1) ابتدائی تھیراپی: ابتدائی تھیراپی جیسے کہ اسپیچ تھیراپی، فزیکل تھیراپی اور پیشہ ورانہ تھیراپی ڈاؤن سنڈروم کے شکار بچوں میں مہارتیں پیدا کرنے اور ان کی علمی ترقی میں مدد کر سکتی ہیں۔

2) جامع تعلیم: جب بھی ممکن ہو ان کا جامع تعلیمی سرگرمیوں میں اندراج کرائیں اور اگر ہوسکے تو انہیں مخصوص اسکول میں داخلہ کرائیں۔ اس سے نہ صرف ان کی مثبت ذہن سازی ہوگی بلکہ سماجی تعامل اور ہنر کی نشوونما ہوگی۔

3) صحت کی دیکھ بھال اور باقاعدہ چیک اپ: ایسے بچوں کی صحت اور اس سے متعلق کسی بھی طبی خدشات کو دور کرنے کیلئے بروقت اقدامات کو یقینی بنانے کے لیے طبی پیشہ ور افراد کے ساتھ باقاعدہ طبی معائنہ اور مشاورت ضروری ہے۔

4) منظم معمولات اور مستحکم روابط: ڈاؤن سنڈروم والے بچے اکثر واضح معمولات کے ساتھ منظم ماحول میں پروان چڑھتے ہیں۔ بہترین نظام الاوقات اور مستحکم روابط ان کی توقعات کو سمجھنے اور ان کے اضطراب کو کم کرنے میں مدد کر سکتے ہیں۔

5) صبر اور مثبت طرزعمل: اہلخانہ کی طرف سے مثبت طرزعمل، تعریف، صبر اور اچھے کاموں پر حوصلہ افزائی، ایسے بچوں میں بہترین رویے کو تقویت دیتی ہے اور ان میں مثبت طور پر متحرک رہنے کے جذبے کو ابھارتی ہے۔

سماجی ہنر کی تربیت: ایسے بچوں میں سماجی صلاحیتیں اور روابط پیدا کرنے کیلئے کام کریں، دوسرے لوگوں کے ساتھ پراعتماد تعلقات  استوار کرنے میں ان کی رہنمائی کریں۔

غذائیت اور ورزش: ڈاؤن سنڈروم بچوں کی غذائیت اور صحت پر دوسرے بچوں کے مقابلے میں زیادہ توجہ دینے کی ضرورت ہے۔ متوازن غذا اور باقاعدہ جسمانی سرگرمی مجموعی صحت اور تندرستی میں معاون ہے۔

سپورٹ گروپس اور وسائل: والدین کیلئے مقامی سپورٹ گروپس یا آن لائن کمیونٹیز کے ساتھ جڑنا، انتہائی مددگار ثابت ہوسکتا ہے۔ ایسے بچوں کی تربیت سے متعلق والدین کو بصیرت، موثر تجاویز اور جذباتی مدد فراہم ہوسکتی ہے۔

انفرادی نقطہ نظر: ڈاؤن سنڈروم میں مبتلا ہر بچہ منفرد ہوتا ہے، اس لیے ان کی سوچ، دلچسپیوں اور چیلنجز کے لیے اہلخانہ کا اپنا مستحکم نقطہ نظر اپنانا ضروری ہے۔

آزادی کو فروغ دیں: روزمرہ کے کاموں اور سرگرمیوں میں ان کو تھوڑی آزادی فراہم کریں تاکہ ان میں چھُپی صلاحیت اور خود اعتمادی کو فروغ ملے۔

ان کی کامیابیوں پر جشن منائیں: ان کی کامیابیوں کو تسلیم کریں اور اسے منائیں، چاہے وہ کتنی ہی چھوٹی کیوں نہ ہوں۔ آپ کا محض یہ چھوٹا سا اقدام ان کی خود اعتمادی اور حوصلہ افزائی کو 100 گنا تک بڑھا سکتا ہے۔

بہن بھائیوں کی شمولیت : ڈاؤن سنڈروم والے بچوں کی دیکھ بھال میں بہن بھائیوں کا کردار بھی اتنا ہی اہم ہوتا ہے جتنا والدین کا، اہلخانہ اپنے مابین تعلقات اور افہام و تفہیم کو فروغ دیں تاکہ ایسے بچوں کا اپنے گھر والوں پر مکمل اعتماد ہو اور ان میں احساس تحفظ پیدا ہو۔

