The Great Story

“Just six months,” said Sarva|varma. “It will take just six months to teach Sanskrit.”

“Impossible,” Gunadhya replied. “No one can learn Sanskrit in just six months. It will be a futile effort!”

King Shata|vahana of Pratishthana|pura looked at the two gems of his court. The great grammarians and greater poets – Gunadhya and Sarvavarma. Who was right? It didn’t matter. He had to learn Sanskrit anyhow. The faster, the better.

Before Shatavahana could say anything to bring the dispute to an end, Gunadhya addressed to the court, “Sarvavarma! I challenge you. If you can teach Sanskrit to the king in six months, I will stop composing poetry in Sanskrit.” A pin drop silence prevailed in the court.

Then a grave voice broke the silence. “I accept the challenge, Gunadhya,” Sarvavarma said.

Thus Shatavahana began the tedious process of learning the language of the gods. With every passing day, he learnt the beauty and intricacies of the polished language of the elite and the learned. He worked hard, day and night, to gain mastery over the language. Meanwhile, Gunadhya waited. Each day brought him near his inevitable defeat. Sanskrit could be learnt in as little as six months.

Gunadhya lost the bet.

Thus disgraced, Gunadhya could no longer stay in Pratishthanapura. He will leave the kingdom. He will go far away. He will not return back until he has achieved something that’ll wipe out his dishonor. He took an oath.

Gunadhya became a wanderer. With only a bag containing a pair of clothes, some palm leaves and a stylus, he travelled over the whole Isle of Jambu. He drifted like a leaf in the air never staying still at one place. From the rocky beaches of Kanyakumari to the snowy peaks in the vale of Kashmira, from the mighty Sindhu to the surging Brahmaputra, the disgraced brahman covered the whole country on foot.

But what sustained him? Stories, they say. Wherever he went, he listened to stories - old and new, tragedy and comedy, myth and history, legends and tales. What literate, what folk – there was no distinction. Stories of lands far away, stories told by the fireside, stories recited during sacrifices – he drank the water of the stream of stories. And while his ears and his eyes paid rapt attention to the storyteller, his hands scribbled on with the stylus on the palm leaves.

‘Brhat|KathA’ he called it. The Great Story. And thus the massive tale started taking shape. Gunadhya wished to ensure that once started no should be able to put it down until finished. He devised an ingenious method – he wrapped one story around another, then wrapped the second one inside a third one and so on until it was a not tale but a labyrinth ready to lead you astray. And to defy the arrogance of that mistress of languages, this tale was written in Paisachi, the language of the ghouls.

Gunadhya was confident that he has achieved his objective. At last, here was something that’ll wipe out his disgrace. The story that will heal a hurt pride.

But his hopes were shattered. Shatavahana was not interested in listening to a story written in the obscure language of the ghouls. Not even a single person in the court appraised his creation.

Gunadhya was hurt. He went to a hillock on the outskirts of the city. There he made a large bonfire. He pulled out the palm leaves from his bag. He recited the first page of his tale. Then he threw it into the fire. Thus Gunadhya recited his tale, a leaf at a time and then bequeathed them to the fire.

The animals and birds of the hillock surrounded Gunadhya. They listened to his stories. And they shed tears. They lamented at the loss of such a great creation. The trees bowed in grief. The whole nature wept over the destruction of Gunadhya’s creation.

But Gunadhya didn’t stop.

A courtier who passed that way beheld the strange occurrence. He rushed to the king and narrated him the incident. The king was filled with regret, “How wonderful must be the tome for which the whole nature is grieving!” Shatavahana rushed on his horse to the place where Gunadhya stood burning his composition in fire.

Shatavahana fell at his feet. “You are a great man. Greater still is your creation. The fool that I was, forgive me! Save your priceless creation from destruction. Save it from fire!” Tears swelled up in Gunadhya’s eyes. He looked at the palm leaves that were left. Only about a fifth of them were left. Gunadhya handed them over to the king. “Here is a gift from me to you. I shall leave now.”

Gunadhya left the place. He was never seen again. With him, the greater part of his composition was lost. With the passage of time, the Paisachi language too was lost. But Gunadhya lived on in the translations of his creation. He lived on in his stories. He lived on in the ‘Great Story’.

