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That’s such an interesting expression.

Considering that Ashtosh Singh explores the unconscious and is a Fire Sorcerer, it makes it even more so.

Some say that a person’s life is like gold, while others compare it to light, and some even say it’s like a candle flame.

In these metaphors, the commonality is the radiance they emit.

Park Jinseong recalled a phrase written on ancient parchment.

* * *

“Teacher, what can a person’s life be compared to? A tree? The sun? A stone?”

“One can be anything.”

“Then what would you compare yourself to, Teacher?”

“I am a candle.”

“But you are intelligent and highly respected. Why would you compare yourself to a mere candle?”

“I illuminate for my students.”

“If you claim to illuminate, then why not compare yourself to the sun?”

“Because the light I provide is feeble.”

“Then why not compare yourself to the moon?”

“Because I am burning my own body to provide the light.”

“Then why not compare yourself to a torch?”

“Because my life is finite, and its end will inevitably come.”

* * *

A person’s life can be compared to light.

A person’s narrative can be expressed as light.

Especially as more and more are touched by that light, and as more try to follow its radiance, the more that light shines brilliantly and leaves behind traces that become history in everyone’s memories.

It serves as a guiding signpost.

It is the light of the North Star that shows direction to the lost.

Such is how a person’s life can shine so bright.

In this regard, if we think about it, the “firewood” that Ashtosh Singh referred to has a deeply significant meaning.

The human spirit.

A space where the unconscious intertwines.

In that place, close to the essence of one of the elements that constitutes a person, what did that Fire Sorcerer see and hear? What realizations did he come to through his experiences there?

If a person’s life is a narrative, and that narrative can be expressed as light.

Then what can we compare the unconscious that individual possesses to?

“A person’s life is finite, and the light they emit will eventually extinguish.”

Just like a fire.

Like a flame that dies out when there is nothing left to burn…

Thus, it’s firewood.

If a story is light, then the being that creates that story is firewood.

Burning itself to create a fire, spreading light everywhere.

The preparation of such firewood means…

Hehe.

“Ah, so that’s why there were so many brave souls before the return, and so many who didn’t fear losing their lives for the flame’s sage.”

For them, Ashtosh Singh must have been light.

A flame that drives away darkness with its radiant glow by burning itself.

Like the name “Fire Sorcerer,” their signpost, desiring to warm the world into a brilliant glow by using their own bodies as firewood.

The only place to rely on in the dark night.

A presence that draws people together, allowing them to find solace in that light and meditate.

Thus, they respected Ashtosh Singh and moved according to his teachings.

Just as he had been in their eyes.

Like a flame.

“Yeah… a flame.”

A flame that emits light.

A flame that devours firewood as it blazes.

Firewood.

But if what Ashtosh Singh intends to represent is firewood.

“Yes. I too, am well acquainted with flames…”

* * *

In a location in Punjab, India, a multitude of people are gathered.

It seems like a banquet is underway, with campfires lit in the spaces between the people, who are feeling the heat of the flames while gazing in one direction.

What stands there is a platform that looks like a grotesque structure made of glued together concrete.

On that platform is an unimpressive old man.

His bones seemed visible as if he had just come from some intense ascetic practice, and one might think he could be blown away by the wind; his only attire was a short pair of Kaccha, giving him the appearance of a common beggar on the street.

Yet the Kirpan at his waist, adorned with gold and jewels, suggested he was not just any street dweller, which further raised questions.

How can someone carrying such an expensive dagger maintain such a shabby appearance?

As he garnered the attention of the massive crowd, why would he boast of his unimpressive body to them rather than wearing something worthy?

“As everyone here knows, this is a very dangerous place.”

The old man began to speak, slowly scanning the crowd.

“It is teeming with ferocious beasts, lions (Singh) and lionesses (Kaur)…”

Certainly, even the savannah of a safari would be safer than this—

The old man’s calm jest was enough to ease the atmosphere.

“All who are here are lions. Men are Singh, women are Kaur. We are beasts, brothers sharing the same blood, a family. Thus, we are all lions, comrades with a shared destination.”