تخلیقی طریقے: ڈاؤن سنڈروم والے بچوں میں ذہنی صلاحیتوں کو تیز کرنے کیلئے تخلیقی اور دل چسپ طریقے استعمال کریں جیسے کہ گیمز اور آرٹ سیکھنے کے عمل کو خوشگوار اور موثر بنائیں۔

عزت اور وقار : ایسے بچوں کے ساتھ اسی احترام اور وقار کے ساتھ پیش آئیں جیسا کہ آپ کسی دوسرے بچے کے ساتھ پیش آتے ہیں۔

مستقبل کی منصوبہ بندی: جیسے جیسے ڈاؤن سنڈروم والے بچے بڑے ہوتے ہیں، ان کی بلوغت کے لیے منصوبہ بندی کرنا ضروری ہے بشمول تعلیم و روزگار وغیرہ جو ان کی ذہنی سطح کے حساب سے ہو۔

back, sparing the man’s life.

The subdued warrior was stunned; he had expected the worst and now was perplexed that he was still alive. He needed an explanation; he needed to know why Ali had taken pity on him. Before Ali could walk away from their encounter, the warrior called out to him: “Ali, you had drawn your sword to finish me off but changed your mind. What made you drop your weapon? What did you see in me when we fought that made you lose interest and spare my life? You had the upper hand; you’d won the fight. What else was more important than finishing me off ? What suppressed your anger at that instant?” “I only fight for God,” responded Ali. “I’m God’s servant; I’m not in the business of saving my own skin. I’m God’s unbeatable lion, not a whimsical warrior of passion! Not words but actions speak for my belief. The sword might be in my hand, but it is God who strikes. Just like the wind that cannot

move a mountain, I too shall not move other than by God’s will.

“Anger makes most kings lose their heads, but anger is my obedient slave! It’s indeed my patience that has freed me from the yoke of anger. My sword does not kill; instead, it bestows life! You spat at me, and thus raised an issue that did not directly involve God; and I never fight for any reason other than God. Your spitting aroused my ego and thus sparked off my anger. Had I used my sword, I would have been fighting half for God and half for my ego! That’s why I thought it best to withdraw my sword.”

Ali then turned to walk away, without looking back.

“Who’s there?” asked the lady.

“It’s me,” declared the man, full of hope.

“Go away, there’s no place for someone like you in this house!” she responded, her voice laced with sorrow. “You’re naïve and not yet ready, just like an uncooked meal! You declare yourself as ‘me’ and still proclaim your undying love for me? A lover who only sees himself is no lover at all but needs to roast in the fire of separation until he’s properly cooked!”

She refused to open the door, and the distraught man eventually backed away from the house. Soon after, he left the town for an unknown destination in some faraway land. Burning with the pain of separation, after a year of trav- eling from place to place he gathered his courage and approached his beloved’s home once again. Apprehensively but politely, he knocked on the door.

“Who’s knocking at this hour?” asked the lady impatiently.

“No one! The one on this side of the door is also you!” expressed the man humbly.

“Now that you’ve stopped seeing only yourself, you’ve become me at last! Two people could never exist in this house simultaneously, but now you may enter.”

She cautiously opened the door and let her lover inside.

“Now you’re welcome in this house. There’s no difference between us anymore; no longer are we the rose and the thorn. We are one and the same.”

become weary of the tireless backbiting on both sides.

Finally, he decided to stage a competition to establish once and for all which painters were the most accomplished and the worthiest of their time. The sultan decided to assign two of his empty cottages, which faced each other on the palace grounds, to the two groups of competing contestants. The Chinese were to occupy one cottage, while the Greek painters were to live and work in the one opposite. They had one month to present their projects to the sultan.

The Chinese were eager to begin work and asked for numerous colors of paint, immediately setting out to draw their designs on the walls of their house. The Greeks asked for nothing. They had brought with them special stones for polishing the surface of the walls. Shortly after arrival in their cot- tage, they began the grueling task of rubbing down the residue of many years of rot and decay that covered all the walls in their cottage.

It took the Greek painters countless hours of arduous work to remove the effects of many years of wear and tear on the aged walls, old paint and mildew that they scrubbed and polished over and over again. Meanwhile, their Chinese counterparts were busy applying layers and layers of paint, beautify- ing their own designs as they covered over what remained of the old paint.

