The forest called me. Just when the sun dissolved in the arms of the mountains, I got a calling from somewhere untouched. I looked around to find anything but inspiration.

The rain had begun to fall, and when the drops landed on my feet, I decided to follow the noise. I put on my slippers without looking at them. I began walking without turning back. When I could no longer hear the city noise, that was when I knew I was going home.

Home. There is nothing like it. But when the trees that lead you home have leaves falling out of their branches, that is when you worry.

You worry on a journey—fear of what will come and nostalgia for what has been left behind.

I walked as a faint noise kept pulling me towards it. I couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but something about it made me walk aimlessly on a rainy evening.

It was July. Clouds gather a lot in July. They gather, dry their soakness away and disappear.

I have nothing against it. When the droplets hit the land, the smell of wet earth eases my breathing. The same familiar smell comforted me on that lonely walk. But when the rain began to fall down much quicker, I had to find a roof. I ran towards a big tree, and underneath the thick branches, I tried to shield my head against the ferocious downpour.

When my feet touched the wet earth, water leaked into my shabby shoes. My damp socks absorbed the flooding, numbing my feet and weakening my will to complete the journey. Yet I waited.

I stood as rain caused chaos around the forest. It was loud and made its presence felt. Birds stopped travelling, animals stopped barking, and leaves floundered into a colourful green.

I watched it all. When a few raindrops penetrated the leaves and landed on my shoulders, I felt the touch of a friend, consoling me at a time of desperation. But I found calmness in that chaos. The loud noise of water droplets crashing around me was, in fact, a symphony.

I felt sorry for city folks, who, at the time, were probably cursing the rain. “Damn you!” I can almost see their disgusted wrinkly face as their tired wives make them hot tea.

In that beautiful chaos, my calling was subdued. I could no longer feel its vibrations. But its presence was very much felt. I couldn’t let anything bar me from my one true calling.

Then, when I was in the company of the trees, she walked in. She. I don’t know her name. I refer to her in the same way I refer to nature. She had a gaze that travelled a lot—unsettled. Her feet were grounded, but her eyes were like a bird in a summer sky—moving about and curious.

She caught me, not literally, but in a way how a song gets you. I looked at her and landed my damp eyes on her. She had wet hair and a bird on her shoulder. The bird was wet and defeated. The bird had surrendered to her. When I thought of conversing with her, I heard a sound.

A sound that was coming closer with every drop of rain. It was a horse—rich-looking, well-groomed, and it looked as if he was running towards his calling. He stopped in front of her. Settled his agitation, looked around the perimeter and bowed down. The girl approached the horse with the shower beating down on her.

The horse grounded his knees on the wet soil and closed his eyes. He pushed his head forward, and she held his head. I saw them pressing their heads together in that rain. I found it absurd—but not as absurd as wandering around a forest just because one hears a sound.

The horse had met his calling, and maybe so did she. It was as if the rain had brought them together. The trees were soaked wet, the leaves lush green, and she hugging the horse made me fall to my knees. I began sobbing silently.

My knees dug deep into the wet earth, I cried with the clouds.

My tears might not mean much to the forest with all the rain she receives. But to my heart, which holds a little too much of the world, and my brain, which labours away, I was thankful for the evening.

Suddenly, my silent contemplation was broken when the horse turned his gaze to me. But it was only momentary. He stood up, dropped a tear, and looked at her as if to say goodbye. Then, a strong wind crashed into us. I stood up and that is when she noticed me for the first time. The horse began saying something as if singing his song.

Leaves began to fall, the trees began to hum together, the bird on her shoulder began chirping rapidly, and the horse closed his eyes, that is when I knew, that is when I knew for sure, I had been brought to my calling.

The horse was lifted up, the leaves carrying him, the wind revolving around him, and the sky opened up—the clouds that were in a huddle drifted away to the mountains. From far away, I heard animals communicating, signalling the departure of something.

As the horse disappeared among the leaves, she walked up to me, took my hand, and began singing a song meant for me.

“Thank you for answering the call of the forest. It is about time you woke up, dear human. You ran all the way for inspiration, didn't you? You left behind what is yours to find something very different from yourself. You left what is familiar to you to find comfort in uncertainty. Dear human, life isn't a calling to answer.

Your ancestors have left their footprints on your path; follow them. As you focus on the wet earth, lost soul, you will find that the footsteps taken centuries ago aren't as old, and their wisdom is still new. You may not find your ancestors on this path, but you will find what kept them going.

You will understand why your ancestors headed toward the mountains, and it is not surprising that you are heading there, too.

But you are wrong if you walk on this path to find yourself. For harmony and focus aren't to be sought and found. They are what you attain in the hour of meditation, in the hour of deep contemplation and when you let go of the many illusions that blind you.

Feel the numbness on your feet, but do not seek company. Embrace solitude. The universe listens to the one pursuing a solitary journey. For the universe’s murmur is subdued and lost among the crowd. In true alienation and in true submission of one’s self, the footprints become visible.”