Literacy and numeracy
Astha calling Parth cracy
You study not
You fear not
You care not
So dare not
Dare not to touch mobile
Dare not to take a ride
Runing, mudding
Shouting out
Escaping, racing
There is no crowd
Park park,
I want to go to park
Parth says he wanna go to park
Jumping jumping
friendly fights
I can't be quiet
I can't be quiet
I'm sitting in a corner
Watching all this.
Astha is saying
Now it's your time
To play with the kid!
In Part III, Shiva was not calling the Monk.
He was calling everyone who breathes.
The temple is not somewhere outside. It sits behind our two eyes. Quiet. Always open. It doesn't shout. It whispers -- Come. Die. Reboot. Become that which is not.
To be one with Him, you have to vanish. Not a glimpse of the ocean. Not a spark of the whole. Rather being one with it via erasing the existence of the drop.
It sounds easy in books. It is not because the moment you step towards that door, the voices inside stop you to move inward.
The Mind says -- Don't go. If you go there, you will become nothing. What will happen to your name, your story?
The Intellect says -- Don't go. You will forget everything you have learnt. All your degrees, your philosophies, your spiritual progress -- all will be erased.
And they are right. You will become nothing. You will forget everything.
That's the price.
Shiva stands there with open arms. No conditions. No judgment. Just Come and see who you actually are, not who they told you what you are.
But no one moves.
He thought the last barrier was the Shadow. The fear buried inside the darkest chamber.
No.
The last barrier is much more intimate. It is his own ego polishing the chains and calling it identity.
We all carry a painting on our chest. Society painted it -- good boy, bad boy, successful, failure, spiritual, modern.
And we spent our whole life protecting that painting, thinking it is our skin.
That is why we cannot enter the temple. Not because the door is closed.
But because we don't want to leave the painting outside.
We want to enter the temple wearing our masks and Shiva says -- come naked or don't come at all.
And so, every living being -- the ant, the man, the monk -- stands one step before freedom, listening to the voices, guarding a painting that was never theirs.
Every seeker has seen it once.
Not in a photo, not outside but inside.
A Shiva temple that appears when naam jap becomes too deep — it is not imagination, it is a call. A call from Shiva Himself. Cosmic Consciousness calling to become nothing again. No body. No mind. No intellect. Not even awareness.
Just become like a drop — an evaporated drop.
The monk has been seeing it since the Himalayan dream. After the cyborg dream, after the disciples tried to make him immortal with wires and legacy.
The temple does not call to live. It calls to die. Let there be no more burden of ego. Let's be like Jad Bharat.
This confuses the mind — the mind which is not ready to vanish. Every other temple promises — come, live better. More money, more health, more success. This one promises nothing. It says — come, leave everything, even the one who came. Let there be nothing. Become nothing and experience That Which Is Not.
That is why most people never enter, even when they see it inside. They circle. They take photos from outside. They pray from distance. They say — later, when responsibilities end, when book is finished, when child grows up.
But temple does not wait for later. Temple calls now.
What does it mean — to die inside temple?
It does not mean real death. Body continues to drink tea and coffee. Coffee. How can one forget coffee? But let the tea disappear. Let the coffee disappear. Let the drinker disappear.
1. A layman dies — the one who waits for permission.
2. A Family man dies — the one who lives only for appreciation.
3. A man of system dies — the one who lives only for target.
Architect dies. Architect dies? No, it's not that easy because he can rise again. He is like Avatar. He may return and may not. Sometimes as monk, sometimes as family man again. But there is a subtle difference. Now he shifts from monk to family man, family man to layman. He can change forms, however, remains nothing from inside.
Now, he is already dead. Already nothing. Already That Which Is Not.
For him, death does not feel like end. It feels like fulfillment. Like keeping a heavy bag down after a 20 km journey. Bags are like body, like mind full of thoughts, like intellect full of experiences.
And then — tea tastes better. Coffee? Come on, it's always better. Child's laugh becomes temple bell.
The temple that calls you to die is actually the only place that lets you live.
