Fiction: A carpet-maker in Srinagar pursues a transcendental dream – to weave a flying carpet

“It is said that Solomon had a carpet that would fly,” the voice of Abli Bab floats into my ears at the break of dawn. We stand on the ledge of Haer Parbat. He tries to feed pigeons while I watch over the buds of light that have just started to blossom on the shrinking tendrils of the vanishing night. Beneath us, away from Haer Parbat, the old city is curled up on either bank of the river Jhelum in a deep and obstinate sleep. Tiny, blue-black hands of the nascent morning knock at its ashen doors, but the tired city refuses to wake up.

“A carpet that would take him to any place anytime,” Abli Bab continues as his silhouette and his voice grow sharper. “Now the carpet, it is said, was just one among many that Solomon had. That is to say, it wasn’t different from any other fine carpet of its time. Just blue silk knotted and tied neatly. Pretty to look at, but nothing extraordinary. Nothing to mark it for flight in itself. It was rather the wind that carried it, made it fly. You see, Solomon was a mighty prophet and the Lord Almighty had granted...

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