The Useless One: A Dialogue with the Hermit Who Did Nothing... and Gained Everything

"The visitors came expecting a wild-eyed guru wearing a loincloth, mumbling mantras in the middle of a jungle. Instead, they found a guy who grows his own vegetables, doesn’t have Wi-Fi, and meditates while waiting for his kettle to boil. They thought he’d be starving in a cave, but turns out, he’s had the best meals of his life — mostly from his own backyard. They assumed he was a madman because he gave up his ‘perfect job’ and ‘perfect life’ — but they didn’t realize he’d just traded them for peace, purpose, and a lot more free time to be with his kids. As they learned, the real revolution wasn’t his retreat from society, but his escape from all the noise — the very noise they were still living in. The lesson? Sometimes, to find real freedom, you have to stop following the noise, and start listening to the silence."

SETTING:

A mud house surrounded by lush greenery.

It’s early morning.

Birds chirp.

Smoke rises from a small earthen chulha.

The Hermit, barefoot, in a simple cotton dhoti and kurta, is flipping millet rotis.

Three men—RAMESH, SIDDHARTH, and IRFAN—arrive, dust on their shoes, discomfort on their faces.

---

PART 1: MORNING — THE JUDGEMENT BEGINS

RAMESH:

(laughs awkwardly)

Look at you, man!

You actually live here?

This looks like a scene from a village drama.

SIDDHARTH:

(whispers to IRFAN)

Told you, he’s lost it.

Probably had a breakdown after quitting that MNC job.

IRFAN:

(curious)

Or maybe...

maybe he’s hiding something.

People said he got thrown out for whistleblowing or something.

HERMIT:

(smiling gently, not offended)

I knew the rumors would outlive the truth.

So, what brings you here today?

Pity?

Curiosity?

Or...

a tiny itch in your hearts that maybe I’m not mad after all?

RAMESH:

(defensive)

No yaar, we just...

we heard things.

You’re helping people reverse diabetes, BP, all that.

So we thought—why not visit the monk of madness?

SIDDHARTH:

(sarcastic)

Yeah, the jobless guru who ran away from real life.

HERMIT:

(quietly)

Did I run away?

Or did I walk towards something you were afraid to look at?

IRFAN:

(cautiously)

You tell us.

HERMIT:

You all hated your jobs ten years ago.

I remember your rants.

I just stopped complaining and walked out.

SIDDHARTH:

And became what?

A burden?

A parasite?

HERMIT:

I stopped earning money.

But I started growing food.

I started making things with my hands.

I started living in tune with nature.

Who is really the burden—the one who consumes and pollutes or the one who produces and heals?

RAMESH:

But society...

expects us to work.

Provide.

Be responsible.

HERMIT:

And has society provided you peace in return?

---

PART 2: AFTERNOON — THE MIRROR CRACKS

They sit under a neem tree.

The Hermit serves them buttermilk and fresh greens.

A calm silence settles.

IRFAN:

My cholesterol’s been high for years.

Popping pills daily.

SIDDHARTH:

I have this constant acidity, but I just ignore it now.

RAMESH:

I feel like a machine.

Wake up.

Commute.

Screens.

Sleep.

Repeat.

HERMIT:

And yet you call me the mad one?

SIDDHARTH:

(smiles)

Touché.

HERMIT:

I live slowly.

I eat with my hands.

I sleep with the moon.

My daughters study the trees, the wind, carpentry, and human nature.

I’ve not bought vegetables in five years.

RAMESH:

That’s...

that’s something.

But still, you’ve disconnected from the world.

HERMIT:

Have I?

Or have I just disconnected from its delusions?

IRFAN:

(gently)

People say you’re antisocial.

Even a freeloader.

HERMIT:

People say a lot when someone refuses to obey.

I stopped buying what I didn’t need.

I use less water than a single flush in your office toilet.

I teach children for free.

I offer herbal remedies to whoever comes.

Who is freeloading?

---

PART 3: EVENING — THE LIGHT BREAKS IN

They walk through his garden.

Brinjals hang like ornaments.

Beans twirl up sticks.

His daughters are building a bamboo bench.

SIDDHARTH:

You really live without electricity?

HERMIT:

The sun lights my days.

The stars guide my nights.

I read, not scroll.

I talk, not text.

RAMESH:

You homeschool them?

Don’t you worry about their future?

HERMIT:

I worry about children who grow up knowing how to crack tests but not how to calm a crying friend.

My daughters are not products.

They are people.

IRFAN:

(with humility)

Maybe we were wrong about you...

HERMIT:

No.

You were just never right about yourselves.

(They sit by a fire)

HERMIT:

Society says I do nothing.

But my life is full.

My feet touch soil daily.

My food is medicine.

