Chapter 5 — The Seed That Disappeared

The storm ended before sunrise, but the mountains did not immediately become peaceful again.

Dark clouds still moved slowly between the peaks, carrying the last traces of the night’s rain. Water rushed down the rocky slopes in countless silver streams. The river beside the Ashram had swollen far beyond its usual width, and the familiar path leading toward the sacred garden had almost disappeared beneath mud, broken branches, and stones.

The students stood silently around what remained of the garden.

The storm had damaged several trees, broken the wooden fence, scattered flower pots, and washed away much of the carefully prepared soil.

But Prosenjit saw only one thing.

The place where the sacred seed had been planted was empty.

He stood there for a long time without speaking.

He bent down and pushed his fingers into the wet earth.

Nothing.

He searched beneath the mud.

Nothing.

He moved aside small stones and broken twigs.

Still nothing.

His heart began beating faster.

“No,” he whispered.

He dug deeper.

His fingernails filled with mud. Water ran down his wrists. His clothes became soaked, but he continued searching.

“Prosenjit,” Reeta said softly behind him, “the whole area has been washed away.”

He did not answer.

He kept digging.

Madhav watched him for several moments before saying, “You should stop.”

Prosenjit suddenly turned toward him.

“Stop?”

“The seed may be gone.”

Those words struck Prosenjit harder than the storm itself.

“Gone?”

Madhav nodded.

“It was only a seed, Prosenjit. The storm was powerful. Perhaps the water carried it away.”

Prosenjit looked back at the empty patch of earth.

Only a seed.

To Madhav, perhaps.

Not to him.

For months he had awakened before sunrise because of that seed. He had bathed in the cold river, practiced Naam-Smaran, studied, worked, served, carried water, collected firewood, and returned to the garden again and again.

He had waited through days when nothing happened.

He had fought his impatience.

He had questioned himself.

He had even begun to understand that the seed was not merely a seed.

And now it was gone.

His hands slowly fell to his sides.

“I did everything,” he said.

No one replied.

“I followed the discipline.”

His voice became stronger.

“I waited.”

Still no answer.

“I trusted.”

The last word came out almost like a complaint.

“I trusted the Guru.”

Madhav looked at him carefully.

“Perhaps it is time to stop.”

Prosenjit turned toward him.

“What do you mean?”

“Forget the seed.”

The words sounded simple.

Almost cruel.

Madhav continued, “You have spent months thinking about it. Every morning, every evening. Perhaps this is the sign you needed. The seed is gone. Your life does not have to end because of it.”

“My life has not ended.”

“No,” Madhav replied, “but you are behaving as though it has.”

Prosenjit looked away.

Kocher came closer.

He had been examining the broken garden fence and now joined the conversation.

“There may be another solution.”

Prosenjit looked at him.

Kocher shrugged.

“Find another seed.”

For a moment, nobody spoke.

“Another seed?” Prosenjit repeated.

“Yes. Seeds are not impossible to find. We can go into the forest. There are hundreds of plants there. Perhaps we can find something similar.”

“This was not an ordinary seed.”

“Perhaps that is exactly what you need to stop believing.”

Kocher smiled slightly.

“You could plant another one. Then continue your Tapasya. Nobody would even know.”

“I would know.”

Kocher's smile disappeared.

Reeta had remained silent until then.