Chapter 5 — Rain
And thus begins Chapter Five.
Now, children.
The relic had been acquired.
Five bone tags hung from my wrist,
clunking softly against each other as I walked back down the cliff path.
The council listens.
One hand
cigarette.
The other
history.
And beside me,
the ocean continued doing ocean things.
Existing enormously.
Being dramatic without effort.
Throwing waves at the shore.
Reflecting whatever light survived the clouds.
The council nods.
Then
rain.
Children.
Kerala.
Of course.
The sky opened.
Not violently.
Not some biblical flood.
Just rain.
Enough that everyone around me immediately began behaving like reasonable human beings.
Umbrellas opened.
People moved beneath shop awnings.
Families gathered under signs.
Tourists accelerated toward shelter.
The council looks toward me.
And I kept walking.
Hood up.
Cigarette still burning.
Rain hitting my face.
The council sighs.
Children.
Before anyone declares this reckless
no.
This one was deliberate.
I love rain.
Always have.
Most people interpret rain as interference.
An obstacle.
Something between them and where they are trying to go.
The council nods.
Nuo?
Add on.
A free expansion pack.
The council laughs.
Sunny day?
Fine.
Sunny day plus rain?
Premium.
If I am already outside
and there is no reason my continued existence depends on remaining dry,
why would I hide from it?
Children.
Clothes dry.
Shoes dry.
Hair dries.
Rain stops.
Eventually.
But while it exists?
Walk through it.
The council approves.
And so I did.
No urgency.
No running between shelters.
No holding the cigarette beneath some desperate little hand roof.
I simply walked.
Rainwater collecting along the hood.
Sliding down my face.
Soaking into fabric.
Bone tags tapping against one another.
Smoke leaving my mouth
and immediately disappearing into wet air.
The council grows quiet.
Varkala rain merged with me.
That is the closest phrase.
Not something falling onto me.
Something I was inside.
The ocean to the left.
Shops to the right.
Rain everywhere.
And the path ahead.
Children.
It felt good.
Not profound.
Not yet.
Just good.
Then I reached the stairs.
The council becomes alert.
Ah.
Yes.
The stairs.
Remember them?
The future quest.
Down to the beach.
Now promoted to:
Present Quest.
I looked downward.
Wet steps.
A considerable descent.
Children.
Rain.
Stairs.
The Unbegun.
The council begins preparing medical paperwork.
This combination has history written all over it.
Usually in bruises.
So for once
I was careful.
The council gasps.
Careful?
Careful.
Children.
Growth happens in strange places.
One hand on whatever railing existed.
Foot.
Step.
Pause.
Another step.
No dramatic skipping.
No unnecessary speed.
No testing whether gravity had become more forgiving since Kodaikanal.
The council applauds.
Excellent.
Because I knew myself.
And knowing yourself sometimes means admitting:
If I become overconfident on these wet stairs,
this chapter will become about my spine.
The council nods.
So down I went.
Slowly.
The cliff rising higher behind me.
Ocean becoming larger ahead.
Until eventually
sand.
The council smiles.
Shoes sank slightly.
Rain continued.
Waves rolled in a little ahead.
People clustered beneath umbrellas.
Some families stood near the shore.
Children played.
Groups huddled together,
trying to remain dry in a place where the sky had clearly rejected the concept.
And I stood there.
Wet.
Smoking.
The council raises an eyebrow.
Then I noticed something.
No one else was.
The council looks around.
No cigarettes.
Families.
Kids.
People sitting nearby.
And children
I did not want to be that person.
The one who decides his own habit deserves everybody else’s lungs.
So I sat down.
Near the stairs.
Away from the main crowd.
The council nods.
Why sit?
To finish the cigarette.
Simple.
I smoked.
Slowly.
Watched the rain hit the sand.
Watched tiny dark patches expand around each drop.
Watched people run toward umbrellas as though the sky was attacking personally.
Finished.
The council waits.
Then I lit another.
The council sighs.
Naturally.
Children.
Efficiency.
If I was going to walk toward the families afterward,
I might as well fill the nicotine meter now.
The council looks at the imaginary gauge.
Low.
Rising.
Full.