Seven Letters From A Wanderer: The Seventh Letter

GOODBYE...

September 14, 2009

Hi Ash,

How could I have been so blind, so foolish? How did I not see what was so apparent, so obvious? How did I meander on the path that I was not supposed to be treading on? How? You never loved me. You never said it. Your silence was your apathy. I took it for your acceptance. The acceptance of myself. The acceptance of a friend. Oh, how did I act so imprudently?

A bud needs proper sunlight & adequate water to grow into a charming plant bowing down with flowers.  A helpless lamb needs appropriate nourishment to grow into a strong ram. Similarly, love needs reciprocation to grow into a bond. In absence of reciprocation, it becomes revulsion. And I don’t want to hate you, Ash. So, I have decided to stop. To end this story here & now. Let the story of my love remain incomplete. Let the story of my life remain incomplete.

Life, as I see it, is nothing but a series of choices. But for every choice we make, there are some inevitable consequences. Positive or negative, it doesn’t matter. But there are consequences, period. And the thing to understand is that we are responsible for the consequences. The freedom of choice is necessarily accompanied by responsibility. Productive or futile, good or evil, whatever the result, the onus is always upon us. We have the will to choose. That maybe, perhaps, the greatest boon for us. But in a way it is a bane, too. Because we are forced to choose for ourselves, the responsibility, too, is thrust upon us.  As someone has rightly observed – we are “condemned to be free.”

This, perhaps, is the greatest fear of man. To the moment a person is assured that the thread of his life is in some other being’s hand (God’s as per theistic concepts), that the course of his life is being guided by some unknown hidden principle, he is free of unease. For there is always someone or something to put the blame on, for every wrong that’s happening to you, isn’t it?  But what if everything you believed in crumbles? What if you realize that there is no such unknown hidden principle? What then? Then, all our attempts to absolve ourselves of our responsibilities, appears nothing but a futile endeavor at self-deception. By denying ourselves of the responsibility of our choices, we deceive ourselves, keep ourselves in dark.

Eight months ago, even I made a choice. A choice, too bold by any standards – to disclose my heart, my feelings to you. That day I had no idea, what future has in store for me.  I had not the slightest idea what the consequences, the repercussions of my action would be. It was as if I had been blinded by my love. Only one thing I knew – I love Ash & Ash should know it. ‘The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, & your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.’ Right, isn’t it? So, finally, I gave in to my temptation.

My love for you has undergone so many upheavals that a book can be written on it. Let me give you a glimpse of my feelings for you as recounted from my journal.

6^th January

…I don’t know but I am slowly becoming obsessed with Ash. I don’t know how but I am falling in love again. My heart jumps when I see Ash. I love the way Ash smiles…

10^th January

…Let no one fall in love. The pangs of love & the torments of affection are too painful to bear…when Ash comes before me, I don’t know what happens to me… I feel an unknown helplessness… I think I will die because of my helplessness. Since I can’t admit my love for Ash. Never.

8^th February

…Why do I never find it difficult to make friends with other people?...But I am unable to unfurl Ash… Is there a chance Ash also likes me & doesn’t know how to say it?...

14^th February

I finally did it. Confessed my love for Ash… I do not know whether this is right or wrong, good or bad. I just know that I’ve loved somebody & it is important for me to tell the person that I love that person. The consequences – I don’t know. Maybe, Ash will hate me forever. Maybe, Ash will accept my proposal. I don’t know…

17^th February

…no reply from Ash. My doubt was right – Ash has not read my letter. I was too disappointed. But what else could I do, except for lamenting upon my fate…

18^th February

Slowly I’m getting a feeling that I was wrong about Ash… But I can’t undo what has been done. I have loved Ash & that’s a fact. Nothing in this world is going to change my love for Ash. If I can’t be the lover, at least I’ll be a good friend…Nobody’s life is perfect. But we can at least have perfect moments in our life. Maybe, I should strive for those perfect moments…

23 February

… I am fed up of my constant longings. My desires know no end… I have decided I will stop thinking about Ash. That doesn’t mean my love for Ash is dead. No, I can never stop loving Ash. But I’ll stop expecting love in return. It gives me nothing but pain. And I can’t bear this pain anymore.

