The Serenity of Truth
When the monk arrived in town, people filled his temporary residence. His calm voice and serene smile drew hundreds to his gatherings.
Among them sat a woman named Nira, her face clouded with grief.
“Master,” she began softly, “I tried speaking the truth as you had suggested… but now everyone has turned away. My friends avoid me. My family calls me naive. Why has truth made me so alone?”
The monk smiled with practiced compassion. “The world rejects you for truth, Nira. It is a penance.”
His words echoed through the hall. People nodded in reverence, and Nira bowed, accepting his explanation. Perhaps this is my penance, she thought.
Later, when the crowd dispersed, she noticed something — followers had surrounded the monk. They praised him, touched his feet, and wept in admiration.
A faint unease rose within her. If truth isolates one, why is he surrounded by so many?
For a moment, doubt flickered — Is he a fraud? Then she steadied herself. That is not mine to judge. That lies between him and his karma.
She stepped out into the twilight. The road home glowed with evening lights.
On her way, she met Kamala, a sharp-tongued woman known for her brutal honesty.
“Ah, Nira!” Kamala laughed. “I heard you finally speak the truth. Good! The world needs fewer liars!”
Nira flinched at her harshness but noticed Kamala was never alone. People feared her words, yet admired her boldness. So truth can also draw a crowd? Nira wondered.
Further down the road, she saw a young boy sitting alone — Pranav. He, too, never lied, but spoke gently, the way truth ought to be spoken. Yet the other children avoided him. He will expose our mischiefs, they whispered.
Nira paused, watching Pranav in the fading sunlight. He mirrored the same reality she carried — isolated for speaking truth, while Kamala was surrounded, and the monk celebrated.
She stood still, and clarity began to dawn. Truth does not guarantee rejection or recognition. It is not a transaction with the world.
The monk had been wrong, she realized — not in calling truth a penance, but in tying it to rejection or acceptance. Truth is indeed a purification of the self, but whether people surround you or shun you is not in one’s hands. It is Her will that decides it.
A quiet smile touched her lips. The sting of rejection softened into quiet understanding. She whispered to herself, “I will speak truth — not to please anyone, not to prove anything — but because it keeps my heart clear.”
As she turned the final lane toward her home, the world felt calm, her steps lighter. For the first time, truth felt neither like fire nor punishment — but like serenity itself.
