My Second PLR Experience
It started with me being on a beach — this time at Somnath ji in Gujarat. I recognized it instantly, a place I had visited with my parents when I was around 4 or 5 years old. The sand was brown, the sea stretched endlessly, and I remembered how terrified I had been seeing the ocean for the first time.
It was evening. My mother was beside me, wearing a black sari with big flowers, looking so beautiful as she held my hand, smiling and enjoying the sunset. My father was gently explaining to me that there was nothing to fear. We walked together on the wet sand — at first, I disliked the feeling, but slowly I got used to it. Both of them held my hands as we strolled toward the end of the beach, where we came upon a temple of Bholenath.
We went inside for darshan. I remember seeing Nandi clearly, freshly bathed, with people worshiping. We too joined them, and the feeling was pure joy and safety. Outside, a cycle rickshaw was waiting. I slept on my mother’s lap during the ride, listening faintly to my parents talking about me. Back at the hotel, I freshened up, and my mother dressed me in a white pajama-kurta before dinner. The hotel was old-style but clean and tidy. Dinner was a thali, homely in taste. I was cranky and sleepy, reluctant to eat, but my parents laughed and talked about me while making sure I did.
That night, I slept with my mother’s hand on my chest and head, while my father rested in another bed close by. I felt completely safe, certain that life would always remain like this.
But late in the night, a black smoke entered from the big window. It pulled me away while my parents slept. I tried to shout but couldn’t. I was lifted over the city lights until I was dropped into a jungle. The smoke whispered that from here, I would have to walk alone.
Unlike before, I wasn’t scared this time. I picked up a stick and started moving forward, clearing the bushes. Soon I reached the familiar riverbank, with a Buddhist-like temple on the other side. I remembered meeting my parents there once before, so I searched for the bridge that had helped me cross.
Now I was no longer a child, but a grown man. I crossed the bridge, climbed a hundred steps, and entered the temple. I looked for my parents but couldn’t find them. Still, I could sense them — my mother especially, happy and content. Around me were monks in red robes, their faces glowing with joy. There was also a statue of a lion, radiating happiness. I sat for a while, absorbing the peace.
Eventually, I left the temple and found myself at my home, in the middle of a farm, with cows and dogs around. I was older now. Sitting on a rocking chair on the porch, I heard my wife’s voice from inside: “Did you find them?” I replied with a sense of calm, “No, it seems they have moved on.” She simply said, “Let’s have dinner.”
I called my son, who was working in the fields. Just then, some men approached him with weapons. I picked up my gun and went to protect him. It was some kind of land dispute. There was tension and argument, but nothing serious happened, and we returned home. My wife was relieved. My son went to freshen up. My daughter, already married with kids, lived nearby and was on her way with her family for dinner. Life felt complete and secure.
But suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my chest. Breathless, I collapsed from the rocking chair. As I left my body, I floated upward. I saw my daughter’s family rushing in, screaming, but I only looked up into the sky.
And then I saw her — my mother’s face, smiling gently, her hand resting on my cheek. My father was there too, preparing for another birth. I knew I was also ready. Both of them were happy. And in that moment, I too felt deeply happy, content, and satisfied.
