathing.

After indefatigable efforts, he went to the king, presented him what seemed the goddess of beauty to him, his Negro daughter. At this, the king asked,
‘did you not find any soul more beautiful than this?’

He kept silent for a while, then raised his head and said:
‘Your Excellency, my blood shall be showered in your feet if I speak but the truth. You asked me to bring Aphrodite but I brought my Negro daughter; the reason was my loyalty. Your Excellency, for you her black complexion may seem coal in the dark but for me it is as beautiful as back rose or a diamond. To you her dry hair may look like that of a witch of some old myth dancing in woods but for me her hair is no less than the curtains of paradise. To you her wrinkled hands may seem as a deserted sight of this land but to me they seem as gods, to cope up the world’s fate in it has sketched these lines on it. To you her eyes may seem as those of angels when embodying eyes have mistaken but to me success. To you her wide nose may seem as dark, unfathomable caves of stone ages but to me it is no less than Noah’s Ark. Therefore, Your Excellency, my obedience and loyalty to you compelled me to bring my daughter to you.’

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