The river had always been beside Arjun—flowing, whispering, teaching in its own way. But now, after weeks of silence and inner trials, he began to see it differently. It was no longer just water moving to the sea. It had become a mirror.
One evening, as the sun dipped low and the sky turned gold, Arjun knelt by the river's edge. The surface shimmered, and for the first time he truly looked—not at the water, but into it. His reflection stared back: tired eyes, a lean frame, a face weathered by struggle.
At first, he saw only the outer self. But then, as the ripples shifted, the reflection changed. He saw flashes of the boy he had been—the restless son, the frightened seeker, the angry youth. Each face dissolved into another, until all of them disappeared.
In their place, he saw something vast and formless, a light not bound to his body. It was as though the river was showing him the truth: he was not just this changing reflection, but the presence behind it all.
Arjun whispered to the flowing water, "I am not the face that changes. I am the one who sees."
The river seemed to answer, its ripples dancing in the fading light.
In that moment, he understood: life itself was like the river. Names, roles, desires, fears—all were reflections on the surface, constantly shifting. The true self was the depth beneath, untouched and eternal.
That night, he walked back to the village slowly, his steps light, his heart calm. The villagers greeted him as they always did, but their voices seemed distant, like ripples compared to the depth of the river.
As he lay beneath the stars, Arjun felt no need to search, no urge to run, no desire to fight. The journey would continue, yes, but he had seen a truth that could never be unseen:
The river outside was only a reflection of the river within.
And both flowed into the same infinite sea.