My work is joy.

My presence is prayer.

RAMESH:

(softly)

We wanted to change too.

But something always held us back.

HERMIT:

Fear.

Approval.

Addiction to comfort.

SIDDHARTH:

What do we do now?

HERMIT:

(smiles and hands each of them a cloth bag of seeds)

Begin.

With one pot.

One plant.

One promise—to not lie to yourself anymore.

IRFAN:

We may fail.

HERMIT:

Then fail honestly.

But walk your path.

Not someone else’s script.

HERMIT:

People called me useless.

But now, people like you come to me for help.

Truth doesn’t shout.

It just waits.

---

END SCENE:

They hug the Hermit.

There are no grand conclusions.

Just a new beginning.

A tiny crack in the walls they had built around their own lives.

HERMIT (voiceover):

“Some call me mad.

Some call me useless.

I call myself free.”

---

PART 2: THE RETURN OF THE USELESS ONES

SCENE: AROUND THE BONFIRE, POST DINNER

The sun has set behind the hills.

A slow breeze carries the smell of lemongrass and firewood.

The four men are sitting cross-legged near a crackling bonfire.

The Hermit’s daughters are seen placing clay pots of hot water near a bamboo bathroom.

Crickets chirp.

A soft silence sits between them.

One of the friends finally speaks.

---

RAMESH (after a long silence)

You know, I’ve never eaten a dinner like this.

Bitter greens, saltless dal, millet roti…

And still, I feel so light.

Strange.

Are you sure you haven’t added some... herbs to calm us down?

HERMIT

I added presence.

That’s enough to calm anyone down.

SIDHARTH

Okay, okay.

You win.

Tell us — how are you managing all this?

You don’t have a job.

No electricity bill.

No loans.

And yet, your daughters look happy, healthy, smarter than ours.

Are you secretly funded by some foreign yoga cult?

HERMIT

Nope.

Funded by the sun, the soil, and silence.

IRFAN (laughing)

Yaar, you always were like this.

We used to call you mad in college also.

But we assumed you’d become normal after marriage, kids, expenses.

Yet here you are — weirder than ever.

Still not celebrating Eid, Diwali, Republic Day, nothing!

HERMIT

I celebrate every time I don’t need to celebrate.

RAMESH

Now that’s some guru-level nonsense.

Come on, tell us the truth.

Why did you really quit the job?

We heard rumors — that you were thrown out, that you had a breakdown.

HERMIT

I quit before I broke.

Before the job could break what was human in me.

SIDHARTH

But why?

Everyone hates their job.

We still go.

We still pay the EMIs.

That’s life, isn’t it?

HERMIT

No.

That’s imprisonment.

You hate what you do.

You curse your managers.

You fear your appraisals.

And still, you wake up and go back, calling it responsibility.

That’s not duty.

That’s slavery wearing a tie.

IRFAN

Oof.

So you mean we’re all slaves?

HERMIT

No.

You mean that.

I’m just asking why you never walked out of your cage, even when the door was open.

RAMESH (softly)

Because we have kids, yaar.

Families.

Risks.

Loans.

We can’t just... leave.

HERMIT

And yet, you stayed.

And the price?

Your spine.

Your sleep.

Your soul.

The real risk is staying where you don’t belong.

SIDHARTH (quietly)

That’s what scares me most.

That we might be wrong.

That everything we called ‘success’ might have been failure in disguise.

HERMIT

You called me useless.

And now you return to me, broken by use.

IRFAN

Forgive us.

We mocked what we didn’t understand.

And now our knees hurt, our stomachs burn, and our dreams feel secondhand.

HERMIT

You are not late.

You are just on time.

Because destruction is often the beginning of clarity.

SIDHARTH

So what do we do now?

We can’t grow vegetables overnight.

We can’t go back and say — “Hey, we’re quitting capitalism!”

HERMIT

You don’t need to shout.

You need to simplify.

One lie at a time.

One truth at a time.

Start where it hurts the most.

Start with honesty.

RAMESH

And if the world mocks us like we mocked you?

HERMIT

Then you will know you are finally walking your own path.

(Long silence. The fire crackles. One of the daughters brings tulsi tea. The men hold their cups like offerings.)

---

PART 2 (CONTINUED): THE RETURN OF THE USELESS ONES

SCENE: THE BONFIRE GROWS SMALLER, BUT THE CONVERSATION DEEPENS

The stars scatter across the sky like spilled grain.

An owl hoots somewhere in the trees.

The fire has turned from flame to embers.

The air is cooler now.

Steam rises from the clay cups in their hands.

The friends have grown quieter, as if listening not just to the Hermit, but to themselves.

---

SIDHARTH

You said—start where it hurts most.

