The Quest

The Quest: Epiphany

“Life’s quest is to find that one pinnacle that reneges the promises made and seeks the new, never before seen, never known or felt; true salvation, therefore, lies in the eternal search for one’s own soul.”

      He sat and laughed at the sheer simplicity of the act. He was in a park. He sat on a bench and looked ahead at the beautiful day. Green grass blanketed the whole land and huge trees gave form and shape to what surrounded him. A carpet of sweet peas, petunias, morning glories, dandelions, fox gloves, daises and what not was a pleasing sight. It gave him peace; peace, which he somehow could not acquire elsewhere. The air was fresh and the scent of all those flowers lingered bleakly in the background. The ground was firm and somehow felt gentle. He fell in love with the place. He always had loved this place. This place was his dream. This freedom—to sit in a park bench on a quiet morning and to think, was his pensive longing. He sat there—happy, content and peaceful. And that such a state was possible and granted so simply and easily, still baffled him. But there he was, and the moment tarried. It stayed with him and gave him a sense of happiness, of hope and of endless dreams.

    This is true, he thought. This is real.

      A gush of wind blew by, he heard the leaves rustle and saw some fall from the huge tree above him; the sign of the approaching autumn. One in particular fell on his shoulder; he quietly looked sideways to pick it up, holding it very gently and very deliberately as if it were a precious entity. It was a dry leaf, golden brown and fragile; ready to be crumpled to pieces. He looked at it wondrously as if it was showing him some profound law. Another wind breeze blew over and the leaf drifted away with the flow; first above him and then towards the lake far ahead of him, in an unsure path. He looked at it for a long time.

      What is life? He thought. Why do we lead it? What guides us through? Many a time it seems just so insensible and illogical but there’s a flow. An eternal flow. What is this flow? Where does it go? What is life’s premise?

    What is happiness? Why do people always strive for it? How does one get it? How does one sustain it? Is it possible that this feeling is but an illusion, as all feelings are at some point or the other?

       Questions always sought his mind like bees that sought honey. Questions were never the problem. The problem always lay in the countless possible answers that led him and finally left him on one elemental truth. This one truth was the final answer to all questions, it was the only answer and he sought for it, desperately. Many a time, a strange sensation gripped him as though he would soon know this fundamental axiom but he never did actually know it. The nature of such a statement was too providential, said some. It is just beyond us, others explained. Belief is a powerful tool, someone else opined. But no one ever told him to probe on, to question and to discover for himself what that truth meant in general and what it meant to him, in particular. This, they considered to be dangerous and quite unnecessary. All his questions, although opened his mind to the various insights, they failed to give him any satisfactory answer. And thus his quest persisted.

     He shrugged and got up. He stretched himself as a natural gesture. He walked through the cold and wet ground. The faint wind blew through him, making him inexplicably light. The sun shone over, his rays filling the place with luminance and suffusing it with abundant warmth. He held his hands high as if reaching to the sky and felt the vigour building within. He saw a beautiful tiny yellow butterfly hovering around him and then for a moment’s sojourn resting on one of his fingers. He looked at it mystified. Then he understood. This set him free. It was understandable for him not to define it. Because it couldn’t be defined, only felt. And he felt it, then and there. And it was enough.

      He closed his eyes and felt the darkness and the defining dumbness so that he could fully hoard what he was feeling then; letting the senses take him into a realm of dreams that somehow made this reality tolerant. A reality where no dreams could live on.

      Images flashed from his memory in a moment’s daze, images too horrifying to relook, too despairing to think about but forever long haunting. Images—vivid, of people—thousands; dying—of hunger, of pain, from a suffering they could not obviate and for a fault not of theirs. They had haunted him for long. When he thought he found that one moment’s respite, they heaped on him twice-fold. Disdain, was what he had for life. A life that tortured him thus like a nightmare that never ends—when waking up is no longer an option—when the whole vital thing inside you decimates and when you know all this too well but standalone...helpless.

      His stomach churned, he felt as if he was being sucked in—into a vortex of infinite depth, as if he was falling into an endless abyss; everything seemed black and dark and only the motion and the sensation remained; too vivid to be forgotten, they stamped his memory.

     He twitched his eyes and slowly opened them, as a shrill non-human voice read the message that flashed before his eyes, awakening to reality more appalling than his dreaded nightmares.

    “  7:48 am Monday 2573 R.E. (Relative to Earth)

    Humidity: 65%

    Temperature: 27deg

    Gravity: On, 77%

    Place: Orbital 7835, Alpha-2723, Renori Cluster, Spiral-way galaxy,”

the voice echoed in the huge room.

       “Dreams,” he muttered, annoyed as he got up. He stood and looked at his barren room for a while and went near one of the walls. He touched it; it became transparent and seemingly non-existent and as looked through it, he saw the vast emptiness of space and the miniscule planets that passed by, unnoticed and uninhabited. He winced at the reality. A reality, which proved too implausible to prevail and too tangible to escape.