The SOUl's Journey
A Memory Awakes in Sini
The Boy Who Learned To Share
A Memory Awakes in Sini
In Sini’s quiet lanes, a young man’s soul stirs with memories of another time, uncovering hidden bonds and the timeless pull of the past.
The Cold Touch
The Boy Who Learned To Share
A Memory Awakes in Sini
During the Covid lockdown, Ankita’s grief was deep—but unexpected moments and dreams hinted at a soul’s journey unfolding before her eyes.
The Boy Who Learned To Share
The Boy Who Learned To Share
The Boy Who Learned To Share
A true story of Gurditt, a village boy whose encounter at a well transformed his life—teaching him the timeless value of sharing and compassion.
A memory awakens in SINI
A young biker experiences a powerful memory in a remote village near Jamshedpur
In the summer of 2019, a young man named Koppal Singh embarked on what seemed like a simple journey—accompanying his younger sister to her matriculation exam center in the remote outskirts of Jamshedpur, near Sini village in Kharsawan district, then part of Bihar. He was excited—not just for the ride on his new Bullet motorcycle—but for the unfamiliar paths he would explore. Little did he know, this trip would awaken something ancient within him.
As they reached the quiet government school in Sini around 9 am, Koppal began to feel an inexplicable sense of heaviness—a strange emotional weight he couldn’t place. While his sister nervously walked into the exam hall, Koppal stayed back, aimlessly wandering through the narrow lanes of the village.
And then it began.
Without realizing it, he started walking in a direction that felt oddly familiar. A path he had never seen before somehow felt known to him—like muscle memory from a forgotten time. As he took a left turn, a sudden rush of adrenaline surged through him. His heartbeat quickened, and in his mind’s eye, images flashed vividly—tribal children playing in a schoolyard, a younger version of himself darting behind an old wall, laughter echoing in the warm afternoon sun.
"I’ve been here before," he whispered to himself. “I used to play here.”
Koppal wasn’t dreaming. He wasn’t imagining. He felt like he remembered something.
Driven by a powerful inner knowing, he sprinted forward. At the end of the lane stood the wall—exactly as he had envisioned.
And he knew what lay ahead even before seeing it: a well, tucked 40 steps away. It had once been a resting place after long games of hide and seek in his previous life. He rushed ahead. And there it was—a wide, deep well, quietly nestled in the same spot his soul had remembered.
He peered into its dark waters, and in that moment, visions flooded his mind. Not dreams. Memories.
The way the wind felt, the laughter, the thirst, the joy—all so tangible, so real. It was as if his soul had found a fragment of itself that had remained untouched by time.
Shaken, overwhelmed and wide-eyed with wonder, he sat silently by the well, unsure whether to call it a past life recall, a soul memory, or a spiritual awakening. All he knew was that something inside him had been reawakened.
When he returned home and his mother asked what had happened, he could only say:
"I was a tribal child in my last life. I played in that school. I remembered it all."
the Boy who learned to share
How One Early Morning Changed a Boy Forever
This is the true story of Gurditt, a man who lived a full life and passed on wisdom through generations. Remembered fondly by his family as a loving great-grandfather, his journey toward becoming that man began long ago—with one life-changing morning.
That cold December morning, young Gurditt was walking toward the well outside his house, carrying his personal towel, mug and bucket tucked under his arm. He never allowed anyone to touch these items—let alone share them. Just the day before, he’d caused an uproar when his younger sister used his mug. Gurditt was extremely particular, refusing to share clothes, objects or rather anything at all.
His mother had scolded him. “You’re so stubborn. Even if God came asking for your bucket, you’d turn God away,” she said. But Gurditt remained unmoved, indifferent to these concerns.
That afternoon, Gurditt had shrugged off his mother’s scolding and gone out to play, returning home late. Though she wanted him to learn the value of sharing, she didn’t scold him further—he had already skipped a meal. Quietly, she served him dinner and placed a glass of milk beside his wood carving material. His sister was still sulking over the dismissal she received from Gurditt as if her need for the bucket was not important at all. Gurditt ignored her gaze and went to bed.
At 4:30 a.m., he woke suddenly, freshened up quickly and decided to bathe early. He quietly retrieved his hidden bucket, proud of slipping out unnoticed. Reaching the well, he drew warm water and washed his face—unaware that the moment to come would change him forever.
Just then, Gurditt saw an old man in long robes approach him. “Beta, can I borrow your bucket for a few minutes? I’ll return it,” the man asked gently. Gurditt refused immediately. The man prodded a little more but seeing him reluctant, he gave a quiet, knowing smile and turned to walk down the narrow kuccha lane. Within a few steps, he vanished into the thin morning mist, leaving Gurditt frozen, heart racing. The area beyond where the man disappeared was still visible but then where did the man go?
His hands trembled. It wasn’t fear of the figure—it was the weight of what he’d done. Dropping the bucket, he ran home and woke his mother, breathlessly recounting the encounter. She listened calmly and said, “Didn’t I tell you? Even if God came, you’d turn God away over a bucket.”
Something shifted inside him. From that moment on, Gurditt changed. He began to share—his bucket, his books, his time. The boy who once refused to give anything became a man who never turned anyone away.
THE COLD TOUCH
A Cold Touch, a Warm Presence: Ankita’s Story of Love Beyond Loss
For 52-year-old Ankita, the Covid-19 pandemic left scars deeper than most could imagine. While the world grappled with uncertainty and grief, Ankita was struck twice as hard — first, battling the virus herself, and then losing her beloved father to a slow, heart-wrenching decline into dementia.
Confined to her home in Hyderabad during India’s strict nationwide lockdown, Ankita couldn’t even attend his funeral. The helplessness gnawed at her. Nothing could ease the raw ache left by the news of her father’s passing.
“He had been seriously ill for 22 days. When he finally left us, I cried through the day — so much so that I don’t even remember how the next day passed,” Ankita shares.
The day of his last rites, Ankita sat in her room, overwhelmed, tears streaming uncontrollably. That’s when something inexplicable happened.
“I suddenly felt an ice-cold touch on my hand, and instantly, goosebumps rose all over my body. Bewildered, I looked around — but no one was there. In that fleeting moment, I sensed my father’s presence. As if he was right beside me, comforting me, saying, ‘I’m still here.’”
It lasted only two or three seconds, but it changed something deep inside her. The invisible, cold touch, first frightening, quickly turned into a strange reassurance. She wiped her tears, feeling as if her father’s soul was soothing her pain.
Neither her husband nor her son, who were in the next room, knew what had happened. But over the following weeks, Ankita felt her father’s spirit in other ways — through vivid dreams that left her both unsettled and strangely comforted.
In one dream, she saw him wearing white clothes. Curious, she asked,
“Papaji, ab aap safed kapde pehente ho?”
And he replied with a gentle smile,
“Haan beta. Yahan zyada thand hoti hai na!”
(“Yes, my child. It’s much colder here.”)
After that, the dreams stopped. Yet Ankita felt a quiet knowing settle in her heart — that he was at peace, watching over her, still part of her life’s journey in an unseen but deeply felt way.