2^nd March

How strange it is that I no more feel the pain that I used to feel earlier! … Is it because now I don’t feel awkward anymore in Ash's vicinity? … What I fear is being parted from Ash. Will I ever be able to confess my love? Will Ash understand me someday? Will Ash love me someday? I don’t know. I really don’t know.

9^th March

…but still somewhere deep inside, I feel the restlessness of a lover unable to express love for the beloved … I feel so helpless. Why did I fall in love with you, Ash? Why? …

26^th March

…Creating castles in air, I hoped I’d live in them. But a small shudder of reality shattered it to pieces… But this stupid heart of mine, how should I make it understand? … Ash doesn’t love me. Not because Ash doesn’t want to. But perhaps because Ash can’t… The sooner my heart wakes up to this reality, the better it’ll be. Else, it’ll be too late.

…

8^th July

… Do I love Ash or an idea of Ash? … An idea that exists only in my mind. Is that conception same as the person that stands before me? … Why does it always happens to me? Why do I never get the love I dream of? … I fear the day when I will wake up from this dream & everything around me will fall asunder. I fear what’ll happen if someday I have the realization that I don’t love Ash. What’ll happen that day? Ash!! Before everything’s over, before it’s too late, speak. Speak what you want. Or else, maybe, I won’t be there for too long.

27^th August

Ash said it today… I deserve this. I really deserve this…

Everything that has a beginning has an end. This story started on the 14^th of February & here it ends, on 14^th of September. Eight months, seven letters. Seven letters – the seventh letter in the seventh month. Seventh month? Did I just say that? But September is the ninth month, isn’t it? Yes, now. But it wasn’t always like that. There used to be a time when September used to be the seventh month. In those olden days, March had the honor of being the first month of the year. And September – the seventh month – was held in special veneration, for in this month the ancient Greeks celebrated the return of Persephone, the daughter of Demeter, the goddess of grain & fertility back to her mother from the confines of Hades, the Lord of the Underworld. Her return was a symbol of the return of Spring to the world. And guess the day the celebrations begun – 14^th September.  They celebrated the arrival of Persephone, I lament upon the departure of my love.

One day I saw you & fell in love with you. I was incomplete. I thought you’ll make me complete. I was wrong. A wanderer is condemned to ramble here & there. He is not allowed to stay at one place for too long. In a way, the story of a wanderer is always being added to & improved upon. It is anything but complete. And those who try to complete it, are baffled by its immensity & incomprehensibility. The story of my love was a similar one.

Someone has said, “The promise of anticipation always exceeds the pleasure of possession.” Maybe, I will cajole my heart to believe that it is true. Maybe, there is some hidden good that my love was never consummated.

You know, just a few days back, a friend of mine called me up. He was very depressed. His girlfriend had betrayed him. She not only kept the fact that she loved someone else a secret, but also used him to further her own interests. She told him innumerable lies. And now, when he was of no more use to her, she rejected him ruthlessly. All the while that I was listening to him, I compared my situation with him. I could not help smiling (an ironic smile, of course) as I uttered the following words when he had finished, “Which is more painful – betrayed love or unrequited love? You loved her, although she pretended loving you. I loved Ash, in spite of knowing that Ash will never love me. Which would you choose, even though you know that it is only pain that is in your lot? Love, indeed, is pain. And we can’t avoid it.”

Ash, I don’t know if I was right or wrong. What I did whether it was legal or illegal. Because I don’t know whether love is legal or illegal. But I should’ve understood that I’ve no rights. No right to love you. Not even to touch you. Nothing. Do I even have the right to see you? I don’t know. I have pulled myself too far, Ash. So far that I can’t even hear your voice, let alone have a glimpse of you.

So, I stop here, Ash. This is the farewell. I do not know what more to say. Just this much, that I have loved you; hence, a small place in my heart has become yours, forever. Whenever you feel you want to say something that you can’t express to others, just remember me. I’ll always be there to listen to you, without judging you. Forgive me for any mistakes that I may have committed during this long correspondence.

