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Periscope:
Where joy forever dwells!
Master was quietly waiting for his disciple. He saw the disciple
appear at length.
"You are punctual, I must say." Said a beaming teacher.
"What is our plan today, master?"
"It's a long looked-forward journey. Follow me."
The disciple followed the master without inquiry. His teacher's
movement spoke a lot. When they walked further down the disciple could
see the river. The master got into the boat and beckoned his follower to
hop in.
 "Now forget all other nonsense. Remember all what I have taught you.
We will now sail off to the past - England in 1674."
"That's the year John Milton breathed his last."
"And we will see him alive, a few months before he breathes his
last."
The disciple was not shocked. Neither was he surprised. He knew his
teacher. He listened to the murmuring sound of the rippling waters.
Handling the boat, his teacher was mindful of the rippling waters too.
"I remember Wordsworth."
"I remember his lines of 'London 1802', master.
'Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour; England hath need of
thee: she is a fen.'"
The disciple had questions, but he knew this was not the right
moment. Then they both were silent until they reached a patch of land
seemingly different. They could glimpse an old man waiting for them.
Master raised his voice.
"Look at him. John Milton was completely blind when he died. But he
had a sharp inner eye. That was his support right throughout."
They got closer and shook hands with Milton.
"What would you like to have, tea or coffee?"
"Anything convenient for you, John."
"My man will bring something. Ok where can we start?"
"Perhaps with your source of inspiration?"
Milton smiled and it turned into a ripple of laughter in a little
while. Master and disciple looked at each other.
"A tough question to answer. May be I should start from my father's
life. That will be better. I have written about him too. You have read
my works?"
Master looked at the disciple. The disciple spoke up.
"You wrote: 'My father destined me in early childhood for the study
of literature, for which I had so keen an appetite that from my twelfth
year scarcely did I leave my studies for my bed before the hour of
midnight.'"
Milton smiled once again, this time in an even way.
"My father's name is John Milton too. His father, my grandfather's
name is Richard Milton. My father was so fond of literature, he read
almost anything. But my grandfather didn't like him reading Holy Bible.
Can you guess what was my grandpa's punishment?"
Milton paused a little for a response, and then went ahead.
"My father was banished from the family. I think he was the driving
force in my literary pursuit in a way."
"But you were a little disappointed with your colleagues?" Asked the
Master sipping the cup of coffee.
"That's right. Because many so called scholars did not have depth in
their knowledge. They taught themselves gallant men, but I thought them
fools. I studied theology, but never joined the Church ministry for that
matter. But I had the company of a few genuine friends. That was enough,
yet it was quite so."
An abrupt emotion swept across Milton's face. Both master and the
disciple remembered Edward King, a college mate who could earn high
respect from Milton. His 'Lycidas' is a pastoral elegy written in memory
of King.
Silence reigned. But both master and disciple did not want to tear up
that wounded past. Master was thinking of going off on a tangent. Then
he saw two books lying on Milton's lap. Milton sensed it and went ahead.
"These are two books from Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained."
"Paradise Lost is the most remembered one." Master stimulated the
speech.
"Yes. Even I feel so at times. Paradise Lost seems more frank. It
tells the Christian story of the Fall of Man. In other words it is the
temptation of Adam and Eve by the fallen angel Satan. I try to make
Satan less evil. In fact William Blake and Percy Shelley saw Satan as a
hero."
"Paradise Lost is the peak of your literary career, I think. You have
maintained your rhythm of the language."
"Many people share your thought. May be my blindness has helped me
out too. When my eyes went dead, I was born in another form. I could see
many things beyond this region. That's why I coined the word 'space' to
explain what is beyond the earth's sky."
"John, you were a civil servant and political analyst but you are
more fond of poetry? I mean that's how I feel."
"That's because my blood runs in poetry more than anything. I studied
many languages: Latin, Greek, Hebrew, French, Spanish, and Italian. I
wanted to discover the rhythm of all these languages. I started
researching on them. I like writing on politics and civil service, but
poetry is my soul desire."
"Master aren't we running out of time?" The disciple whispered to the
master.
"Yes my dear. We have no control over time," said Milton and went
ahead:
"Farewell, happy fields,
Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,
Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell,
Receive thy new possessor-one who brings
A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."
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