The morning mist had lifted, but the air beneath the banyan tree still carried a stillness that felt older than the forest itself. Dew clung to the wide roots like memory—unshaken, unshed.
Aarav sat cross-legged on the earth, tracing a line in the soil with a stick. His mind churned behind his still eyes. He had seen a vision—unlike the others, this one did not unravel itself. It lingered in silence, refusing to speak.
The guide sat opposite him, propped against the tree trunk. Though his body remained frail, a quiet power had returned to his gaze. He watched Aarav without urgency.
"You saw something," the guide said at last.
Aarav looked up, unsure.
"I… think so. But I don't understand it. It didn't feel like truth. It felt like… shame. Like I was standing at the very beginning again. Weak. Unworthy."
The guide didn't answer immediately. A breeze rustled the leaves above, and somewhere nearby, a koel called out—its cry piercing the hush like a memory returning uninvited.[1]
"You returned to the base," the guide said finally. "To the first step. The root. Muladhara. The beginning of the path."
Aarav's eyes narrowed.
"But I passed that long ago. I faced it in the forest—didn't I?"
The guide tilted his head, voice gentle but firm.
"You confronted its shadow, yes. But confronting is not mastering. Fear doesn't leave the body just because you name it. It waits—beneath action, beneath thought."
A silence followed.
Aarav sighed. "I don't get it."
Flashback in Words
Aarav remembered the cave. The silence. The suffocating pressure in his chest when he was alone. He had emerged from it thinking he had conquered fear, but even now, under this peaceful tree, his breath felt shallow—guarded.
"Then what failed?" he asked quietly. "Why did I see that again?"
"Because your roots are still afraid of stillness," the guide said. "You seek motion, symbols, victory. But the earth waits, unmoved. Until you can rest in it—without demand, without resistance—you cannot rise."
Aarav absorbed the words slowly. His hands clenched into fists, the dirt sticking to his fingers.
"Then what was all this for?" he asked. "All these trials—Ajna burning, visions tearing me open—and now I learn I never truly left the first step?"
The guide's eyes softened.
"The mountain humbles. The root does not shame you—it reminds you. That ascent is not escape. It is return."
The sun shifted behind the leaves. Shadows danced across their faces like fleeting truths.
A Sacred Pause in Nature
A wild deer stepped into view from the thicket ahead. It stood still, ears twitching, watching both of them from afar. Its presence did not disturb the moment—it only deepened it.
Aarav's gaze followed the deer.
"What does it mean?" he asked.
"Nothing," the guide replied. "And everything. Some truths arrive without language. Like a deer, they appear and vanish. But if you are present, they change you."
The deer vanished into the trees.
The forest folded in again, like a page softly turned.
The guide murmured softly, almost to himself:
"स्थिरसुखमासनम्।
Sthira sukham asanam —
The seat must be steady and sweet."
He looked at Aarav.
"Even your stillness must become gentle. Otherwise, it is only another form of violence."
Closing Reflection
Aarav looked down at the soil again.
"Then… I start again?"
"No," the guide said, "You remember again. You begin to belong. That is different from starting."
The wind stirred again—this time warmer, more forgiving. Something in Aarav's posture loosened.
But as he sat there, eyes downcast, Aarav slowly lifted his gaze to the man before him.
The guide's face was calm, yet beneath the surface of that stillness, Aarav could sense lifetimes—of struggle, of solitude, of knowing. A quiet kind of strength. One not earned in battle, but in surrender.
And in that moment, a thought stirred in Aarav's chest—not a fleeting impulse, but a silent longing.
I want to learn from him.
Not just answers. Not just visions.
But a way of being.
His lips parted—to ask, to reach—but the words didn't come.
The moment felt too sacred, too unfinished.
So he let the silence hold it. For now.
But somewhere in the forest, the koel cried again — sharper this time. And Aarav felt, without knowing why…something was moving toward them.
🌌 [End of Chapter]
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Next: The guide's first true lesson… and a choice that cannot be undone.
[1] 🐦The koel :
The koel is a well-known bird across India, famous for its melodious and haunting call, especially heard during early mornings and the monsoon season. Native to the Indian subcontinent and Southeast Asia, this bird is often associated with longing, love, and seasonal change in poetry and folklore.
The male koel has glossy black feathers and a deep, echoing voice.
The female koel is speckled brown and white, with a softer call.
Symbolically, the koel’s cry is often seen as a voice of the heart — stirring memories, desires, or spiritual awakening.
Interestingly, the koel is a brood parasite, laying its eggs in the nests of crows and letting them raise its chicks — a quiet metaphor of hidden truths and unseen exchanges in nature.