Once upon a time, in a secluded mountain village, nestled among mist-laden valleys and shadowed by ancient trees, there lived a young boy named Akira.
Akira possessed a delicate sensibility which harmonized with the murmurs of Nature. His heart was attuned to the subtle rhythms of existence.
There was a banyan tree on the outskirts of the village. It stood tall and grand, with its sprawling branches making a little forest in its grove. And Akira would often find himself there — perhaps because of his sensitivity to Nature — immersed in the symphony of rustling leaves and the melodic whispers of birds.
It is there he sought solace.
It was a random evening. Nothing special. Nothing specific about the day. The sun was getting down the horizon to take its daily nap. Like a flickering march in the violet darkness it looked, and Akira was staring at it as if transfixed. And suddenly his lips moved and these words came out of him — “How can I discern my inner voice, truly? And that too amidst the myriad sounds and distractions of the world?”
This question was like a lone pebble tossed into the vast pond of his mind. It sent ripples of contemplation through his being. It kept him awake for nights. He was determined to find an answer to it.
