Weeks passed by the river. Arjun's body grew lean, his skin darkened under the sun, but his heart was lighter than ever before. Each day he sat in silence, sometimes catching glimpses of peace, sometimes drowning again in the noise of his own mind. The monk never scolded him, never hurried him. He simply waited, as the river waited.
One evening, as the crimson light of sunset spread across the water, a group of villagers came by to fetch water. Among them were boys Arjun had grown up with. Their laughter stopped when they recognized him.
"Arjun?" one of them called out, half in disbelief.
Another laughed aloud. "Look at him! Once the farmer's son, now a beggar sitting with an old wanderer!"
A woman shook her head. "His poor parents must be suffering. What shame he has brought upon them."
Their words cut into Arjun like knives. He felt his cheeks burn. He wanted to defend himself, to shout that he was searching for truth, not wasting his life. But no words came. Shame and doubt rose inside him like a storm.
That night, he sat by the fire, trembling. Finally, he said to the monk, "Master, maybe they are right. Maybe I have abandoned my duty. Their words pierced me deeper than any sword. Who am I to think I can walk this path?"
The monk looked at him steadily. His voice was calm, but it carried the weight of mountains.
"The world has given you many names—son, friend, villager. You have believed those names and worn them like chains. But tell me, child, when you were born, did you carry any name? When you die, will you carry any name?"
Arjun was silent.
"You are not their words," the monk continued. "You are not even your own name. These are masks. The truth of who you are lies beyond them all."
Arjun felt something stir deep within. For a moment, he saw his life flash before him—all the times he had tried to live up to others' expectations, to carry identities that were never truly his.
That night, when he closed his eyes, he did not see villagers mocking him. He saw chains falling away, one by one. The chain of his name. The chain of their judgments. The chain of who he thought he must be.
The river whispered softly in the dark. For the first time, Arjun began to sense the vastness of the self beyond all illusions.