With lots of love,
Only Yours,
Ascetic Wanderer

Seven Letters From A Wanderer: The Sixth Letter

A LOVE OR AN INFATUATION?

July 14, 2009

Hi Ash,

You know, recently I was thinking about my past life. The kind of person that I had been, I never believed in love. For most of my life I considered love to be a fool’s dealing. I laughed at people who did stupid things in love. I always wondered how can a person be so naïve so that he becomes ready to commit his whole life to just a single person. Never did I believe in love, nor did I had the slightest idea that one day I will be the prey of its darts. Now I know what a fool I had been. To assume that I will not fall in love. To think that I was above these petty emotions. It was a stupid notion. Who knew that of all feelings, love is the most powerful? To challenge love was to challenge Nature itself. And how can one win against Nature?

But I swear, loving you has not been an easy job for me. Only I know how much pain I bear each day since I have loved you. The pain – it sometimes becomes so agonizing. Each day I look at you with a sole thought in my heart, “Does Ash feel anything at all?” and one and only prayer on my lips, “Please read my heart through my eyes.” The day I loved you, I realized - to love is not so easy. Because love is not just about liking someone. It is mostly sustaining that like.

It’s very easy to fall for something or someone. We feel attracted to many things in our life. We like them. We adore them. But with the passage of time the intensity of our liking diminishes. We get engaged into new things. A little later, we completely forget about the previous thing. That’s the normal course of our likes.

But love – it’s different. When we love someone, we love them inspite of all their limitations & weaknesses. Maybe we are two completely different people, maybe our thoughts do not match, maybe my expectations & your efforts do not match, but we will never stop liking each other. We will always be fond of each other. Because we love each other. Isn’t it, Ash?

So, you may ask – Do I like you or I love you? To speak the truth, I don’t know. I don’t know how to differentiate between the two. How do I tell them apart? If it’s only the duration that we have to consider, then perhaps I have sustained my like long enough so as to promote it to love. What should I say? I think about you day & night. I see you in my dreams; some of them I do see with my eyes open. My heart leaps every time I see you smile. Every pore of my body radiates an ecstasy unparalleled, when your eyes meet mine. If this is not love, then I don’t know what is.

Long ago, I had heard a charming Chinese folktale. It’s about a young & pretty damsel who falls in love with a ghost who is always in a coat. Every night they meet in the woods, where they talk for hours until the Eastern horizon is painted in the hues of red & gray. They play in the sparkling waters of the spring and swing in the branches of the stooping trees. They sing and dance & the whole nature joins in with them. Thus the slothful days of warm summer & leafless autumn pass away quickly to usher in the cold winter. And then there is a snowfall so heavy that the lovers are unable to meet for many consecutive days. Feeling restless, the damsel scuttles out to meet her lover one day, forgetting to take any warm clothes with her. Shivering with cold, she reaches her lover who is waiting for her in the same coat under the same sycamore on whose branches they swung in the summers. The ghost looks at his love – her lips blue & her eyes closing. And without any second thoughts, he wraps the damsel in his coat. A smile plays on her lips. But soon it grows fainter. Because before her eyes, her lover slowly fades away into the air. For oblivious to her was the verity that her lover, the ghost, was under the curse to depart from the confines of this world on the touch of snow – the reason he always wore a coat. The apparition fades with the final goodbye, exchanging his existence for her – giving her a new life forever. And the nature sings an elegy in honour of the ill-fated lovers whose love was doomed from the beginning.

I don’t know why but this tale touched my heart. It’s a simple story. But still it’s so poignant, that I can’t help remembering it. For it tells that even in death we can find meaning. Someday, I wish even I would cover you with my coat. Perhaps that’ll be my ultimate ode to you. And perhaps that’ll depict whether I like you or love you.

With Love,

Forever Yours,

Ascetic Wanderer

Seven Letters From A Wanderer: The Fifth Letter

DOOMSDAY

14 June 2009

Hi Ash,

What’s up, bud? Hope you’re enjoying your time in Kolkata - well, the catch being whether you can really enjoy in the weather that is prevalent here. Still, we human beings somehow find means of cosseting ourselves in pleasures, however small. Isn’t that what differentiates us from the rest of the living world?

