You might notice these hands are wrinkled, but to me, they are imbued with love and wisdom. The world is divine and sacred. We are sacred. Our entire lives are devoted to the service of God. Our daily prayers are like the surrender on the lips of breaking waves, the whispers of the trees, and the shimmering of flowers.
In the quiet village of Teknaf, chittagong ‘ Bangladesh nestled between rolling hills and ancient forests, there lived an old woman named Jobaida. Her hands, wrinkled and calloused, were the subject of much curiosity among the village children. They would often ask, “Why are your hands so wrinkled, Dadi (Grandmother ).
With a gentle smile, Dadi Jubaida would reply, “These hands may be wrinkled, but they are filled with love and wisdom. Each wrinkle tells a story, a chapter of a life spent in devotion and service.
Dadi Jubaida’s story began many years ago when she was just a young girl living in a distant city. Her life changed when a mysterious illness swept through, taking her parents and leaving her alone. Despite her grief, she found solace in the city’s grand library, where she immersed herself in ancient texts and sacred scriptures. It was there she discovered a profound sense of purpose: to live a life of service and devotion.
One day, Jubaida came across a worn, leather-bound book that spoke of the sacredness of the world. It described how every tree, flower, and wave was a manifestation of the divine, and how true happiness could be found in recognizing and honoring this sacredness. Inspired, Elara left the city and embarked on a pilgrimage to Elmswood, a place she believed to be the heart of the world’s sacred energy.
In Teknaf , Jubaida devoted herself to helping others. She tended to the sick, taught the village children, and spent hours in the forest, communing with nature. Her prayers became part of the natural world—echoing through the rustling leaves, the bubbling brooks, and the vibrant flowers. The villagers often saw her walking along the shoreline, whispering her prayers to the waves, believing each prayer was carried to the divine by the breaking waves.
As years passed, Jubaidas’ hands grew wrinkled and worn from her labors, but they also became symbols of her life’s devotion. She would tell the children, “Our lives are intertwined with the sacred rhythm of the universe. Every action, every prayer, is a part of that rhythm. We are dedicated to serving the divine, and in doing so, we find our true purpose.”
One summer, a terrible drought struck Teknaf. The crops withered, and the villagers despaired. Jubaida, however, remained steadfast. She led the villagers in daily prayers, their voices rising together like a symphony of hope. They prayed by the river, in the fields, and under the ancient oak trees. Each prayer was a plea for rain, a testament of their faith in the divine’s benevolence.
One evening, as Jubaida knelt by the river, her hands submerged in the cool, still water, a gentle rain began to fall. The villagers, filled with joy, ran out to embrace the rain, their prayers answered. Jubaida s heart swelled with gratitude. She looked at her hands, now glistening with raindrops, and felt a deep connection to the divine presence that had guided her throughout her life.
From that day on, the villagers of Teknaf held Jubaida’s hands in reverence. They saw them not just as old and wrinkled, but as symbols of a life lived in devotion, love, and wisdom. Jubauda’s legacy continued to inspire generations, reminding them that in every prayer, in every act of kindness, the sacred and the divine are always present.
And so, in the quiet moments of reflection and in the bustling activity of daily life, the people of Teknaf found the sacred. They remembered Jubaida’s words and her life, knowing that they too were part of the divine rhythm, connected to each other and the world in a bond of love and devotion.
Choitalyk Ruman's Corner 