For me, it's my health.

I’m on pills for acidity, anxiety, cholesterol.

And I’m only forty-two.

My son calls me an old man.

I smile at him.

But inside, I feel like one.

HERMIT

What did you have for lunch today before coming here?

SIDHARTH

Two samosas, a Pepsi, and some biryani on the train.

Why?

HERMIT

You fed your fire with plastic and expect it to burn clean.

The body is not a trash bin.

It is a temple.

But you’ve been renting it to demons.

RAMESH

Ayy, don’t scare us now.

I’ve been popping painkillers like peanuts.

Neck pain, back pain, knee pain.

Everything hurts, except my lies.

HERMIT

Your pain is honest.

It screams because your lifestyle won’t whisper.

You didn’t get sick.

You were made sick.

IRFAN

By who?

HERMIT

By your habits.

By the market.

By fake food, fake needs, fake identities.

By believing that convenience is success.

That sickness is normal.

SIDHARTH

So what’s the first step out?

HERMIT

First, drink water before tea.

Second, rise with the sun.

Third, eat only what your grandmother would recognize.

Fourth, walk until your body remembers it has legs.

Fifth, stop arguing with your truth.

RAMESH

Too simple, man.

Where’s the complicated diagnosis, supplements, gadgets, hacks?

HERMIT

Those are distractions.

Healing is boring.

Healing is quiet.

Healing is free.

IRFAN

Free?

How will hospitals run then?

How will pharma make money?

How will wellness apps survive?

HERMIT

They will not.

But you will.

SIDHARTH (smiling for the first time)

You really are dangerous.

If people listen to you, the economy might collapse.

HERMIT

Let the fake economy collapse.

Let the true wealth rise.

Not in banks.

But in backs that don’t ache.

In bellies that digest.

In children that sleep without fear.

In air that doesn’t burn your lungs.

RAMESH (softly)

So we are the parasites.

Not you.

HERMIT

No one is a parasite by birth.

But many become one by denial.

The one who only takes and never gives — is he useful or harmful?

IRFAN

We take from the earth, but don’t give back.

We take from the farmers, but mock their work.

We take from the future, and call it growth.

HERMIT

And then blame hermits for doing nothing.

But what if the only cure left…

Was to do nothing — deliberately, mindfully, deeply?

SIDHARTH

I want to unlearn.

But I don’t know where to begin.

HERMIT

Begin by removing what is not you.

Not your job.

Not your role.

Not your fears.

What remains — that is you.

(The friends sit still. Something has softened in them. The bonfire has almost died, but their eyes carry new light. One of the daughters places a shawl over the Hermit’s shoulder. He smiles at her. The others watch. A silence of acceptance falls between them.)

---

---

PART 3: THE NIGHT THAT BROKE THE LIES

SCENE: INSIDE THE HERMIT’S MUD HOME, LANTERN GLOW, QUIET BREATHING

The friends lie on mats of woven grass.

A soft breeze flows through the small windows.

The lantern flickers gently.

The smell of neem and clay fills the room.

One of the daughters places a jug of warm water beside them.

They murmur thanks.

She nods and disappears into the next room.

Only the sounds of breath, insects, and distant owls remain.

The Hermit sits near the door, sharpening a sickle in slow strokes.

---

SIDHARTH

How old is your elder daughter now?

She speaks so calmly.

As if she’s forty, not fourteen.

What school does she go to?

HERMIT

She learns from life.

She reads, observes, helps, questions.

She milks cows, grows food, listens to elders, and teaches her younger sister.

That’s her school.

RAMESH

So no syllabus?

No grades?

No tension?

HERMIT

Only self-mastery.

Only inner clarity.

She knows how to light a fire.

She knows how to silence one.

She knows how to say no without guilt.

IRFAN

And what if she wants to become a doctor?

Or go abroad?

HERMIT

Then she shall.

With awareness, not ambition.

From wholeness, not hunger.

She will never sell her soul for a title.

She will never chase a degree if her heart is diseased.

SIDHARTH

But don’t you worry?

That she may be left behind?

This world is not kind.

HERMIT

I do worry.

But not the way you think.

I worry that your children are learning to obey noise.

I worry they will grow up full of certificates but empty of courage.

I worry they will know passwords but not their own power.

RAMESH (turning over)

My daughter is eleven.

She already fears exams.

She lies sometimes, just to escape tuition.

Last week she told me she wants to run away and sell flowers in Ooty.

I scolded her.

Now I wonder if she was wiser than me.

IRFAN

Mine is addicted to phone reels.

He doesn’t want to play outside.

I forced him to go to cricket camp, but he came back crying.

He said, “Appa, I don’t want to compete.”

I didn’t listen.

HERMIT

Children are born clear.

