Darshan

                                        Darshan

I am a wanderer — like a piece of paper drifting in the wind. I travel wherever life calls me. For the past three months, I have been wandering along the Himalayan ranges. Here, I have witnessed wonders of nature, encountered many kinds of people, and listened to profound conversations. Yet what I longed for was a story — a magnificent story that could match the grandeur of this landscape. Even after wandering for so many days, I did not find that story.

Are you curious to know why I possess such an intense longing for stories?

My name is Sarathi. I was born in Tiruvannamalai. Or rather, that is where I was found. Yes — I was abandoned by my parents the very moment I was born. I grew up in an orphanage. Unlike other children, I had no family members to tell me stories during my childhood. There were no voices at bedtime, no gentle narrations, no inherited tales passed down through generations.

As I grew older, I tried to find stories in books. Though I possessed a deep love for stories, I found myself unable to read even a single page. Something within me resisted stillness; the written word could not hold me.

And so, I became a wanderer.

Different landscapes, different people, and their lives began to create stories within me. Every road held a possibility. Every face carried an untold narrative. These encounters stirred my imagination far more than any written page ever could.

When I came to the Himalayas, it was in search of a story. I expected something as magnificent as these mountains — a story that could match their grandeur, their silence, their mystery.

But until now, I have found only disappointment.

Two weeks ago, I reached Lipulekh from Kathmandu, crossed the Tibetan border, and today I arrived at Manasarovar. The purity of the lake soothed my soul. The many colors of the sky reflected on the surface of the lake like a living painting. From there, I journeyed toward Mount Kailash.

The mountain stood in triangular form, covered in white snow, with black patches visible here and there. Suddenly, a miracle unfolded. The sun tore through the clouds and appeared. The mountain glittered in golden brilliance. Tears of spiritual awakening streamed down my face. By the time I returned to my senses, the mountain had turned white again.

A Nepali youth approached me and offered to show me around the area. I refused.

"I know many places here that no one knows. I will take you," he said.

"I can take care of that," I replied. "Instead, tell me a story — one that no one knows."

He thought for a moment.

"I will tell you about Mount Kailash. You may already know that it is believed to be the abode of Shiva. This mountain is also considered the gateway to heaven. It is said that Ravana once shook this mountain in anger. Shiva, angered by this, pressed him down with his toe and trapped him beneath the mountain. Not only that, this mountain is sacred to Buddhists as well. A Buddhist monk named Milarepa once debated another monk named Naro. The debate did not reach a conclusion, so they decided that whoever reached the summit of Kailash would be the winner. Naro failed. But Milarepa, it is said, rode upon the rays of the sun and reached the summit. Many have tried to touch the summit of this mountain and failed."

"In 1926, a man named Rutledge, along with a Sherpa, believed that the summit could be reached through the southeast route. Their attempt failed due to a snowstorm. Later, in 1936, Herbert also tried and failed. He concluded that only a person with a pure and blemish-free soul could reach the summit. In the 1980s, an Italian climber named Messner was given an opportunity. He refused, saying that climbing the mountain would be like stepping over the beliefs of Hindus. After that, the Chinese government banned climbing the mountain. Even today, this mountain remains unconquered."

"You may not have known these details. Are you satisfied?"

"I asked for a story," I said. "You told me history. Even Wikipedia would say this."

I tried to walk away, but he followed me.

"I will tell you a story. Only a very few here know it. I said no one has reached the summit, right? That is not entirely true. In 1996, a 24-year-old youth reached the summit. His name was Madhav, from the state of Assam.

"He did not speak for many years after birth, but he had the ability to understand everything easily. From a very young age, he was interested in books. At the age of six, he read the Ramayana. He then went to his grandfather and asked whether Ravana was good. That was the first time he spoke. Everyone in the family was astonished.

"After that, he studied epics, the Vedas, and sacred texts of many religions. At sixteen, he left home and wandered across India. He met many gurus and debated philosophy. At eighteen, he abandoned his search for knowledge and reached the Himalayan ranges. He wandered through the Himalayas like a snow tiger.

"One day, he entered a cave and meditated for several months. Many times, he came near Mount Kailash and stared at the summit for hours. One day, he climbed the mountain. After reaching the summit, he disappeared the very next moment. No one knows where he went. He was not human, but a reincarnation of Buddha. People here believed he attained moksha after reaching the summit. Those who knew this promised not to tell outsiders. You looked like a sage, so I told you alone."