From weather, I can’t help mentioning that formidable mother of disaster, the cyclone Aila. Goodness gracious, what an experience it was. I don’t know about you, but as far as I am concerned this was my first tryst with a climatic calamity of any sorts (barring earthquakes, the worst of which I have seen during my childhood). As mentioned in the Bible, it appeared as if the ‘floodgates of the Heaven’ had been opened. The mild winds turned into a torrent of immense vigour. The same breeze, that fetches us the much needed relief from the scorching heat of the summers, had somehow forsaken its abetting nature & had embraced the temperament of a giant hell-bent upon annihilating everything that hindered its path. 

The state of the roads was even direr. Large trees, that had proudly withstood the assault of minor rains & thunderstorms, uprooted from their foundations, lay helplessly on the roads, thus blocking them. The sides of the roads, which had been invariably lined with small stalls & booths selling everything from food-items, cigarettes, candies and SIMs, appeared uncannily clear. The impermanent planks or sheets of the walls of those stalls had been blown away by the outrageous gush of the high speed wind. Abandoned in a hurry, they had been victim of the nonchalance of their masters. The cyclone not only blew away the shops, but also thwarted the hopes & aspirations of families associated.

The rush of the people on the roads was even more extraordinary. With the declaration of an emergency holiday by the government, it appeared as if someone had hurled a stone at a bee-hive. Huge flock of people poured out onto the streets from offices, institutes, schools & colleges. Everyone wanted to reach the safe havens of their home as soon as possible. After all, everyone wants their loved ones near them at the time of calamity. Even the safest of places cannot give you the same sense of relief that being in your own home in such a situation provides. The home, after all, is special.

But this congregation made the matters worse. The buses came packed to the brim. There were no empty taxis or autos available. Moreover, the speed of the wind was increasing minute by minute. Standing beside the road, waiting for my bus, I was thinking how the hell I would reach home in case I couldn’t get a bus. I was completely drenched in the downpour & the gush of the wind was not allowing me to stand steady at one place. It was as if fifty men were pushing at my back at the same time.

Even in such a dismal situation, I couldn’t help smiling at the way people were coping up with the cyclone. The few people who tried to counter the cyclone with their tiny umbrellas soon learnt of the futility of their attempts. There was a lady who was trying her hand at many tasks at one time at this point of emergency. Talking with somebody on a cellphone in one hand, she was trying to control both the umbrella in her other hand and the shroud wrapped around her neck. The umbrella, in the excitement of the moment, abandoned its age old disposition of convexity, and became concave. Even the shroud of the lady, weary of its delicate mistress, was trying to soar high in the sturdy arms of Aila. The lady, it seemed as if, was unaware of the misery of the circumstances, for it appeared that she was busy in a frivolous talk with her beloved.

Apart from her, there were some school children who were much too happy to get a chance to drench themselves in the downpour. Hurling the dirty waters of the mud pools at each other, they didn’t seem to be in a hurry to reach home.

I was too involved in watching those children. Suddenly, my absorption was broken by a shivering voice from my back. I turned back. Standing before me, there was an old man, perhaps in his sixties, with an umbrella in his hand & a bag over his shoulder. He was asking me the time. I told him the time. He smiled at me & complained about the weather. I smiled back at him & replied how I had been standing there for the past twenty minutes with no bus in sight. This small courtesy on my part started a string of conversation. He told me about his job as a lecturer at some college for past 25 years and of his family of two sons both of whom had settled outside Bengal & a wife who must be desperately waiting for her husband to return home. I asked him whether his sons come to visit him often. He said they do but only once in a year during the Durga puja. I listened to him intently, picturing the loneliness of this old couple in a house bereft of the laughter of their grandchildren & the candid converse of their sons & their respective wives. Life had been good to him, he said, the only fear being what will happen to his wife in case anything happens to him. I was speechless. I had no idea what to say, so I gave him a smile. A smile that conveyed that I understood. I do not know whether he realized it, but the next question was for me. I told him about myself & my family. How I was working & sending money back home. I do not know why but he was very pleased with my answer. “May God bless you,” he said.

