The last train had pulled away. The platform surrendered to silence. No footsteps. No announcements. Only the sigh of the wind curling through the cold.
And then I saw them. Four monkeys, folded into each other like prayer. Tails curled. Arms draped. Bodies breathing as one.
Not a sound. Not a struggle.
Just this: Presence. Stillness. Belonging.
This wasn’t survival of the fittest. It was survival of the nearest.
What They Knew, I Had Forgotten
I remembered being here once. Same kind of night. Same kind of ache. People passed. Trains came and went. But inside me — a fog.
I told myself I didn’t need anyone. But my heart whispered otherwise. It longed for what those monkeys had: nearness without condition.
We think we’re craving solutions. But more often, we’re just craving someone to sit beside us and say, “I’m here.”
The Dharma of Closeness
In Indian thought, four is a symbol of completeness: Four directions. Four ashramas. Four legs of Dharma. A sacred stability.
And here they were — four lives, curled into one quiet circle.
Not out of fear. But as a return to something essential.
Even Rama, in the Ramayana, did not walk alone. He had Hanuman, Lakshmana, Vibheeshana — His path was lit not just by purpose, but by presence.
Even the Buddha didn’t teach in solitude. He gave the world a Sangha — a community.
A place not to stand apart, but to sit together.
The Modern Hunger
We live in concrete towers but feel stranded. We chase goals, but miss glances. We broadcast constantly, but few truly see us.
We are praised for independence. But the soul? The soul still wants someone to lean on.
Not a solution. Just a warm shoulder and shared silence.
Return to the Wall
Let your life become like that monkey huddle.
Unpretentious. Intimate. Not forged by blood, but by breath. Not defined by status, but by stillness.
Tonight, don’t just scroll past life. Sit beside it. Light a diya. Call your mother. Wrap an arm around a friend who’s too proud to ask.
Because when the winds rise — it won’t be your bank balance that saves you. It’ll be your circle.
Final Whisper
Four monkeys. One cold wall. A railway station long forgotten.
But in their huddle lived a memory we all carry in our bones:
Together is not a tactic. Together is our origin. Our refuge. Our future.
Not survival of the fittest. But survival of the nearest.
