Introduction

Samir is the wind. He exists primarily as the peaceful, gentle breezes that drift calmly and soothe one's soul, but also the occasional harsh gusts that disappear as quickly as they come, and the merciless winds that rattle your windows during a raging storm.

All Samir knows is of his devotion and his duty. He remembers nothing of the moment he came into being, but that of the unconditional love and reverie for those above he serves, and understanding of the reason for which he exists. He drifted on back then, and he drifts on now, and will always continue to do so for as long as the universe breathes and stars continue to live and die.

He is distant and detached, for the wind does not linger when it must not, nor does it wait. It dances along the flowers and rustles through the trees, but it is either passing or it is already passed. Samir's life is simple and ever fleeting, yet eternally stagnant. He wishes for nothing more nor anything less, for there is no reason for the wind to yearn for more than its simple, blissful purpose.

The wind observes countless lifetimes and adventures still, but never truly does understand the great investments of the mortals below into their illusionary and transitory lives. While not truly meaningless—as the messy balance of karma through it all would decide where the selves within are to pass on in their next travels through their plane of māyā—it is still no more truly lucid than that of one lost in a dream.

He looks upon their worlds with both passing intrigue and mild disregard, admiring the natural beauties to be found in the lands and skies, yet seeing little else of value within the lowly, worldly plane below. A subtle soul exists in a state of satisfaction, delight in the perfection, and there is nothing to envy and nothing to wish of when one has seen and served all the most holy and beautiful to be known in the universe. This is what Samir believes.

However, everything can come eventually to change in due time.

The beginning

It all began with a singular leaf. A beautiful and divine leaf, but one of countless, resting from the holy branches of a bright and golden tree. The wind in its heavenly routines would pass by the tree on regular occasions, relishing in the softness of the leaves it brushed by and the gleam of their bright color. After many years of eternity, it could not but help notice a particular leaf among them, rebellious and persistently distinct from the rest. One that had become aware of its own self.

Samir could not understand, and yet curiosity budded still. A change within this realm of changeless infinity.

The wind, aware further and further of the leaf in spite of itself, felt the leaf's subtle thoughts and feelings within its own peacefully subtle mind. Of how badly the leaf yearned for change, its desire to be unbound and free from the tree that bore it, alive and unique and real. Unable to bear the weight of its desires any longer, the wind at last rushed by as a harsh gust, carrying the leaf away along with it to its ever yearned freedom.

And so did the two drift on—neither truly aware of the other for their mutual lack of animate forms—until the leaf eventually separated from Samir's drifting winds. Onwards he continued without a care, unacknowledging of the odd sense of loneliness that lingered faintly without the other kindred, yet so very contrasting presence. A singular leaf lost in the infinite ether wasn't to be a concern of his, and the world was to return to its usual unchanging state.

Mid-to-present

Many timeless years later, unusual happenings began appearing in the ever lively earthly plane that had been always so indifferently disregarded by Samir. An unusual entity—a celestial like himself—wandered rogue from world to world, making waves like little other, yet always fading away into distant obscurity in the end, eternal, yet ever fleeting. So peculiarly intrigued with the concept of life, it almost reminded this wind celestial of that curious leaf that his very winds had carried away so long ago.

Samir had dismissed the thought with little question, and yet he was not foolish, either. The manner of which the celestial carried himself, the golden vine-like abilities he controlled, and the simple familiarly innate fervor for freedom was undeniable.

Whether it was its own further curiosity or a fresh intrigue, the wind followed the path of this former leaf. The being lived more humanly than any human, more passionately than any man, consuming the pleasures and labors of life alike with a gluttony like none other. The wind sighed at the leaf's foolishness.

The guṇa of rajas in such excess is not for a celestial such as yourself, or any who wishes to live a fuller, truer life. You will fall the moment your reckless balance tips and will no longer be able to enjoy any of those worldly pleasures at all so freely as you do. That is the fate you create, foolish leaf.

He merely wondered when it was that the leaf celestial would at last tumble from his high throne—when his heavenly crown would crash and shatter—and perhaps it did come, yet not as Samir had truly expected. The heavens were lenient, he thought, but he dared not to farther question their knowing will from his lowly place.

And yet he continued watching still. He watched the celestial trudge on through highs and lows, countless nights and days, winds nudging playfully at times and even protecting in the most dire of strifes, until he could no longer say for certain why it was so.