Waterfall
During my stay in a cottage near Dharamkot — a town in the Himalayas, I tried to control my urge to speak…my urge to communicate. I followed Noble Silence — I was not supposed to look people in the eye, let alone talk.
I lived in a cottage, which was surrounded by Deodar forest on all sides. Its trees rose high enough to defy the sky.
It was monsoon. A glimpse of the sun was rare. Everything remained damp. A dense mist had settled in the forest. Birds’ chirp and other fauna sounds were seldom heard. Despite that the jungle was deep, no nocturnal noises could be heard. It was eerie! No cricket’s creek, no owl’s hoot, not even the faintest sound.
I had been advised to remain inside the cottage to avoid any encounter with leopards or other wild cats. Abiding by the rules, I went to bed at nine o’clock every night. And woke up at four in the morning.
The weather was dreadful. It had been raining for weeks and a thick layer of dull green moss had covered the Deodar trunks.
But storms don’t last forever.
There came a dawn when I woke up to find the stars in the morning sky. Finally, the sun came up from behind a huge mountain and, in its rays, everything shone like a newly extracted gem from the bosom of the earth. The leaves sparkled and so did the rain drops ensconced on them.
The sun had slain every inch of fog. It was a merry day. After two weeks of stay, I got complete knowledge of my cottage’s setting. There were steep mountains on the left and a deep valley on the right. The whole terrain was enveloped by snow-capped mountains on all sides; hence, the cottage seemed like the central stage of an amphitheater.
That night, I sat on the porch for long. Myriad of galaxies stared back at me.
The woods were still quiet.
When I went to bed, I suddenly heard a faint sound of falling water coming from a distance. It seemed unreal. My cabin was small. I opened my window and glanced at the woods. Fireflies danced to the rhythm of the breeze. Treetops swayed, as if they were embracing each other. The world seemed drenched in ecstasy.
The following night, I heard the sound again. The mellifluous sound of falling water. I was appalled because I didn’t hear it during daytime. Now, I was more curious — whether it was real or my mind was brewing it?
Was it a phantom sound?
It could be, I thought. My vow of silence hadn’t silenced my thoughts. And an introverted anxious mind could give birth to the funniest and weirdest things in the world.
The waterfall sound was a mystery. An enigma.
On bright days, I looked hard on all sides — as far as I could — to find the beautiful waterfall.
‘It sounds so beautiful. How must it look?’ I wondered.
One day I took a few steps down the valley. But nothing, not even a small stream could be seen.
I was surrounded by doubts.
As I heard it, night by night, it seemed like a hallucination. I didn’t want to hear it, but it wouldn’t stop.
I realized that whether it was real or not, it was the truth of my present moment. And I must accept it. I heard it with all my heart until I fell asleep.
I didn’t reason then. I didn’t struggle to find it. I didn’t wonder how the waterfall looked. Deep down I was content to have heard it. I affirmed — ‘it sounds beautiful. It’s heavenly wherever it’s flowing.’
It taught me that no matter what comes in life, it needs to be accepted. Acceptance is the first step to change. And freedom.
Two months later, I was back at my apartment in Mumbai; immersed in the rat-race.
Still, there are days when I do not say anything for hours. And go to bed in a state of peace.
On such nights, I hear the waterfall.
I don’t try to imagine it, I don’t fabricate a false image in my mind.
I know that it’s flowing. And I know that it’s heavenly.
