The riverbank was quiet, yet Arjun felt a stirring inside that words could not name. He had returned to his village, lived among his people again, and shared silent wisdom through presence. But something deeper called to him.
Each night, as he lay beneath the stars, he felt as though there was another world within him—vast, uncharted, waiting to be explored. The monk's teachings echoed: "The true path lies not in the forest, not in the village, but within your own being."
One dawn, Arjun sat cross-legged near the river, spine straight, breath steady. He closed his eyes, not merely to seek stillness but to dive inward. At first, thoughts fluttered—the chatter of the day, echoes of voices, desires half-forgotten. Yet he did not chase them away. He let them pass, like birds across a wide sky.
Slowly, he began to sense a space beyond thought, a silent chamber inside him. There, no names existed, no burdens, no roles. It was as if he were gazing at the doorway to a vast inner kingdom.
But the moment he felt close, his body trembled, and fear surged. His mind whispered, "What if you lose yourself? What if you vanish?"
Arjun opened his eyes, gasping, his heart pounding. The river flowed as always, yet inside, he had glimpsed something more powerful than the outer world.
The next day, he returned. Again he entered the silence, and again fear rose—but this time he breathed through it. The silence deepened, and within it, he heard not words but a vibration, a hum older than the earth itself. It was not outside him; it was him.
Tears slid down his face. He realized that the journey was no longer outward. The real pilgrimage had begun—the journey within.