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In the empire of Shrawasti, King Prasenjit and his enchanting queen Mallika sat cross-legged in Padmasana, immersed in deep meditation. As they emerged from their trance -like state, a question synchronously arose in their minds.
The king opened his eyes, A slight beam of darkness fell upon the King's glass-limamed face.
" Beautiful Mallika, While meditating, I had a question crept in my mind. Who's the most beloved in your life?" - The king asked , his voice mixed with curiosity.
Mallika's response was unhesitating. " Maharaj, I have realised that I myself am the most beloved in my life.”
The king was taken aback by the coincidence, for he had arrived at the same epiphany. Accepting this encountered truth, they visited Lord Buddha. Upon hearing their revelation, Buddha was satisfied that both had discovered a profound truth of life and attained enlightenment. With closed eyes, Buddha blessed them, uttering, "Sadhu, Sadhu, Sadhu."
Prasenjit and Mallika returned from Buddha's abode, feeling as if they had bathed in the pond of his knowledge. The sky seemed clearer, the world more beautiful, and the people around them felt closer.
Nearly 2000 years later, in a bustling city, a person in a large apartment was meditating in a dim light.Sitting next to him was his wife. Both of their bloodstreams interconnected. The silence between them was palpable, until the wife spoke, her voice trembling -- " We belong to no one. Even the thought of yours that I belong to you is unrealistic and wrong ".
Her husband nodded in agreement with a subtle smile on his dried lips.
Together they rose from their meditative state, their faces glowed with the truth of non - belongingness by means of meditation. The truth brightened their faces. Slowly they headed towards the almirah of books .
In the same city, on a Sunday afternoon, I found myself lost in thoughts. The sky grew dark, as if the clouds were a reflection of my inner turmoil. I decided to visit my lover, a mystic who dwelled in the vastness of meditation.
As I arrived at his home, I noticed a change in his demeanour. His face, once radiant, now seemed shrouded in an aura of melancholy. I felt as if someone was pulling him backwards, tightly from inside. Hence I sensed his voice was feeble, as feeble as silence.
"The population of people living in hell is rapidly increasing. This is a good sign, isn't it ? " - his voice is barely audible.
I stepped inside his house and sat on the chair in the drawing room. The one and only chair in the entire house. There's nothing to be called a drawing room. Honestly! Just a chair and a small bed, that could hardly fit his sleepiness.
I kept staring at his neck, wondering how a metallic voice could know about hell. He said again, "You will go to hell, and so will I!" In utter surprise, I interrupted, "But I didn't commit any sin!"
With a mild smile, he responded, "Even the purest people go to hell." His voice was deeper than usual. After a silent moment, I felt a shiver run down my spine as he posed a question "Do you think Buddha gained Nirvana?" Confidently, I replied, "Everyone believes he attained Nirvana!" Seeing my excited face, he giggled.
He spoke with a tremble, "But I think of it otherwise. Gautam Buddha never attained Moksha. After his death, he chose to go to hell to teach Dharma among the sinners. Hell has become a place of religious teaching, more religious than heaven."
Saying that, my lover, who's a niche in meditation, lay down on the small bed and closed his eyes.Attracted by the calmness on his face, I realized he wasn't the person I knew. In front of me was Buddha's biggest follower— Maha Kashyap, or Raja Prasenjit, or Katyayan. He was one of them.
The journey from belief to disbelief is indeed tough.
So, I activated my brain cells to their utmost capacity and began to deconstruct my perceptions of hell and heaven. The clouds gathered, and the sky turned crimson, hinting at an impending rain. Peering through the window at a long-forgotten road and a scattered house clinging to civilization, I saw a different vision. It might have been a delusion, but euphoria struck me. I wanted to go to hell willingly, to surrender myself at Buddha's feet.
In my lover's front yard, drenched with water from an unknown source despite the absence of rain, I noticed two snails amidst the green leaves of a Neem Tree. Their existence in a chaotic city was strangely aesthetic. I felt an overwhelming urge to communicate with them, to seek their wisdom. But what would I say? They couldn't speak, yet their presence spoke volumes. We are incapable of hearing them or perhaps simply inconsiderate.
I felt these snails were the most ardent listeners and followers of Buddha's preachings. Quietly, I approached them and whispered, "You are Buddha's snails. Will you accompany me to hell?"
As I spoke, the snails seemed to nod in agreement, their silence reminded me that sometimes the most profound truths are those that remain unspoken.
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