He pointed to the turban he was wearing.

“That is why today, I would like to talk about something we share: the lion’s mane, Kesh.”

The old man.

The one referred to as the sage of flames in India.

Ashtosh Singh continued speaking calmly amidst the people’s gazes.

“There are many places where we lions have no connection. Think of a place we wouldn’t go, one without ties. Now, lion over there, speak up.”

“A bar!”

“Correct. If you’ve been baptized, you shouldn’t drink. However, it’s better to keep your distance from alcohol, so that is a bit different from what I meant by a place without ties. Now, lion next to you, what about another place?”

“A opium den!”

“Ha, that’s an outdated term. Right, both opium and drugs should be avoided. But that too applies to everyone else, not to us lions; that’s also different from what I envisioned. Now, the lion nearby, speak up.”

“Uh… the house of an affair partner?”

Hahaha!

Laughter erupted all around at the last person’s response.

“True enough, it wouldn’t make sense for someone to maintain a relationship with someone else while having a partner. But this too is something that shouldn’t occur; if one hasn’t been cheating, they wouldn’t naturally end up there—yes, it’s still different from what I had in mind.”

“….”

“Did no one really think of it? Didn’t I provide hints earlier?”

Ashtosh Singh chuckled.

“A hair salon.”

Oh dear, it seems people forgot about it since they’ve no reason to go there—

Ashtosh Singh let out a hearty laugh.

“Connections come naturally. But conversely, some connections require us to actively approach them, to extend our hands. Thus, I concluded after meditating: a place without connections that will not reach me until I die. Yes, I thought, I ought to visit a hair salon…”

“….”

“Honestly speaking, I bet you lions were curious too. Especially since everyone here has not cut their hair, being kesadhari makes it all the more so.”

Kesh.

A term signifying “long hair,” one of the five symbols established by the tenth Guru, Gobind Singh, in Sikhism.

Men do not cut their hair or beards and wear turbans, while women grow their hair down to their waists.

This long hair symbolizes their dedication to God and serves as the simplest way to distinguish Sikhs from one another.

Of course, this alone does not distinguish every Sikh.

Not everyone adheres to this Kesh.

Each of Sikhism’s three sects has varying customs and teachings, and opinions on strict adherence differ slightly. Some Sikhs overseas prefer to simply cut their hair, while others cut it after losing their parents, and some sects actively adopt Western culture, cutting their hair.

Those who cut their hair are referred to as ‘Mona Sikh.’

And those who grow their hair are called ‘Kesadhari.’

The people gathered here were precisely those Kesadhari.

“So I went to the hair salon. As always, I washed my hair, combed it neatly with a Kangha, and wrapped a Dastaar around my head. When I entered the salon, oh ho, the owner glanced at me and said,

‘Converting, are we?'”

Hahaha!

Laughter erupted at Ashtosh Singh’s words.

Just imagining such a ridiculous situation combined with his exaggerated mannerisms made it impossible not to burst into laughter.

“Well, having lived to a certain age, the owner probably assumed my parents must be dead. To be fair, I don’t have a youthful face, so if I had parents, they’d probably be about 200 years old by now… Hahaha.”

Hahaha!

Laughter flowed again.

“Honestly, while the owner sounded like some missionary coming to spread the word, I replied, ‘I’m just curious; I came to take a look.’ Then the salon owner retorted,

‘I’ve never seen someone with long hair just wanting to look around.'”

Hahaha!

Laughter erupted once more.

“Anyway, I finally managed to step into that salon. Perhaps it was because the owner saw the dagger I was carrying that they allowed me in. Honestly, isn’t our Kirpan more potent than the scissors typically used at salons?”

Ashtosh Singh paused for a moment to catch his breath.

“But then, I saw a peculiar person in that salon.”

His voice sank.

The weight of his words began to permeate the atmosphere.

“There was a young girl, cautiously stepping into the salon, pointing to her hair that fell to her ankles and saying…”

“….”

“‘I want to sell my hair, how much will you buy it for?'”

 

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