Why this particular day turned out so gloomy, nobody knew. Actually, it wasn't just the day—the entire city was dreary: grey houses, sullen people. Though the city looked this way every single day.
Mother Nature couldn't manage it and couldn't add any bright colours. Despite the sun shining brightly and the tree leaves humming their little song, the city remained gloomy. People with their heads down, rushing somewhere, successfully pushed Mother Nature into the background.
None of the grey, sullen passersby, who all looked alike, noticed anyone or anything around them. A grey mass walked down a grey street. It seemed as though each of them saw only their own problems. No one had any interest in looking around to see what else was there.
Well, no one at all, except for a solitary violinist who played masterfully on the street beneath a large, sprawling tree near a shop. He alone painted the space around him with harmonious melodies, awakening nature and coaxing it to sing along with his violin.
Through his playing, he simultaneously expressed sadness and joy, malice and love, imbuing each note with a fragment of his own multifaceted soul. His instrument would desperately wail like wind in a storm, then gently sing a lullaby to nature, as if a caring mother were singing to her child.
The beautiful melody flowing from the violin reached young Maryam that day as she was returning from the shop with a string bag in her hands. She heard the magnificent sound of the instrument from afar. The song caressed her, called to her. And though she was poor, she was ready to give the master violinist her last coins, the ones she had left after her shopping.
As soon as Maryam stopped near the musician, the sounds of the melody enveloped her and began to gently caress her ears. The girl felt as though she were lying in a soft bed. No, the sound was like a cloud—soft and airy, tender and warm, just as the violinist intended to convey it.
But Maryam was certain that the angels themselves were singing to her. And the violinist didn't stop; he played for his young listener. The long fingers of his hand fluttered masterfully over the thin strings, while the other hand virtuously controlled the bow. The girl remembered the coins she wanted to give the violinist. She looked around, but found neither a hat nor a box nor a case for the instrument near the musician.
The confused girl quietly asked the man:
Why don't you take money? You play so beautifully. You could earn a lot of money.
The master stopped playing, and immediately the girl returned to the grey, gloomy city in which she had always lived. The cheerful, bright colours of nature vanished instantly with the last note of the violin.
Do birds get paid for their flight?
The musician answered with a question.
But he saw the bewildered Maryam and quickly added:
Music is a divine gift that calls us upward. It gives life, wraps everything around us in joy. When we listen to it, wings grow. I pour my life into it, and it pours into me. Music lives, reviving everything around it, creates, but cannot destroy. It opens the gates of immortality for us, allows the soul to soar. Do you still wonder why I don't take money for sending my soul and dreams into flight?
When she got home, Maryam thought long about the musician's words. The violinist left them deep in the girl's heart. Maryam fell in love with music. It became her first love. She never met the violinist again, but she mentally promised him that she too would become a musician.
But Maryam's family was very poor, so there was no money for an instrument, let alone a teacher. But the girl didn't give up. She did everything a thirteen-year-old could do to save money for an instrument.
She wasn't afraid of any work, even though it paid mere pennies. Her parents saw how the girl didn't walk but simply flew towards her cherished dream. They were good parents, so they helped the girl collect the needed sum as a birthday gift.
The violin was the cheapest one, but for Maryam it became the most precious, the most dear. It was her first instrument, and she loved it as much as she loved music itself.
Time passed, Maria studied, mastered the basics and secrets of music, and many years later she played in exactly the same spot beneath the sprawling tree near the shop. She also didn't take money for her playing, just like her idol. She didn't know his name and had seen him only once.
Sometimes Maria thought that he wasn't human at all, because she had never heard such playing before. And she herself didn't play like that master, though she tried very hard. "What is his secret?" Maryam would wonder.
Today the girl had a special mood. She didn't feel like playing smooth and tender melodies to passersby. Today's repertoire would be lively, cheerful, and fast melodies. She gently touched the bow to the thin strings, and something special sounded—something that became an ornament to everything around.
