King's Medicine

In the realm of kings, once supreme,

A ruler proud, his seat agleam.

Yet sickness struck, an empty throne,

Wazir, Nazir, Patra Kotal, all did bemoan.

Council gathered, consensus in the air,

"Healing must come, not martyr's affair."

Ice on the head, stomachache's sting,

Hakim, Kaviraj, Saber - futile offerings bring.

Thor-like trembles the once mighty king,

Hair sways freely without royal ring.

Elephants ride horses, a paradoxical sight,

In this plight, a dervish steps into the light.

Smiling face, long hair in rhythmic swing,

"Bring such souls, let happiness cling.

Toshak's embrace, a cure it may hold,

One resin's magic, illness to unfold."

Wazir, Nazir, through cities they roam,

In villages and towns, a desperate comb.

Yet the cure elusive, hope begins to wane,

Return home they must, their efforts in vain.

By the river, at a time unknown,

A man in Nehar, broken and alone.

Babri on his head, cheeks worn and weak,

A chest of bones, yet a smile he speaks.

"Ha: Ha: Ha:" echoes in the air,

Wazir, Nazir, Kotal, a perplexed affair.

To the happy brother, clothes they propose,

"Mine is yours," the offer arose.

But the man declines, "Clothes, not my desire,

Toshak Khana holds what I require."

Again he asserts, "No judgment, no plea,

What I earn, that's what I eat, you see."

Happy people found, but attire they lack,

The king's illness persists, an ominous track.

In simplicity lies a lesson untold,

Sometimes happiness lies in stories unfold.