I was sitting in front of the sacred footprints of Acharya Kundkund on Ponnur hills when my thoughts began to deepen. The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow across the landscape. The air was still, broken only by the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. For a timeless moment, there was no one on that hill but me and the silent presence of the great Acharya.
I closed my eyes and took a few deep, deliberate breaths, the scent of the dry earth and distant wildflowers filling my senses. When I opened them, he was sitting before me. His face, glowing with an otherworldly equanimity, was illuminated by a soft, inner light. His hands, gnarled and calloused from a life of discipline, were meticulously carving intricate characters onto delicate palm leaves. I noticed his fingers were bruised and pricked from the carving thorn, a testament to his tireless devotion. His lean, gleaming body, a vessel that had endured years of deep penance, seemed to radiate a quiet strength.
It felt as though he was giving me a silent sermon.
“Oh soul! Yes, you are the soul. Stop looking here and there. You are not Divya. Your name is Suddhatma (pure soul). Do you want to know what I heard in Tirthankara Simandhar Bhagwan’s sermons in Mahavideh Kshetra?”
I nodded, my heart pounding with a mixture of awe and anticipation.
“I am writing some of that in these scriptures. Please read them carefully. After I am gone, you can listen to Bhagwan’s divine voice through these. Do you know why we are suffering and wandering all around these four realms of existence?”
I nodded again, my eyes wide with an eager curiosity that mirrored the vast, open sky above us.
“When I called you ‘Soul,’ you didn’t listen. You thought it was someone else’s name. The day you realize that you are a soul—intangible, pure, knowledgeable, and unaffected by the matters of this world—that day you will be free from all your sufferings. Does it sound difficult to you?”
I didn’t react. I just kept staring at him, hoping he would understand the confusion and difficulty I was having. Fortunately, he continued, his voice a gentle, resonant melody.
“This is not difficult. It seems tough because you have never heard about it until now. Think about the time you thought the alphabet was difficult, but now you can write an essay with it. Similarly, it is about your interest. The one who listens to these talks of the soul with interest will surely understand it soon. The concept of the soul is so simple that anyone can understand it.”
Upon hearing this, a sense of ease washed over me. The tension in my shoulders melted away, and I finally found my voice.
“Acharya Ji! You are writing these sacred texts with so much effort. What if no one reads them? Also, why don’t you write your introduction in them?”
The Acharya smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he had anticipated this very question.
“Who said I am not writing my introduction in these? Am I not writing about the soul in them? I am a soul, and I am writing about the qualities of the soul. What better introduction can one give of themselves? This name associated with this body is temporary, but the virtues of the soul are eternal. These scriptures are the introduction of every soul. Since you have asked this question, I am certain that you will definitely read them. Even if a single person realizes their true nature by reading these, my efforts will have paid off. Also, I am not writing for someone else. Sometimes, writing is done for oneself. To engrave a concept inside, one must write about it.”
I was speechless. The greatest writer of this era had just revealed the profound reason behind his work. I was lost in thought, the magnitude of his words settling deep within my consciousness. The Acharya, meanwhile, continued to write the Pahud Granths, his concentration unbroken. I desperately wanted to talk more with him, to ask a thousand more questions.
But then, a familiar voice cut through the stillness.
“Let’s go, Divya. It’s time to go now.”
“Why? I want to sit here for some more time. You people go.”
“No, we will come again sometime soon. Don’t worry,” the voice insisted.
And then I had to leave. My eyes, brimming with a mix of gratitude and longing, bid a final farewell to the Acharya, who was still sitting and writing there, lost in his timeless task. I left with the hope of returning to that sacred space soon.
Note: This is a fictional story created using my imagination and should not be taken as a real event.