I gave the youth some money and returned to my room. Night fell. I lay in bed for a long time, unable to sleep. I kept thinking about Madhav reaching the summit. I finally fell asleep at midnight. But my subconscious continued thinking about him.

The story told by the Nepali youth filled my thoughts. It was extraordinary — haunting in its beauty and mystery. Yet, the tale lacked a clear conclusion. What became of Madhav after he reached the summit remained unanswered. But perhaps it is the unfinished stories that are the most powerful. Every listener can extend them in their own imagination and shape a conclusion that belongs uniquely to them.

What, then, could be the ending of this story?

I pondered in many ways, yet no satisfying conclusion emerged. Madhav Saikia — would you come before me and tell me what happened to you at the summit?

You vanished. It may be impossible for you to appear in reality. But would you come at least in a dream?

Midnight arrived before sleep finally overtook me. Even in sleep, my mind continued to dwell upon Madhav. I could no longer distinguish whether it was memory or dream. Dreams are the expressions of the subconscious. No one truly knows whether they are real or illusion — they are an alchemy of truth and falsehood.

In the silence of the night, I lost myself.

———*******———

Where am I? Am I real? Or am I part of someone else's dream?

I was in emptiness. A timeless space. Formless. Motionless. Another emptiness frozen within this vast emptiness.

Slowly, self-awareness emerged.

I am Madhav Saikia. I was born in a village in Assam. My parents belonged to the middle class. I did not speak for several years after birth because I was afraid. In truth, I had the ability to speak. The ghosts frozen within humans spoke with me.

As a child, I heard not only human voices but also the flow of their thoughts. How much violence in those voices. How much deceit.

One day, the voices stopped.

I remember that day clearly. I found a Ramayana in my grandfather’s bookshelf. I finished reading it in two hours. I felt as if I had been born anew. The voices that frightened me vanished. I went to my grandfather and asked my first question without hesitation.

After that, countless questions arose within me. I read science books obsessively. At twelve, I read relativity and quantum theory. That only created more questions. Then I read Osho and J. Krishnamurti. I became interested in Western philosophy. I studied the human brain and consciousness deeply.

Questions did not stop.

Even after reading Vedic texts, Vedanta, and Buddhist philosophy, there was no clarity. I wandered across India searching for sages. I debated with them. I found no answers.

I suffered severe mental turmoil. The ghost voices returned. I lay in a small room for many days. Mental turmoil became physical illness. A severe fever afflicted me. One day the illness intensified. That night, I slept peacefully. The next morning, I felt as though I had been born for the third time. My body healed. My mental turmoil vanished. The voices and questions disappeared.

I reached the Himalayas. I traveled alone to places no one dared to go. I climbed peaks, bathed in rivers, rolled in snowfields. I reached Mount Kailash.

Some force separated my soul from my body and drew it toward the summit. My body followed my soul. As I reached the summit, that force pulled me into a black hole.

Now, I stand here.

A stream of light appeared around me. A voice spoke.

"Human, I am pleased to welcome you to my abode."

"Who are you? Where am I?"

"You are in Kailasa. I am Shiva, lord of this place. Formless. Energy itself is my form. I can appear in a form familiar to you if you wish."

"No. This is enough. Do all humans come to your world after death?"

"No. You are the only human I have met. Humans have many questions about the universe and their lives. It is my duty to answer them. I chose you as their representative. To come here, one must possess a pure soul and clear intellect. In my creation, only you are worthy."

"How did you create this world?"

"I created only the fundamental laws by which the universe functions. Based on those laws, the universe created itself."

"Are there intelligent beings like humans in other worlds?"

"There are millions far more powerful than your species. But humans are dear to me. Others feared me. Only humans loved me — as child, father, lover."

"Worlds with life are rare. Earth has the right temperature, water, and air. One reason is the sun. But the deeper cause lies in the origin of the universe."

"The universe began with a Big Bang from a dense point. Time and space formed. Gravity emerged. As heat reduced, particles formed. Then atoms formed. Stars and planets emerged. Thus the sun and Earth formed."

"If even one factor had changed, atoms might not have formed. Stars might not have existed. Intelligent humans have an extremely small probability. That probability itself is the wonder of the universe."

"What is the purpose of human creation?"

"Many species exist. But only humans create — tools, objects, ideas, philosophy. Humans continue my act of creation."

