a star-man, at least...

a star-man, at least..

The sea is calm today. Last night it was not. There was a terrible tempest. The shoreline became white with starfish on the sand. A lame boy was limping—picking the live starfish and throwing them back into the sea.

A wise sage saw the boy. There are millions of starfish in one beach. There are hundreds of such shorelines.

‘Dear son, you are wasting your time and energy’, said the Sage, ‘How many can you save? What difference will it make to this world?’

‘Dear sir, for you, it’s meaningless. But for this starfish—it is its life.’

The old man shrugged and left. Summer morning it is—the meadow, bright and green. On his way back, the Sage was thinking, ‘for me it’s nothing. For the starfish, it is its life. Life.’

After a while, a man and a boy were seen throwing live starfish into the sea.

Shorobor is the boy. And the Sages.

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