The Greek painters were well aware of the art of the Chinese and were familiar with their methods. The Chinese, though, had no idea what the Greeks were up to. People were impatient to see what the great artists of their time had been working on and could hardly wait a day longer. After a month of labor, at last the artists were ready to show their masterpieces to the ulti- mate judge, the sultan.

The judging day was upon them, and both groups of painters impatiently awaited the sultan’s arrival. Musicians filled the palace grounds, and people danced and made merry while awaiting the final results to be called out. The sultan eventually arrived with his entourage and went directly to view the Chinese chef-d’oeuvre. The designs and the colors applied to the walls of the small cottage had transformed it into a grand palace of dreams! He had never seen such beautiful art in his life and was astounded. It took the sultan a very long time to detach himself from the beauty that surrounded him and to step outside the cottage.

Having seen what the greatest artists might possibly achieve, he was now exceptionally curious to see what the Greek painters had created. Reluctantly, he left the cottage of the Chinese painters and walked across to the other cot- tage, which was hidden from view by an enormous curtain. He ordered the curtain to be drawn back and instantly understood the miracle that the Greek painters had achieved.

Before the sultan stood the decrepit cottage, which in fact no lon- ger seemed old or dilapidated. The mildew and stains of the past had been patiently and laboriously removed. The artists had scrubbed, polished, and refined the walls to the extent that everything, including the Chinese paintings in the cottage opposite, was perfectly reflected onto them, exemplifying their purity. The work of the Chinese painters, in all its complexity and beauty, was manifested in the art of the Greek painters’ simplicity and transparency, thus rendering it unfathomably more glorious.

The sultan could not hide his amazement at how the Greek painters had managed to re-create beauty in its purest form, creating the perfect state. He had no doubt which group had the superior artists.

with him. One day, a friend bumped into him outside his home and told him that the old man next door had taken ill and that it would be kind to pay him a visit, as he had no relatives to drop in on him. The nearly deaf man somehow made out what his friend was telling him and promised to visit his neighbor that very same day.

How was he going to approach his sick neighbor, wondered the deaf man, especially now that he had become ill and weak and likely able to speak only in a whisper? But there was no way out of it; custom decreed that he pay the old man a visit and inquire after his health. He decided that he’d decipher what the patient was saying by reading his lips and respond accordingly. Nevertheless, just to be on the safe side, he prearranged his questions in his mind and his neighbor’s probable answers accordingly.

He decided that when he asked, “How are you feeling?” the sick neighbor would probably say, “Thanks be to Allah, I’m surviving.” Then he’d say to him, “That’s wonderful, thank goodness!” and continue: “What did you have to eat today?” The neighbor would probably reply, “I had a lovely vegetable soup, with a glass of cooling sherbet,” to which he would respond: “Bon appétit; how wonderful!” In addition, he would ask: “Which doctor has pre- scribed your medication?” and the patient would probably tell him the name of one of the local doctors, to which he’d confirm, “Fantastic, he’s the best in the trade.”

Thus, he was encouraged by his plan and immediately went next door to pay his visit. He sat next to the old man’s bedding, which was spread out on the floor, and kindly asked him: “How are you feeling, my dear neighbor?”

“I’m dying!” moaned the sick man.

“Thank God!” the deaf man said jovially, and continued with his next question, which he had duly prepared: “What did you eat last night?”

“Poison!” retorted the old man, already upset by the first answer. “Bon appétit!” the deaf man responded obliviously.

The sick man, made even more upset by the last comment, bit his lips to stop himself from swearing at his annoying visitor. The deaf man, though, continued with his inquiries: “Which doctor is treating you?”

“Azrael, the Angel of Death!” snapped the sick man.

“May he be blessed. His presence is always good news; whomever he visits is cured of all his pains and aches forever!”

Unaware of the damage he had done to his sick neighbor’s state of mind, the deaf man took his hand and shook it firmly before taking his leave, believ- ing that he had done his neighborly duty and brought the sick man much joy and relief.

