The Thirsty Fish

In the sacred city of Varanasi, where the Ganges flows endlessly and bells chime through the misty ghats, lived Padmini, a young philosophy student. Though she studied scriptures and texts from dawn to dusk, her heart remained restless. She constantly felt something was missing—some truth, some purpose.

One dawn, she sat quietly on the steps of Assi Ghat, watching the river reflect the rising sun. Nearby, an old sadhu in saffron robes chuckled softly, tossing puffed rice into the water for the fish.

Padmini, unable to contain her curiosity, asked, “Baba, why are you laughing alone?”

He looked at her kindly and replied, “I laugh when I hear that the fish in the water is thirsty.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

The sadhu pointed to the Ganges. “This river is truth. All around us, within us. Yet we seek it elsewhere—in books, in places, in distant dreams—like a fish in the river complaining of thirst.”

Padmini sat still. The morning felt different now. The mist lifted—not just from the river, but from her mind. She realized she wasn’t missing anything; she had only forgotten to notice what she already had.

From that day, Padmini’s restlessness faded. She still studied, but now with joy—knowing that wisdom isn’t always found beyond; sometimes, it’s found by looking within.