Note:- You can skip to next chapter,8 to continue with the fantasy ride.
Dilli boarded the night train at Secunderabad with nothing but a small rucksack and a heavy heart. The iron wheels screeched, pulling him away from the city he had called home for years. As the train lurched forward, he leaned against the window, staring into the darkness, his thoughts circling back to his father's struggles and the silence of Lord Shiva.
Across from him sat an elderly man with a wrinkled face and eyes still burning with curiosity. After a long silence, the man spoke.
"Pilgrim?" he asked, noticing the rudraksha beads around Dilli's wrist.
Dilli nodded. "Yes. To Manasarovar."
The man smiled knowingly. "Ah, the lake of truth. Be careful, son. People go there for many reasons—some for blessings, some for miracles, and some… just for answers. Which one are you?"
Dilli hesitated, then replied softly, "Answers. For my father, for my family."
The old man chuckled. "Then you may suffer the most. The gods are generous with blessings but silent with answers."
The words stayed with him through Nagpur and Bhopal, where vendors shoved tea into his hands and curious co-passengers asked about his destination. When they heard "Kailash," their faces softened with respect. One young man traveling to Jhansi leaned closer.
"Bhai, do you really believe you'll see Shiva there? That he will speak to you?"
Dilli looked him in the eye. "If he doesn't, then at least I'll know. Better to confront silence than to keep begging into it."
At Delhi, the bustle of the station nearly drowned him. He shared a tea with a taxi driver before leaving for Haridwar. The driver, a Sikh with a turban gleaming in the sun, asked, "Why walk so far, brother? God is everywhere. Close your eyes in Delhi itself, you will see him."
Dilli sipped his tea and replied, "If he is everywhere, then he must also be at Kailash. If the mountain is where my doubts end, then I must climb."
The driver patted his shoulder and said nothing more.
In Haridwar, as pilgrims bathed in the Ganga, an old sadhu approached Dilli, watching him sit quietly instead of joining the ritual.
"You don't bathe?" the sadhu asked.
Dilli shook his head. "I am not here to wash my body. I came to question my god."
The sadhu laughed, his beard shaking. "Then you are braver than most. But remember—Shiva answers not in words, but in silence. Can you hear silence, son?"
The question lingered as he crossed into Nepal, through crowded markets and dusty border posts. In Kathmandu, while arranging permits, he met a group of pilgrims from Gujarat. They shared their food with him, and over steaming bowls of dal, one of them asked,
"Why are you going alone? Where is your family?"
Dilli smiled faintly. "I carry them all in my prayers. My father, especially. He is my strength and my burden."
Another pilgrim, a cheerful woman, said, "Then you must be a good son. My children don't even call me. At least your father has you."
Dilli lowered his eyes. "He deserves more than me."
The convoy into Tibet tested every pilgrim. Roads crumbled into gravel, altitude gnawed at their lungs. One night at Syabrubesi, as they sat around a stove fire, a young man complained,
"This is madness. Why do people put themselves through this torture? For what?"
Dilli, staring into the flames, answered quietly, "Because sometimes the pain of the journey is easier than the pain we carry in our hearts."
The group fell silent. No one argued.
Finally, after days of barren landscapes and dizzy heights, the convoy reached Lake Manasarovar. The waters spread before them, impossibly still, reflecting the eternal white of Kailash. Dilli walked to the edge, knelt, and dipped his hand into the freezing water. The shock stung his skin, but his heart beat steadier.
A fellow pilgrim whispered, "It feels like touching the sky."
But for Dilli, it felt like touching the threshold of truth. He closed his eyes, whispering, "Shiva, I am here. No more prayers, no more silence. Speak to me, or show me why you will not."
The journey had stripped him raw—through rails, roads, questions, and doubts. And now, standing before Manasarovar, he felt not smaller, but stronger, as though each step had prepared him for the confrontation that awaited at Kailash.