A lion, a wolf, and a fox had become hunting partners. The lion was reluc­tant to be seen with the lowly fox and wolf but had yielded to their company because he thought it was his duty as the king of the prairie to allow them to benefit from his grace. Just as stars receive their light from the sun, the lion felt obliged to be magnanimous with respect to weaker and less worthy animals.
Their first hunt together in the high country was successful; under the lion’s tutelage, the trio managed to capture a bull, a mountain goat, and a fat rabbit. With the lion’s help, the two smaller animals carried their rich hunt from the mountain down to the prairie, their hunger growing by the minute. The wolf and the fox were too frightened to raise the issue of how the prey should be divided, but deep in their hearts they believed that the mighty lion would be fair in giving them their share; in fact, perhaps he would let them have most of the catch, as he was so magnanimous! The lion, for his part, could sense what his two companions were thinking, but he decided to remain quiet until an opportune moment arose when he would show them who was the decision maker among them.
“You lowly beasts, was my precious company not enough for you?” thought the lion to himself. “How dare you think that you can in.uence or predict my decisions? Don’t you understand that every thought you have, every action you may take, are possible only because of me?”
While he entertained these thoughts, the lion erupted into laughter, prompting the wolf and the fox into thinking that soon they’d be filling their empty stomachs with their prey.
“Wolf,” called out the lion. “Be my agent and divide the game. Be abso­lutely fair in your allocation. Show me what you’re made of!” he challenged the wolf.
“My king, the big bull must be yours as it’s the largest catch,” declared the wolf, thinking he’d come to the best conclusion. “The mountain goat goes to me, as it’s smaller and befits my size. The rabbit suffices the fox.”

“You dare speak of yourself in my presence?” snapped the lion. “Fancy­ing that you even exist while in the company of an unrivaled, majestic king is blasphemy! Come forward quickly,” he ordered.
As soon as the wolf took his first step, the lion lifted his monstrous paw and ripped his head off, then shredded his body, leaving just a shell. “This low-born creature was entirely ruled by his ego! No room for him in my king­dom!” announced the lion nobly.
Once he was finished with the wolf, the lion turned to the fox. “Fox, it’s your turn to divide the loot. Hurry up, as I’m feeling peckish.”
The fox bowed respectfully, swallowing his fear. “Your honor, this fat bull is for your delightful breakfast,” he said with nervous discomfort. “The mountain goat will be appropriate for your lunch, and the rabbit will suffice for your delectable supper.”
“Where did you learn how to divide the loot in this manner?” asked the surprised lion king.
“From watching the desecrated body of the wolf, your honor.”
“You’re a smart fox,” the lion admitted. “You’ve been absorbed into your love for me, and you’ve stopped regarding yourself as separate from the object of your love. Now you can only see me while you no longer exist; that’s why I will let you have all three catches. Take them and be gone; I’ll never hurt you. You may not only have the prey but I, too, am yours now! One who learns a lesson from watching his friends’ mistakes is indeed the wisest one.”
The fox couldn’t believe his luck, silently giving thanks to God that the lion had first chosen the wolf to divide the loot; otherwise, it would have been his dead corpse sprawled over the prairie.

There is a town called Qazvin in central Persia where it was customary for wrestlers to tattoo parts of their bodies. One day, a man, who was not in fact a wrestler but who wished to pretend that he was brave and mighty, went to a tattoo artist who worked in the public bathhouse. He asked the artist to create a beautiful design on his arm that befitted his courage. “What kind of design would you prefer?” asked the artist. “A fierce lion, what else? My zodiac sign is the mighty Leo, so make sure you use the darkest blue you ever tattooed on anyone!” said the man arrogantly.
The tattoo artist took out his ink and pins and set to work. It only took a couple of piercings before the man couldn’t bear the burning pain of the needle, and he snapped: “Which part of the lion are you tattooing?”
“I’ve started with the tail, sir.” “Leave it; leave the tail alone and start elsewhere,” agonized the fake wrestler. The artist went back to work, but as soon as he pierced the man’s arm again the man began to scream in pain: “Which part are you painting now?”
“The lion’s ear,” reported the artist.
“Leave it; leave the ear alone and start elsewhere!” screeched the man, tears in his eyes.
The artist huffed and puffed but didn’t say a word, going back to his work. Once again the fake wrestler began to scream: “What are you doing? Which part are you tattooing now?”
“The belly of the lion, sir,” said the artist with disdain.
“Oh my God, this is unbelievable! Leave the belly alone, it’s much too painful!” the man whined, unable to bear the burning pain. “Why should a beautiful lion need a belly at all?”
The tattoo artist was at his wit’s end. Totally exasperated, he threw his
tools to the ground and stepped away from his client.
“What kind of a lion tattoo doesn’t have a tail, an ear, or a belly? God has not created such a lion!” he snapped. “Get out of my sight and don’t ever dare show your face at my parlor again!”
Before the fake wrestler could even begin to complain, the tattoo artist grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and threw him out of the bathhouse into the cold winter air outside.