Suddenly, a joy spread over his face. I turned my head in the direction he was looking. 71A – this was the number on the bus. He bid me good-bye and put his hand on my head. “Always respect your parents & give them love & a little of your time. They deserve it.” These were his final words before he climbed onto the bus & was lost in the crowd in the bus. I stood there, looking at the bus until it completely vanished from my sight, unaware that the rains were beating on my face.

Not long after that, I saw my bus coming. Luckily, it was not as packed as I had imagined. Hopefully I got an empty seat in the bus. And as it happens ofttimes, the sense of security brings to your mind a ceaseless stream of isolated thoughts. I thought how calamities can bring together completely unknown people & make friends out of them. The old man & I, maybe both of us wait for our respective buses at the same spot everyday. If we had met on any other day, possibly we would have just passed by each other, completely oblivious of the life of the other.  But this thunderstorm, this cyclone tied the knot of acquaintance between us. I think we, sometimes, desperately need someone who will just listen to us without judging us. Perhaps, the old man would have been happy talking to this stranger who not only listened to him but also sympathized with him. Even I felt a sense of contentment that I was doing something worthy of appreciation. And his counsel – I will never forget it till the end of my life. And neither should you, Ash.   

I must say I was relieved on reaching my home. The severe thunderstorm had resulted in a power-cut. So, there prevailed a pitch-black darkness in my house. But still the sense of being at home was much too lifting to be dampened by such trivialities. I called my friends to make sure they are safe. We shared our experiences, laughing & making jokes over the phone. And at last, I also called my parents to tell them I am safe, all the while thinking about the old man.

The destruction wreaked by Aila on Kolkata was there to see the next day. As if the sights I had seen were not enough, the newspapers were filled with pictures of the victims of the cyclone. I thought - if a mere ten hours of cyclone can bring such devastation upon a city like Kolkata, what of those areas that were still far from the magic touch of the urban revolution, where even the basic amenities of the cities were a thing of luxury. And unknown to me, my most dreaded nightmares were taking shapes far away somewhere in the deltas of the surging Ganga & colossal Brahmaputra.  The virgin beauty of the Sunderbans was being ravaged by the merciless Aila. 

Whatever, with the government still trying to rehabilitate those displaced from their homes by the cyclone, the least we can do is send them help of any sorts. I have done so & believe that you have done the same.

What were your experiences during the storm, Ash? Did anything extra-ordinary happen with you? If yes, then I would love to listen to them. And as I have told you many times, I have got no problems listening even to your jabbering (in which I am an expert). Keep smiling & sustain the patience that you have shown till now. Looking forward to your reply.

With lots of love,

Only yours,
Ascetic Wanderer

Seven Letters From A Wanderer: The Fourth Letter

A BRIEF INTERLUDE

14 May 2009

Hello!

What’s up, bud? Must be really busy these days, isn’t it? Well, don’t get so involved in your work that you forget to take care of your health. Or else, you’ll lose your wily cuteness.  Oops! Opposite words, aren’t they – wily and cute? For others, maybe. For me they sum up to - of course, you, my dear.

Jokes apart, how was your last month? Anything exciting, huh? You must be really getting bored of the same question posed by me month after month. But what should I do? You never answer me. So, I keep on repeating the same question regularly. Anyways, let me ask you a different question. It’s been four months since I’ve been conversing with you through my letters. I don’t even know if ‘converse’ is the proper word, because it’s me who does all the ‘talking’. And that is precisely my question – Do you really not have any curiosity to know me? To know more about this stupid fellow who keeps on writing letters to you month after month? What do you feel about that person? Is it a sense of bewilderment or a strong feeling of repulsion? I am asking you this, because I want to know if my letters are really reaching you. I have got no idea whether these stupid contemplations of mine make any impression upon you. But I would love to know, if you wish to share your feelings.

Sitting here in my room, writing this letter to you, I am thinking where this mess is going to lead me to. Does it have an end? If yes, then I can’t see it at present. And perhaps I am aware that this is nothing but a futile attempt on my part to find the love of my life. The stupid that I was, I wanted to plot the course of my life on my terms. But today I feel so helpless, when I discern that I have no control over my life. Or else, why would’ve I fallen for you? Why would have I loved you?