It is still there. Behind closed eyes. Between two breaths. After the blank smile or no smile.
Monk meditates in Himalayas. Not just because Himalayas are holy, but because silence is cheaper there. Many disciples sit around him. Behind them, a Shiva temple — the same temple that appears again and again whenever naam jap deepens.
One night, the monk dreams himself doing meditation.
In that dream, disciples are no longer listening. They are engineering. They bring wires, steel, batteries, code. They want to make the monk immortal. A cyborg monk — half breath, half machine, half prayer, half program that never crashes. A master who never dies, never forgets, never decays.
The monk whispers — let me die.
Disciples refuse. Their love is too possessive. "How can you die? Your teachings will die. Your name will die. We need you forever."
So the monk lies there, caught between temple and technology. Behind him, Shiva calls — come, burn, become ash. In front of Him, disciples call — stay, remain, become forever.
This is not fantasy. This is daily life of every seeker.
The world no longer wants humans. The world wants cyborgs. An identity that never dies — profile immortal, book immortal, good-person certificate immortal. Keep updating, keep posting, keep proving.
Mortality has become failure. Legacy has become worship.
But the Shiva temple does not give legacy. The temple gives death. Not punishment, permission. Permission to let identity die before body dies.
Disciples inside head — thoughts — do the same. Each thought wants to preserve the monk.
One says — if this self dies, who will protect this family?
Second says — if this self dies now, what about the unfinished book?
Third says — if this self disappears unknown, what will history say?
All three sound like love. All three function like wires. They keep the machine running.
A cyborg can live 200 years. Yet a cyborg can never drink tea. Processing is possible, tasting is not. Tasting needs a mortal tongue, a momentary tongue, a tongue that knows — this sip will end.
The quiet monk from Part I understood quietness outside. The cyborg monk must understand death inside.
Rise does not mean addition. Rise means subtraction. A layman dies. Family man dies. Architect dies — hardest, because Architect is the one who built the monk in the first place.
What remains after that cannot be named person. What remains can only be called moment. Awareness. Ash that still breathes. And then awareness dies too because it too has ego. Ego that I am aware.
Temple still stands. Behind traffic, behind work place politics, behind the noise.
Question is no longer how to become immortal?
Question is — which part today is trying to become cyborg? And can that part be allowed to die?
Society thinks monk is someone who wakes at 4am, goes to temple, chants mala, wears white or orange.
S/he is not that.
And he is also not someone who makes fun of people who go to temple at 4 am.
That second type is not monk either. That is just ego in reverse.
The monk I am speaking of never goes to temple always. He may sometimes goes just because his family wants to. He knows about Pure Consciousness. And he knows that the real temple of God is within our own mind. But if you go, he will not stop you. He will say — good, you started from A, B, C. Learn. Explore.
Why should he make fun of you? He was also there once. Lighting diya as per Agam Shsatra tradition or reading book, asking God for help or studying his own subconscious mind to know about Consciousness. We all start from A,B, C. What's the problem in it?
The difference is, now he doesn't need temple to find God or he doesn't need heavy books to read or techniques of deep meditation to be done.
But he doesn't need to prove that temples/or books/techniques of deep meditation are useless either.
That's why society lacks this type of monk. We have two types —
1. One who pleases people to be called religious.
2. One who offends people to be called intelligent.
This monk does neither.
His core philosophy is simple: He can't please people by abandoning reason.
If something is illogical, he will not do it just because 100 people are doing it. Even if they call him arrogant. Even if his family says — just do it, what will you lose?
He will lose himself. That's what he will lose.
And he can't live without reason, but he also can't live only with reason. Because reason can make you analyst, not aware.
So what does he do?
He lives in moments. Very easy to say. Very tough to do.
When he gets angry, he knows he is not angry. Anger is there. He doesn't say "I am peaceful monk, I should not be angry." Peace and anger are just clouds. That which is permanent is the consciousness within. He says — okay, anger came, let me watch it. Let it burn.