It was late in the day, and the professor needed to cross the water to get back to the island where he lived. He jumped into the first boat he chanced upon and ordered the sailor to take him home as fast as he could. The boat slowly pulled away from the harbor, and the professor made himself comfortable on the deck. He took one long look at the sailor and decided that this man must be illiterate, and before he could control his tongue, he blurted out pomp­ously: “Have you ever been to school or studied any literature?”
“No,” said the sailor innocently.
“Then you’ve missed out on half of your life, my good man!”
The sailor was deeply insulted but didn’t respond, carrying on with his work and waiting for an opportune moment to take his revenge.
Almost halfway through their journey, the weather turned, and a vicious storm kicked up. The sailor had finally chanced upon his moment of sweet revenge! Cunningly, he asked the professor, who was already white with fright: “Most revered master professor, do you know how to swim?”
“Don’t be silly, of course not, my handsome and capable friend!” he stam­mered squeamishly.
“Oh, what a pity! Because now you’re going to miss out on the rest of your life! The boat is caught up in a whirlpool, and the only way out is to swim! Now all your precious literature can’t help you one bit. You thought me an idiot, and now look at you! Stuck in the mud like an ass!”

Gifted musicians were a great rarity in the old days, but it was during the reign of the famous Caliph Omar that a certain competent harp player earned himself a fine reputation. Spectators loved his voice, the melodious sound of his instrument, and his entertaining presence, and thus they paid him handsomely every time he played.
The years passed quickly; the musician aged, and his voice lost its sweet timbre. People no longer appreciated him, and the more he tried to sing, the more his voice sounded like the braying of a donkey. People would shoo him away, and by the time he turned seventy, he was impoverished and unemployable. Eventually he came to the end of his tether and at long last turned to God:
“My Allah, You’ve granted me a long life but I’ve been guilty! I never appreciated Your kindness, yet You never turned Your back on me and always provided me with my daily bread. But now, I’m old and feeble and no longer have a beautiful voice. In fact, my singing revolts people when not so long ago they couldn’t get enough of it. I promise You that as of today I will only play and sing for You, my Beloved, and nobody else!” He sighed and, wishing for a little privacy, began to walk toward the town cemetery.
He found the graveyard empty as he walked silently, swerving between gravestones, until he finally chose a spot to sit down. Making himself as com­fortable as possible, he began to play his harp to his heart’s content until he was utterly exhausted and eventually fell asleep. He dreamed that he was in a lush meadow and that his soul’s wings fully opened, carrying him lightly toward the sun. He wished from the bottom of his heart that he could stay . oating in the air forever; but fate would not have it, as his time on earth was not yet up. At that very same moment, Caliph Omar, who was in his palace, uncharacteristically fell asleep in the middle of the day and had a dream in
which God instructed him as follows:

“Omar, it’s time to tend to my special subject! You can find him asleep among the gravestones. Take seven hundred dinars from the public funds that you collect on my behalf and take them to him as his wages. Tell him to come back to you for more after he’s spent it.”
Omar woke up with trepidation, grasping the urgency of his dream. He quickly ran to the graveyard and searched but could only find an old man asleep by a grave with an ancient harp by his side. At first, he wasn’t convinced that this could be God’s special subject, so he searched further but to no avail. At last he concluded that the harp player must be the man he was sent to find. Unwilling to disturb the old man, as he looked so peaceful, Omar quietly sat down beside him but then suddenly sneezed. The old man woke up with a fright and noticed the regal person sitting next to him. His heart in his mouth, he began to beg God to save him from what he thought was the Angel of Death.
Amused, Omar told him gently: “No need to fear me, dear one, I’ve brought you good tidings. In fact, Allah has greatly praised you and has asked me to pass on His blessings. He’s also sent you seven hundred dinars for your overdue wages! When you’ve spent it, you’re to come back to me for more.”
The old musician couldn’t believe his ears and became even more dis­traught than before. Agitated, he let out a heart-wrenching cry, tore off his tattered shirt, and, greatly addled, bit into his own hand. “One and only Allah, You’ve shamed me into nothingness!” he sobbed as he stood up and rambled aimlessly through the graveyard.
In due time, he stumbled back to find Omar and his harp still in the same spot as before. He picked up his precious instrument and, in one quick strike, shattered it against a nearby gravestone, destroying his only source of livelihood. “You’ve been the veil between God and me,” he blamed the harp.

