How to find purpose in life? This is the question that lingers every one of us. It lingered me too. Then I came across a beautiful story that stayed with me, not because it was extraordinary, but because it felt so deeply true.
It’s about a man called Arjun, who had everything—success, wealth, recognition—yet felt an emptiness he couldn’t explain. Like many of us, he believed purpose was something to be found, something grand waiting at the end of a long journey. Let me share the story with you.
Varanasi
The ghats of Varanasi lived a life of their own. The holy Ganga flowed ceaselessly, its waters reflecting the golden light of dancing diyas. Sandalwood fragrance blended with the musky smell of moist stone steps. Priests recited mantras as the twilight Ganga Aarti made the fire dance with sparks shooting upwards, and the city throbbed in harmony with the beat of faith.
Among the thousands who trod these ancient steps, Arjun, a successful young man, remained motionless, sitting on the stairs of the ghat, observing the crowd.
Life of Arjun
By the time he was 35, he had it all—a well-paying job in Mumbai, a flat in a glass tower with a sea view, a closet full of designer suits. He had spent years pursuing success, piling promotions into trophies. But underneath all this, something nagged at him—a hollowness that eluded definition. His heart was an echo-filled room without a voice.
“Perhaps I just need a break,” he had reasoned with himself when he made this impromptu visit to Varanasi. But as he stood by the river, seeing a poor old woman light a diya into the waters with more piety than he had ever experienced in his life, he knew—he wasn’t merely exhausted.
He was lost.
The Monk under the Peepal Tree
Walking aimlessly, Arjun ended up beside an old peepal tree at Dashashwamedh Ghat. Under the sprawling branches of the tree sat an old saffron-clad monk, his demeanour as quiet as the bottom of the ocean. A small group of people sat around him, listening.
Arjun was drawn to him. Maybe it was the monk’s serenity, the kind that did not require words to be described.
He waited until the others had departed before advancing.
“Swamiji, may I ask you something?”
The monk nodded, his eyes warm but piercing.
“How does one find purpose in life?” Arjun inquired. His voice was heavy with a question he had been posing to himself for years.
The monk smiled, as if he had heard this question a thousand times.
“Tell me, beta, what is your idea of finding purpose?
“It’s a goal. A reason for being. Something grand. Something significant,” Arjun said, parroting the phrases he had read in self-help literature.
The monk smiled quietly. “Oh, so you think that purpose is akin to a treasure buried deep within? Something you have to go searching for?”
Arjun scowled. He had hoped for wisdom, not paradoxes.
The monk took a small clay lamp from a passing vendor, lit it, and set it between them. The small flame struggled, resisting the soft breeze.
“Look at this flame,” the monk instructed.
Arjun observed as the light danced.
“Does this lamp concern itself with where its light goes? Does it hold out for the ideal moment to shine?
Arjun shook his head.
“It just burns, illuminating those around it. That, my child, is purpose.”
For the first time in years, Arjun had no response.
He had spent his life pursuing purpose like a far-off dream, thinking it was something he would discover someday—when he made more, accomplished more, became more. But what if purpose wasn’t a far-off place?
What if it was in the manner in which he lived every second?
The Shift Within
Arjun sat on the ghat steps that night, observing the world with new eyes.
The boatman, rowing relentlessly under the fading sun—he wasn’t waiting to discover meaning, he was living it, carrying strangers over the holy river.
The young priest, lighting lamp after lamp with gentle fingers—he was not on a quest for meaning, he was becoming it, through his faith.
The old woman who had lit a diya in the river—perhaps she did not have riches, but in that single gesture, she had contributed something lovely to the world.
None of them were looking for a mighty revelation. They were living out their purpose every day.
For the first time, something changed inside Arjun.
Arjun returned back to Mumbai, but he was no longer the same person. He continued working hard, but now he noticed the small things—assisting a struggling coworker rather than just competing, mentoring an intern with patience, calling his mother every night not out of obligation, but because her voice gave him a sense of home.
Arjun no longer sought purpose. He embodied it.
The Monk Who Never Left
Years afterward, he came back to Varanasi. He went for a walk to the peepal tree, looking for the old monk, wanting to tell him how much his life had been altered by those few words.
But the monk was no longer there.
“Where is Swamiji? he inquired of another sadhu who sat beneath the tree.
The sadhu smiled and said Swamiji passed away. But “He never left. His wisdom now lives in those who understood.”
Arjun stood there, gazing at the tree, the river, the flicker of a solitary diya afloat on the water.
For the first time in his life, he wasn’t searching for something. He had already discovered it.
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