When someone prays in front of him, he doesn't correct. He smiles because he knows — that person is not praying to stone. That person is praying to his own Self within which is beyond body and mind.
Not enlightened. Aware. Enlightenment is a big word. Awareness is small but strong.
Enlightenment occurs when you start living in moments — not when you leave society, but when you stop leaving the moment.
This monk is not in Himalayas but behind his own breath.
He is quiet not because he has no words. He is quiet because he knows most words are just to please others.
He will write. Not to preach but to show path. Because he knows everyone has possibility.
Even the one who goes to temple daily.
Even the one who makes fun of temple.
Even you, reading this, thinking — am I that monk?
If you asked that question, you already started rising.
Shadow has been entered. Blood has been seen. Mantra has been heard. And the Witness has disappeared.
What is left after that is not a story.
Family Man is an identity. He is built on a single belief: "I must become something, achieve something, protect something, to be worthy of love, to be worthy of my family."
He lives by comparison, by fear, by performance. His death is not physical. His death is the death of that belief.
He does not die because family leaves. He dies because he sees -- love was never asking for performance. Love was asking for presence.
For years, Family Man wears armor to hide the softness that was once shamed. He thinks hardness is protection. When armor breaks in the dark chamber, he feels he has failed. But that failure is grace. Only when armor breaks, heart is seen.
The Rise of the Monk is not the rise of a new identity. Monk is not a man who leaves home for forest.
Monk is awareness itself — the one who was watching even when fear was at its peak. Monk does not fight death. He chants to death. He does not kill to protect. He blesses to protect.
Anima, Animus, Shadow — all lead here.
1. Anima leads man from projection to Goddess to wisdom.
2. Animus leads woman from power to presence.
3. Shadow leads both from hiding to wholeness.
At the end, Shaiv and Vaishnav tilak appear on same Shivling. Destruction and preservation become one. Masculine and feminine become one. Fear and love become one.
There is no Sakshi left. No witness. No watcher. Play ends.
What remains cannot be described in words. It is not knowledge. It is not experience. It is awareness — indescribable, self-shining.
Family Man is dead. Monk, the symbol of awareness has risen. Only awareness remains — doing daily work, speaking softly, sitting quietly.
And that is enough.
That is conclusion.
The End
Shadow is something about which you, I or anyone of us can never write completely. It is the darkest chamber of our mind where we have stored all our bitter experiences and suppressed emotions and fear -- emotions that you are soft, emotions that you should not play with doll as you are a boy, emotions of helplessness, fear of being unable to complete the paper on time, fear of being badly beaten, fear of being sad inside due to losing our parents.
I can see myself entering that dark chamber and then I saw -- my father went outside for a long period of time. Its too late, he hasn't come yet. Mother went outside looking for father, and I found myself sitting in meditation. Then my sister started vomiting, her stomach is weak. Father always told me to take care of her. But I didn't. And...and she's near to death. For just a span of few seconds, I lose all of them -- mother, father, sister. I wake up from meditation, my body is numb, coughing and then I saw some men entering at my home without permission. They all are strong, tall and muscular. They had sharp weapons on their hands -- just ready to kill, gate opened and Parth, my son went outside. "Outside! No, don't go. Stop!" I followed.
And now came the darkest thing -- the anger that I have controlled through daily practice burst out. I went outside using everything as weapon and to save my son I killed them all. Then suddenly a thought came where is Astha, my wife? "She is all alone at home!" I ran and when entered "there is blood everywhere". I failed to protect my family. I failed. Nothing left. Then a voice I heard inside. "It's not true. It's not true." A pure light entered in the darkest chamber commanding me to follow. And I followed it.
Then I saw a big house, a Mansion and a voice of holy mantra Om could be clearly heard. I moved and entered. It's full of light and the Mahamrityunjaya Mantra could be listened to clearly. A huge Shivling. But it's different. It has tilak of both Shaiv and Vaishnavs. Then, it, too disappeared. Nothing left. Not even Sakshi: the Witness. The play ended and there is just an awareness.
I can't describe that awareness in words. That can never be described in words.
