At the river’s edge, time flows eternal

The banks of rivers—whether it is the sacred Ganges or the ancient Nile—have always been more than just resting places for weary, migrating peoples. These waters called to them, not only as a permanent source of sustenance but also as places of quiet contemplation, where the soul could pause and reflect on the eternal. The steady, unending flow of water just before your eyes—so real, so tangible—holds a mystery both profound and humbling. The stream you see now, this very moment, will never pass again. It will flow on, witnessed by someone else, somewhere else—much like the fleeting events of our own lives.

This endless current is a metaphor for time itself, a concept pondered alike by saints and by scientists like Einstein. The water moves on, silent and certain, mirroring the moments of our lives that slip past us, never to return. One can imagine the awe of ancient humans—those we often call ‘uncivilised’—who arrived at these riverbanks after arduous journeys through harsh and uncertain terrain. Exhausted, they must have gazed at the water with reverence and wonder. In that moment of stillness, after miles of walking and years of seeking, they would have found more than relief. They would have discovered mystery. They were twice blessed: once with water and again with wisdom. It was here, on these banks, that they planted the seeds of what would become great civilisations.

This thought brings back memories of the legendary fiction SIDDARTHA by the Nobel Laureate  Herman Hesse.

Siddartha was in search of inner peace. After giving up all the rituals of religion, he also leaves his idyllic village, family, friends, and luxurious life in search of enlightenment, along with his friend Govinda. For some time they go by preaching of Samanas and give up all physical desire and lead a pious life. Not content with that order and not finding the inner peace he sought, he studied Buddhism and followed their eightfold path meticulously. Govinda, who followed him everywhere, was convinced about Buddhism, but Siddhartha, still not finding peace, left the order, this time alone. He crossed a river with the help of a ferryman and sought a new life, a life in the path of physical pleasures and wealth, for several years. 

 Again not contented in the material world, he renounces everything again, and on reaching the river finds the same ferryman who is leading a contented life radiating peace as several years back. He takes the row from the ferryman, who now wants to retire, and spends his life swarmed by the mystery of the river and its flowing water.  Just as the water of the river flows into the ocean and is returned by rain, all forms of life are interconnected in a cycle without beginning or end. Birth and death are all part of a timeless unity. Joy and sorrow, good and evil, are all parts of the whole and are necessary to understand the meaning of life.