"You will create intelligent species. You evolved from carbon. You will create silicon-based intelligence. You will create universes. You will fight wars with other intelligent species."

"Who will win?"

"Humans. My beloved humans will prevail."

"Humans created moral philosophy — dharma, sacrifice, love, suffering. Through suffering, humans purify their souls. That is why humans are dear to me."

"Evil exists. But dharma prevails. Human morality evolves. One day perfect ethics will emerge. That will become cosmic justice."

"Other species explored outer space. Humans explored the inner self. Only humans asked why they were created."

"I am fortunate," I said.

"You are the purest. You will guide future species. As I am god to humans, you will be god to new universes."

"I am god?"

"Yes."

"How did you appear?"

"I created humans. Someone created me. Someone created them. Endless continuity."

"I take leave."

The light vanished.

Darkness surrounded me.

I became a point of infinite weight.

——******——

Kill Heisenberg

 Kill Heisenberg

At midnight, along a silent street in Berlin, two figures walked slowly beneath the cold brilliance of the full moon. Jacob, the elder of the two, was about thirty. Scott, scarcely twenty, walked beside him. The street lay in darkness; no lamps burned, and only the moon lent its pale illumination. Anyone observing them closely could have discerned that they were strangers to the town — foreigners, perhaps. In wartime, such a distinction could prove dangerous.

For that reason, they had remained indoors through the previous night, and, from fatigue and tension, had passed the daylight hours drinking.

Jacob lit a cigar and began to speak.

“Do you know why wars are fought, my friend? War is not truly between nations. Nor is it between peoples. The human mind itself is divided by innumerable contradictions. War is merely the outward manifestation of the clamor among those fragments of the ego. If the human mind were harmonious and unified, there would be no war.”

Scott gave a faint laugh. “What you say sounds like poetry. Or philosophy. My limited understanding grasps nothing of it. I suppose you are a man who reads deeply.”

“It is philosophy,” Jacob replied. “The philosophies of the East always flow like poetry. A friend of mine is devoted to Vedantic texts. From his intoxicated ramblings I, too, learned a few things.”

“You have had more rum than wisdom tonight. That is why you entangle the human mind with war.”

“Fool,” Jacob said gently. “Listen. Every mind on this earth is but a fragment of a vast collective mind. The events of the outer world are reflections of that collective consciousness. If that greater mind were harmonious, there would be no war. War is created by man — or rather, by the human mind.”

Scott studied him. “Are you a Jew?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“You joined the army because of Hitler’s atrocities against the Jews.”

“My parents were Russian Jews. Twenty years ago, violent uprisings broke out against Jews in Russia. We fled to America and settled in New York. This world grants Jews no lasting peace. Just as every race has its own nation, the Jews too must have a nation. Jews from all over the world must gather there. This war is the first opening toward that destiny. First, Hitler must fall. Then there must be a homeland for the Jews — Israel. That should be the dream of every Jew.”

“At least your participation in this war carries meaning,” Scott said. “But I joined for no ideology — only for money. During America’s Great Depression, my father’s investments in the stock market collapsed. He lost his business and all his property. Unable to endure the harassment of creditors, he took his own life. I was seventeen. My mother and sister and I endured great hardship. When this war began, I enlisted immediately. I can now send a good portion of my pay home. Because of the war, industry has revived. My mother and sister have found respectable employment. But tell me — why have we come to this city?”

“To bring this war to an end.”

“You and I?”

“Yes. Tonight is the beginning.”

“What are we to do?”

“We are going to meet a man. His name is Werner Heisenberg.”

“Hitler’s close advisor?”

“No. A scientist. We are going to kill him.”

The moon shone like a polished silver bowl suspended in the heavens. The street lay heavy with silence. Somewhere, a dog barked briefly and then fell quiet.

“In a few months,” Jacob continued, “this city will fall under Russian control.”

“They say the war is still uncertain.”

“That uncertainty ends tonight.”

They reached a house and knocked. From within came the gentle strains of piano music. After a few moments, the door opened.

They entered and were seated.

“You — who are you?” the man asked cautiously. “Are you from the secret surveillance department? I sent all the details last week.”

“Your name is Heisenberg?”

“Yes.”

“We are indeed from an intelligence service — but not Germany’s. We are from American intelligence.”

Heisenberg stiffened.

“What do you want?”

“I will tell you shortly. First, what do you think of this war?”

“What is there for me to say?”

“Is it a just war?”

