Arjun's days by the river grew quieter. The villagers no longer came often, and when they did, their mocking words no longer stung him the way they once had. He had begun to see himself as something more than their judgments, more than the name they called him by.
Yet, silence is not always peace. With fewer distractions outside, Arjun began to meet the voices inside.
At first, meditation brought him moments of stillness, but soon the stillness broke open into storms. His mind dragged him into memories of the past—the anger at his father's scoldings, the shame of being mocked, the desires he had once buried. Faces rose before him in the dark. Feelings he thought he had left behind surged with new force.
One night, as he sat cross-legged, eyes closed, he felt as if he was sinking into a cave filled with shadows. Shapes moved around him—dark, twisted forms whispering:
"You are weak."
"You will never be free."
"You belong to us."
His body trembled. His breath grew shallow. He opened his eyes, sweating, his heart pounding like a drum.
The monk sat quietly beside him, watching. After a long silence, Arjun whispered, "Master, I am afraid. These shadows… they are inside me. I cannot escape them."
The monk's eyes softened. "Do not try to escape them," he said. "They are not enemies, they are fragments of you. Fear, anger, desire—these are not demons from outside. They are your own children, abandoned in the dark. If you fight them, they will grow stronger. If you embrace them, they will dissolve."
Arjun listened, but his heart resisted. "How can I embrace what terrifies me?"
The monk pointed to the river, glistening under the moonlight. "The river accepts the reflection of the moon, but also of the storm clouds. It rejects nothing. Be like the river."
That night, Arjun returned to his meditation. When the shadows came, he did not run. He looked at them with trembling courage. He whispered, "I see you. You are part of me."
Slowly, the shapes grew less menacing. The voices lost their sharpness. They faded, like smoke dispersing into the wind.
For the first time, Arjun realized the shadows had no real power. They had lived only because he had been afraid of them.
When he opened his eyes, the night felt different. The stars above were the same, the river's song unchanged—but something within him was lighter. He had glimpsed a truth: his soul was like the sky—untouched, even when clouds passed through it.
And in that glimpse, for the first time, he felt the taste of freedom.