On a train ride from Delhi to Calcutta an Englishman spotted the sage and poet Rumi standing by a window holding a pouch, throwing dust out the window.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked Rumi.
‘You see this pouch of mine,’ Rumi said. ‘This pouch has magical dust powders, with these magical dust powders I am making sure no tigers attack our train.’
The Englishman look out the window at the beautiful terrain before him, but he could not see any tigers. ‘but there are no tigers out here,’ he said.
“It’s some powerful stuff I have here,” Rumi smiled.
Within these pages lie magical dust characters, in the forms of stories, personal encounters, practices and insights.
There are no tigers.
At least not in the book.