Who pulls, and who is pulled?
This question has returned to me again and again. Over time, I have come to realise that life is the force that pulls us forward. But to be drawn towards something deeper, we must first become still.
After returning from Banaras, I experienced such stillness within myself. It was not lifelessness, but a quiet suspension of everything that had once occupied my mind. My so-called knowledge and intellectual pride, my ambitions, my attachment to comfort and luxury — all seemed to have paused.
It was in that state of silence that the Shri Ramcharitmanas, resting on my bookshelf, began to draw me towards it.
The book had been there for at least ten years. I had approached it many times, but its sheer volume would overwhelm me, and I would quietly turn away.
Then, one day, it seemed to call out to me:
“Come, let us go.”
I do not know what irresistible power lay in that call, but I began to follow it.
And once I started on that journey, I never truly returned to my old self.
Let me go back to Banaras.
It was 27th August 2023.
The moment I arrived, Banaras transformed into Varanasi for me. Leaving all signs of modernity behind, it appeared as an ancient city untouched by time — a place where the past was not merely remembered but continued to breathe in every lane, temple and ghat.
The four of us had travelled there with an elaborate itinerary. We wanted to seek the darshan of Kashi Vishwanath, take a boat ride on the Ganga, witness the Ganga Aarti, explore the ghats and cremation grounds, meet sadhus and ascetics, taste the food our friends had recommended, and, of course, buy Banarasi sarees.
But just as I wished to immerse myself completely in the spirit of the city, untimely rains disrupted almost all our plans.
Perhaps Varanasi did not want me to experience everything at once.
The darshan of Kashi Vishwanath, however, was deeply mystical and extraordinarily powerful. Standing before Him, I felt as though He spoke to me without uttering a word:
“Let this be enough for now. Leave something for your next visit. You can return to fulfil the desires that remain.”
I came back without seeing much of the city, yet carrying something within me that I could neither name nor explain.
Varanasi had left an invisible imprint on my being.
It would not be wrong to say that the woman who had left Bhubaneswar Airport for Banaras was not the same woman who returned.
When I reached home, the Shri Ramcharitmanas on my bookshelf took complete possession of me.
I had encountered the mythological figures described in it many times before. I knew their stories, their relationships, their struggles and their triumphs. Yet, on the vast canvas of Tulsidas, they appeared entirely different.
Earlier, these characters had been formed in my mind through facts, events and narratives. But while reading Tulsidas, I felt that they were not created merely out of stories; they were created out of bhava — the deepest realm of spiritual feeling.
Understanding Tulsidas is not easy. Some truths cannot be grasped through logic, argument or intellect. They reveal themselves only through inner stillness, detachment and surrender.
In my effort to understand this world of bhava, I began travelling through other books: Devdutt Pattanaik’s My Hanuman Chalisa, the Valmiki Ramayana, Paramahansa Yogananda’s Autobiography of a Yogi, and Swami Rama’s Living with the Himalayan Masters.
That journey continues even today.
Every book has taken me a little farther away from the noise of certainty and a little closer to the silence of seeking. And now, I find it impossible to withdraw from this wandering. Perhaps some journeys are not meant to reach a destination. Their purpose is to transform the traveller.
To understand emptiness, one must first become empty.
An ancient Taoist thought, often associated with Lao Tzu, says that a house is not useful merely because of its walls. Its true usefulness lies in the empty space enclosed within them.
Having spent much of my life creating buildings out of brick, cement and concrete, I now find myself searching for that invisible space within.
I am trying to discover the path that leads from structure to stillness, from form to formlessness, and from concrete to emptiness.
Let us see when I find it.