Maryam almost began to dance while her violin sang merrily. She tapped her foot in time with the music and offered a smile to each passerby.
Still, even after many years, the city hadn't changed at all. Everyone was still rushing somewhere, and only a few returned the musician's smile. Suddenly, four strong lads approached Maryam. It was immediately clear that they were native to this dreary city, and the girl violinist could do nothing about it.
Get out of here!
One of the lads said angrily.
You've brought joy here!
The girl was confused but didn't stop playing. Only the melody slowed, and Maryam cautiously took a few steps to the side. But the drunk men didn't calm down and continued to bother her. One approached the frail girl, pushed her on the shoulder. She nearly fell, stopped playing, and looked at the strangers with large brown eyes.
Didn't you understand?
One of the ruffians could barely move his tongue.
What am I doing wrong?
Maryam, slightly frightened, spoke up.
Just because you're in a bad mood doesn't mean everyone else should be.
And the girl took a small step towards her offenders.
What did you say, woman?
One of the lads snatched the violin from Maryam's hands, struck it against his knee so hard that the pieces flew at the girl.
Let's get out of here!
He commanded, and all four of them left.
The offended girl began to collect the pieces of her first and beloved instrument. She fell to her knees, and tears streamed from her eyes.
But no, how dare they, how could they!
Crying Maryam muttered to herself. Tears ran down her cheeks as she held the broken violin to her chest. In that moment, she became part of this dreary, grey little city, and the spark that the violinist had given her many years ago went out in her heart. She couldn't figure out how she would play now, or if she could play at all on another violin. She didn't want another one—this one couldn't be repaired.
Why are you crying, lovely young beauty?
Maryam heard behind her back.
She turned to the passerby. An elderly man in a grey overcoat and a dark hat with a wide brim stood over the bent musician. He shifted his walking stick from one hand to the other, examining the broken violin. He looked at the girl and smiled faintly. Maryam wanted to share her grief with him, and it didn't bother her that she was seeing him for the first time.
This is my first instrument.
Her voice trembled.
My parents gave it to me for my birthday. Many years have passed since then, but I've never parted with it. It was my best friend. I'm not sure I can pick up another instrument or if I'll be able to play at all.
Her voice grew quieter, and tears fell again.
Music is a divine gift that draws us upward. It gives life, wraps everything around us in joy. When we listen to it, wings grow. Surely you don't think those lads broke them along with the violin? Music opens the gates of the future for us, gives us the ability to soar. You will be able to soar with any instrument, if, of course, you know how to do it.
Every word from the stranger gave Maryam confidence, and her eyes began to shine. She recognised the magnificent violinist by the words he spoke.
The girl smiled, excitement overwhelmed her, but she found the strength to ask:
Is it really you, that very virtuoso violinist who spoke those words to me many years ago? Since then I've been playing the violin, thank you! But I can't play as beautifully as you did. What's the secret of your mastery?
Maryam asked.
Most likely it was your violin playing, not your soul. Try sending your soul into flight and the melody will follow it.
The old man smiled faintly.
Now Maryam understood his words quite differently. She understood that it wasn't the melody and the violin that should fly, but her soul. Music had given her wings at that first meeting with the violinist. And now the girl was confident that she could play as beautifully as her inspiration. No, she wouldn't just play—she would soar.
Yes, it really was you.
Happy Maryam said affirmatively.
Yes, it was me. But now you must become the one who can give a young girl a dream, who can show her where to find wings.
Having said these words, the old man faded away and disappeared. And Maryam, looking at the broken violin, found it was completely whole again.
Music can give wings to every person. They want to become a bird to fly away from all existing problems. Some try to flap these wings, thinking they're soaring, when they're really just walking confidently on the ground. But only birds can fly. And the wings that music gives us can be used by only a few…
These are the happiest people… But it's worth it. It's never too late to learn.
