Chapter 3 — The Mountain of Distractions

The third month of Prosenjit’s discipline began with a change in the weather.

The mornings were still cold enough to make the students pull their shawls tightly around their shoulders, but the afternoons had become warmer. Snow remained on the distant mountain peaks, shining like silver under the sun, while the forests below were slowly filling with new leaves. The river beside the Gurukul had become louder as the snow melted in the higher mountains and rushed downward through the valleys.

For Prosenjit, the days had begun to acquire a rhythm.

He woke before sunrise.

He bathed in the cold river, sat quietly for Naam-Smaran, studied with the other students, worked in the Ashram, and then visited the sacred garden where his seed lay buried beneath the earth.

Nothing had changed.

At least, nothing that his eyes could see.

He had stopped digging into the soil after the Guru had caught him. That had been difficult. Every morning, a small voice inside him still whispered that he should check whether the seed was growing.

But he had learned to leave the earth undisturbed.

Sometimes he would kneel beside the place where he had planted it and simply look at the soil.

There was no green shoot.

No leaf.

No sign.

Only earth.

Yet Prosenjit had begun to notice something else.

His own mind was changing.

He could sit a little longer without becoming restless. He could listen to the Guru without immediately demanding an explanation. He had started noticing when anger appeared in him, even if he could not always control it.

The change was small.

So small that he almost ignored it.

Then, one morning, the Guru called all the students to the courtyard.

“Today,” he said, “we are going into the forest.”

The students immediately became alert.

Madhu looked at Kocher.

Kocher grinned.

Madhav straightened his shoulders as though someone had just announced a competition.

Prosenjit smiled too.

A day away from the usual routine sounded refreshing.

The Guru continued, “There are medicinal herbs growing beyond the eastern ridge. The Ashram physician needs them. We will collect what is required and return before sunset.”

Hajji, who had been sitting beneath an old tree nearby, slowly lifted his head.

“I know that forest,” he said.

The students turned toward him.

Hajji smiled.

“That is exactly why you should be careful.”

Kocher laughed.

“Why? Are the trees dangerous?”

“The trees are not,” Hajji replied.

“Then what is dangerous?”

Hajji looked at him for a moment.

“Your curiosity.”

The students laughed.

Even the Guru smiled.

By sunrise, the group had started walking.

The forest path began gently, winding between tall deodar trees and patches of wild grass. The air smelled of wet earth and pine. Birds moved from branch to branch, calling to one another.

The Guru walked in front with two older students carrying baskets.

The others followed.

Prosenjit walked beside Madhu and Reeta.

Madhav stayed a little ahead, moving with long confident steps.

Kocher kept stopping.

First to look at a strange mushroom.

Then to examine a bird feather.

Then to investigate an unusually shaped rock.

“Kocher,” Madhu finally called, “if you stop every few minutes, we will reach the herbs tomorrow.”

“I am observing nature,” Kocher replied proudly.

“You are avoiding walking.”

“That is also an observation.”

Reeta laughed.

Prosenjit smiled, but his attention was drawn to something farther ahead.

The forest suddenly opened.

A river cut across their path.

It was not the peaceful river they knew near the Gurukul. This one was narrower but much faster. Meltwater rushed between dark rocks, creating white foam as it struck the stones.

A wooden bridge crossed it.

But the bridge was old.

Several planks were broken.

The Guru stopped.

“We will cross carefully.”

Madhav looked at the bridge.