“I beg Your forgiveness, my God,” he continued. “I’ve sinned throughout this long life that You’ve gifted me. I’ve spent it singing and playing music, forgetting the pain of being separated from You, and I and no one else am the cause of my guilt and shame,” he confessed. “Please save me from myself, for my enemy is within me, closer to me than my own pathetic soul!”
Omar comforted the agitated man, telling him that he must let go of his past as well as his future, for he was still entangled between them; and that meant that he was not yet one with God and had not yet put his full trust in the Creator. As he listened to Omar’s wise words, the old musician felt a purer light rising in his heart, enveloping his body and soul. Astounded, he felt that he was letting go of the world he had known until then and found himself positioned in a different space, untouched by superficiality; a world that required an alternative understanding where no words were left to speak, where solitude and silence were the order of the day.

Many years ago, a Persian merchant was given a beautiful parrot as a gift by his Indian trading partners. He kept the parrot in a formidable cage, where he could watch her and listen to her melodious song every day when he rested after his long hours at work. The time of year came when he normally traveled to India on a buying trip, and as is customary he asked his household help what they wanted him to bring back as gifts for them. Each person asked for something close to his or her heart, and so did the little green parrot.

“My dear master, my heart really desires nothing from my motherland,” she said morosely. “But, should you come across a group of parrots like myself, would you please convey my greetings and tell them that I’m trapped in a cage in Persia, and I miss them terribly. Ask them whether they think it’s fair that they’re .ying freely throughout the land while their cousin is slowly dying in captivity. I beg you to ask them on my behalf for advice on how I should reckon my situation.”

The merchant didn’t think much about the parrot’s demand but promised to find the birds and deliver her message exactly as she had voiced it. Once in India, he diligently tended to his business but did not forget his promise of gifts for his servants or the parrot’s message. One day, traveling from one town to the next, he happened to come across a group of parrots chirping noisily in a forest. He stopped his horse and delivered his parrot’s message faithfully, but before he could finish, one of the parrots began to shiver uncontrollably, falling off the branch he’d been perched on and suddenly dying. The merchant ran to save the parrot, but the little bird looked perfectly dead!

He became distraught, feeling overwhelming guilt that he’d caused the poor bird’s demise unnecessarily. He wondered whether the fallen bird was could do now, so he continued with his duties until he finished them up, and then he returned home.

Upon his arrival, he distributed the gifts that each servant had asked for but said nothing to his parrot. The bird, who had been impatiently awaiting the response of her mates, grew increasingly impatient and at last couldn’t hold back any longer, asking the merchant: “So, where’s my gift? Tell me, what did you see and hear from the Indian parrots?”

“I’d rather not remember!” said the merchant somberly.

“Master, what’s the matter? Why this long face?”

“I told your story to a group of parrots in the woods,” he said reluctantly. “But, before I could finish, one of them began to shiver, then fell from the tree and died! I’ll never forgive myself for causing the poor bird’s death. But what’s the use? Once the arrow has left the bow it will never return, and so are words that leave our lips.”

But before the merchant could finish his sentence, the little parrot fell from her perch and dropped dead on the .oor of the cage. The merchant could hardly believe his eyes; he burst into tears, quickly blaming himself for causing yet another innocent death. He became hysterical, cursing and repent­ing, not comprehending why all this was happening. He walked back and forth staring at his bird, who lay motionless on a heap of leaves on the .oor of her exquisite cage. He caressed the parrot’s feathers tenderly, remembering her harmonious song, which had given him so much pleasure for so long.

After a while, the merchant hesitantly opened the dainty cage door and care­fully picked up the bird, carrying her to the garden and laying her on the ground while he dug a grave to bury her. Instantly, the parrot shot up to the nearest tree and perched on a high branch, looking contentedly at her former master. The merchant was awestruck, not fathoming the secret of the words he had uttered.

“My darling bird, I’m thrilled to see you’re alive and well, but tell me, what did I say that prompted you to emulate your cousin in India? Tell me your secret now that you’re free.”

helped me understand that my imprisonment was due to my beautiful song, my talent for entertaining you and your guests. My precious voice was in fact the cause of my servitude! By his action, he taught me that my freedom would lie in the act of dying in the sense of forsaking my attachment to my worldly talents, which I had prized so highly.”

The parrot bid her merchant master farewell for the last time and quickly . ew out of sight.