“I have no opinion.”

“Do you believe Jews are a race that deserves extermination?”

“No. Professionally, I have many Jewish friends — including Albert Einstein.”

“And what do you think of Einstein?”

“A brilliant scientist. But excessively praised. I, Erwin Schrödinger, Niels Bohr, and others have developed scientific ideas superior to his. For reasons unknown, people ignore that his contribution to quantum physics is limited.”

“Do you dislike him because he is Jewish?”

“No. It is merely professional rivalry.”

“When we knocked, we heard beautiful piano music. Were you playing?”

“No. It was from the gramophone.”

“Could you play it again? To hear Ludwig van Beethoven on a night like this is a rare pleasure.”

Music filled the room — like a wandering breeze, like the swirling of a river, like the deep resonance of the sea. When it ended, Heisenberg seemed less tense.

“Why have you come?” he asked again.

“My orders are to kill you. I carry a pistol in my inner coat. But I do not believe I shall need it. My conscience tells me you are trustworthy — that you think beyond race and nation. Is it true that Hitler once intended to have you killed?”

“Yes. Hitler is a fool. He declared relativity and quantum mechanics to be ‘Jewish science’ and inferior. Because I did not agree with him, he considered eliminating me.”

“Then why did he change his mind?”

“I do not know.”

“What relationship does your mother have with Heinrich Himmler?”

“I understand your implication. It is true that my mother appealed to Himmler on my behalf. But I do not know the nature of their relationship. Only that they were acquaintances.”

“In this war, whom do you wish to see victorious?”

“Germany, certainly. Consider what a united Europe under German leadership might achieve. It could propel humanity forward.”

“Replace ‘German leadership’ with ‘under Hitler’ and answer again. You yourself called him a fool. Imagine Europe entirely under him.”

Heisenberg was silent.

“Do you wish this war to end?”

“Yes. I am weary of it. At times, I even think it would not matter if Germany lost.”

“You know that ending this war lies in your hands.”

“You refer to the secret weapon.”

“Yes. A weapon that splits the atom. A weapon capable of leveling entire cities.”

“And I know America is developing the same under J. Robert Oppenheimer.”

“Whoever builds it first will win the war.”

“That is true. Yet I hope the effort fails. The radiation would affect generations.”

“Then why participate?”

“I was compelled. They threatened my wife and me.”

“How long before Germany completes it?”

“If I wished — a few months. But I have deliberately delayed it. I exaggerated the critical mass required to sustain a nuclear chain reaction. I reported it would take years. Hitler lost interest.”

“Excellent. Continue so. I need details of heavy water production facilities.”

“This weapon could bring catastrophic ruin. I will assist in whatever way prevents that.”

He handed over documents.

As they prepared to leave, Jacob said quietly:

“One more thing. Einstein asked me to deliver this letter.”

Heisenberg’s eyes brightened.

“He provides an equation and asks me to verify it. But it is flawed. I shall correct it. Deliver the correct equation to him.”

They departed.

Outside, under the moonlit sky, they lit their cigars again.

“Friend,” Jacob said, “the war has ended tonight — because of what we have done.”

“But Heisenberg was already delaying the weapon.”

“That would only prolong the war — prolong the suffering.”

“You mean the heavy water facilities he revealed?”

“No. Germany could rebuild those. What he gave us is far more significant.”

He pointed to the data.

“The correct equation for critical mass. Even Einstein and American scientists have not found it.”

“Why would he give it to us?”

“I provoked his pride. His desire to surpass Einstein.”

“With it, what will America do?”

“They will build the weapon first — within months. I do not think they will use it on Germany. Likely on Japan. The devastation will shock the world. The war will end.”

Scott’s voice hardened.

“So the destruction Germany might have wrought will instead be wrought by America. That is the only difference. The radiation will scar generations. And in the future, many nations will build such weapons and bring the world to the brink of annihilation. Do you not see that?”

“Last question. Why didn’t you kill Heisenberg?”

“It was all part of a long-term vision. After this war, if we could bring Heisenberg over to our side, wouldn’t that be a great advantage?”

“For a moment, I thought you might actually have something called a conscience.”

Jacob remained silent for a long time. To hide his nervousness, he drew quickly on his cigarette. 

“Who am I?” he said at last. “Only a soldier. A mere instrument.”

“Yes,” Scott replied quietly. “An instrument.”

And the two figures disappeared into the Berlin night.