Who knew love would be so difficult? Love, after all, happens in a jiffy. If people really gave so much thought, would they dare love anyone? But still, a part of my heart believes, they would. Even with the understanding that love involves pain, people would like to fall in love again and again. Because, in spite of the pain & the grief involved, love soothes, love heals, love uplifts the soul. Love has the power to pull us out of the nadir of sorrows & misfortunes. But alas! I don’t have that love. I shall not lie. I expected it of you. But you have your own reservations. And I don’t blame you. It’s your life, and it’s your decision. I can only abide by it.

Well, leave these things. Just now a thought descended upon my mind. It’s always that I am talking about my life, my hopes, my aspirations, but I’ve never asked you about yours. What is your aim in life, Ash? What is the thing that you are passionate about & would really do anything to achieve? What’s the goal of your life?

You know, we all need to have some aim in our life. Life is nothing but a chaotic succession of events. We, as human beings, are supposed to bring order out of this chaos. The river always flows towards the sea. The fire always rises towards the heaven. Here, the sea & the heaven symbolize the aim of the river & the fire, respectively. In the same way, we need to have an aim in life. It may be anything – to achieve a particular point in your career ladder, to do something in your life that you love to do or even, to gain someone’s love. An aim is necessary because it gives meaning to our chaotic lives. This aim, this emotional hook steers your life. Find the hook, dear, if you haven’t. Just give it a thought, Ash. How do you want to bring meaning to your life?

 As for me, I have told you about my aim in a previous letter. Yeah, to travel the whole world. I had told you in my previous letter that I've an innate incapability to stay still. I’ve been, should I say, condemned to the life of a wanderer. I can’t stay at one place for a very long time. I’ve been damned to leave behind my ties & start off on a new journey. Every time I reach a new place, I resolve that I will not just leave this time. This is the final journey. But with time, my heart becomes restless. I long for the joy of being in transit. As the days proceed, I know that I’ve to follow the call of my destiny. And then, one day, I do what I am best at – running away. Running away from those I love, running away from those I hate. Running away from life, running away from everything. 

In a way, running away for me has become a kind of redemption. Redemption for all the wrongs that I have inflicted upon those who loved me. I have hurt many people, Ash. I do admit it. Because, now I clearly see how my utterings have wounded the  people who wanted nothing but my good. By running away, I try to redeem myself. Maybe, one day I’ll be strong enough to ask for their forgiveness. That day, I will make a return journey. That’ll be my solitary spiritual quest to obtain the ultimate absolution.

You must be wondering, why the hell is this person always so grave, isn’t it? Always talking about hefty things in life, never rejoicing in the lighter moments. Yeah, it is true to some extent. Sometimes, some events, some experiences in your life force you to change your outlook towards life. Sometimes, they make people more serious, sometimes more casual. Perhaps, something on similar terms has happened with me. Maybe, someday I will find the strength to disclose everything to you. But rest assured, I am not such a grim person as I may appear in my letters. This delusion of yours (if there is any) will vanish when you meet me (And God knows when is that going to happen).

I'm sorry but I think I've reached the end of today's monologue. Yeah I know, this time it's too small. To compensate, the next one will be lengthy enough. Still, another long month before I bore you again. So, how are you going to spend this month without my unusually stretched blabbering. Here’s a suggestion from your unknown friend. Just love somebody, Ash. And see how the world around you changes so rapidly. Everything appears new, everything’s different. The songs of the birds become more melodious while the blossoms become more fragrant. The days become soothing & the nights warmer. It seems as if the whole nature joins in to celebrate your joys. Fall in love, dude. It’s an experience that you must never miss. Yes, there’s a little pain in it. But still the happiness it abounds, more than justifies the pain. And yes, do not forget to share your joy. It will increase a thousand fold. Moreover, I would love to listen to your experience about love. After all, who shall be gladder than me on your happiness? Take Care & keep smiling. Till next time, good-bye.

With lots of love,
Only Yours,
Ascetic Wanderer