I smoked the second one.
No rush.
No one bothered me.
The sea continued.
Rain continued.
Varkala simply existed around me.
Then
done.
I extinguished it.
Stood.
No more cigarettes.
The council approves.
And walked toward the ocean.
Children.
There is something strange about approaching the sea from beneath a cliff.
From above,
it had been scenery.
Magnificent scenery,
yes.
But still something looked at.
From here?
It became physical.
The sound grew louder.
The wind stronger.
Waves stopped being patterns
and became moving walls of water.
The horizon remained just as endless,
but now the sea could reach me.
The council listens.
I walked until the wet sand darkened beneath my shoes.
Then a little farther.
Water rushed forward.
Collapsed around my feet.
Pulled back.
Again.
And I stopped.
The council grows quiet.
No quest marker.
No relic.
No person waiting.
No dog leading somewhere.
Nothing to acquire.
Nothing to solve.
I simply stood.
Rain falling.
Ocean moving.
Clothes soaked.
Hair probably a disaster.
Shoes surrendering.
And inside
silence.
The council listens.
Peaceful.
Calm.
Comforting.
But different from Rishikesh.
Because children,
there was no weight to put down.
Not that day.
Rishikesh had already done its work.
The weight was resting somewhere quieter inside me.
I had come home lighter.
Slept.
Then immediately wandered again because apparently moderation in travel had also become unavailable.
The council laughs.
So Varkala did not need to heal me.
That was new.
The council notices.
Every previous wandering had some demand attached to it.
Even if I did not understand the demand at first.
Goa accidentally gave birth to grief.
Kodaikanal taught me how wonder could soften it.
Kasol showed me movement.
Rishikesh showed me stillness.
And Varkala?
Children.
Varkala didn’t need to fix anything.
The council grows quiet.
I was okay.
And I still came.
That realization did not arrive as some grand revelation.
No voice from the ocean.
No cinematic epiphany.
Just a feeling.
Standing there,
getting drenched,
watching waves roll toward me
I felt good.
Not relieved.
Not rescued.
Good.
The council smiles.
Perhaps that distinction sounds small.
It wasn’t.
Because until then,
a part of wandering had always been tied to escape.
Escape boredom.
Escape weight.
Escape ordinary consciousness.
Escape the room.
Escape myself.
But this?
I had come simply because I wanted to know.
And somehow,
knowing was enough.
The council listens.
Varkala was close.
Very close.
Forty five miserable minutes by train.
Three kilometres from an ordinary station.
A place sitting almost embarrassingly near home.
And yet it gave me the same quiet feeling I had previously crossed state borders to find.
The council grows still.
That surprised me.
Maybe peace wasn’t always far away.
Maybe awe wasn’t stored exclusively in mountains.
Maybe I didn’t need to become desperate before allowing myself to leave the house and see something beautiful.
Children.
Again
Present Nuo has language for this.
The man standing in the rain did not.
He just stood there thinking:
This is nice.
The council nods.
Ancient wisdom.
Simple enough to survive.
A wave reached farther.
Water around my shoes.
Rain down my face.
I looked toward the horizon.
No urge to document everything.
No need to force meaning.
For once,
the Archive could wait.
I was busy being there.
The council grows quiet.
And maybe that was Varkala’s first lesson.
Not every wandering needs to become medicine.
Sometimes you take the medicine when you’re sick.
Sometimes you simply go outside because the world is beautiful.
The council smiles.
I stood there for a while.
Duration unknown.
No joint chronology.
No meaningful relationship with clocks.
Just rain.
Sea.
Breath.
And the strange comfort of discovering that something I had travelled so far to find before
had been sitting practically beside me all along.
The council listens.
Peace.
Close to home.
Imagine that.
Thus concludes Chapter Five.
The Rain.
The Wet Stairs.
The Nicotine Meter.
And The Ocean At Ground Level.
Children.
I had stood above Varkala and thought:
Holy shit.
Then I walked through the rain,
down the cliff,
and stood inside the thing I had been staring at.
No weight.
No quest.
No chemicals.
No crisis.
Just a soaked man
watching the sea
and realizing that sometimes
you don’t have to run far
to feel far away.