We muddy them.

We turn them into replicas of our regrets.

And then wonder why they’re anxious.

Why they rebel.

Why they vanish into screens.

SIDHARTH

So you’re saying our children don’t need correction.

We do.

HERMIT

Yes.

They are not the problem.

They are the mirrors.

But you keep breaking the mirror, instead of wiping your own face.

RAMESH (with a sigh)

How did we end up like this?

Chasing EMI deadlines.

Hating our jobs.

Fighting with our wives.

Fearing our own kids.

HERMIT

Because you chose survival over truth.

Comfort over clarity.

Speed over depth.

Because you believed everyone else must be right.

And you — the voice inside — must be wrong.

IRFAN

You left everything.

We didn’t have your courage.

HERMIT

No.

I didn’t have your fear.

That’s the difference.

SIDHARTH (tears forming)

I used to paint.

Did you know?

In college, I could sit for hours, just mixing colors.

Now my hands only type emails.

I feel like I sold my soul for a pension plan.

HERMIT

Take it back.

Paint again.

Not for money.

Not for anyone.

Just to remember who you are.

RAMESH (smiling faintly)

I used to play the flute.

It’s still in my attic.

Maybe I’ll bring it here next time.

IRFAN

I just want to sit quietly.

Like this.

With no need to impress anyone.

HERMIT

Then stay.

Tonight, your healing has begun.

Not because I taught you anything.

But because you stopped running from yourself.

(They lie in silence. One by one, their breaths deepen. The lantern dims. The Hermit closes his eyes. And outside, a koel calls gently into the night — as if declaring: three more men have returned home to their hearts.)

---

---

PART 4: THE MORNING MIRROR

SCENE: DAWN AT THE HERMIT’S HOME, MIST RISING, BIRDS CALLING

A koel sings.

A calf bleats gently from the cowshed.

The air smells of lemongrass and woodsmoke.

The three men stir on their mats.

They stretch, surprised by how rested they feel.

No alarms.

No calls.

No stress.

SIDHARTH

What time is it?

Feels like I’ve slept for a year.

RAMESH (looking around)

He’s already up.

Look — he’s in the garden.

Barefoot.

Tending to spinach like it’s treasure.

IRFAN (rubbing his eyes)

And the girl is sweeping the yard.

Look at the calm on her face.

No rush.

No shouting.

No school van honking.

HERMIT (walking in with a basket of greens)

Good morning, men of the modern world.

Did sleep touch your soul?

SIDHARTH

I think it did.

And this silence — I didn’t know it still existed.

HERMIT

It was always here.

You just got used to noise.

RAMESH

What’s that in your basket?

HERMIT

This is today’s breakfast.

Amaranth leaves, pumpkin flowers, curry leaf, lemongrass, raw banana, and a few wild greens.

IRFAN

From this yard?

HERMIT

From this Earth.

Not a rupee spent.

Not a pesticide used.

Only time.

And love.

SIDHARTH (shaking his head)

And we waste thousands every month.

Plastic-wrapped poison.

Tasteless tomatoes.

Imported apples soaked in wax.

And we complain about rising prices — while sitting under fans powered by debt.

HERMIT

You wanted comfort.

You paid with your health.

You wanted speed.

You lost your soil.

Now you want health again — by spending more.

Do you see the madness?

RAMESH

Yes.

It’s insane.

We eat polished rice and call it progress.

We boil all vegetables to death and call it safety.

We refrigerate life till it dies.

IRFAN

I had acidity for 8 years.

Took pills daily.

Three weeks ago, I fasted for a day and felt better than in years.

Now I wonder — how many lies am I still eating?

HERMIT

Fasting is not just for food.

Fast from speed.

Fast from fear.

Fast from second-hand desires.

That’s when truth appears.

SIDHARTH

I want to grow something.

Even in my balcony.

I want to taste food that’s alive.

Not lab-grown luxury.

HERMIT (smiling)

Then begin today.

Not with a plant.

But with patience.

Plant that first.

(The three men step outside. Dew kisses their feet. The Hermit hands them simple tools — a sickle, a basket, a trowel. For the first time in decades, their hands touch the Earth. Not for selfie. Not for show. But for soul.)

---

---

PART 5: THE MIRROR OF MONEY AND MEANING

SCENE: UNDER THE SHADE OF A TAMARIND TREE, AFTER BREAKFAST

A simple meal has just ended.

Steamed raw banana.

Leafy chutney.

Boiled millet.

A clay pot of buttermilk rests nearby.

RAMESH

That was the most humble breakfast of my life.

And somehow, the most satisfying.

SIDHARTH

It felt like… the food was grateful we ate it.

Not tortured to feed us.

IRFAN

And there’s no bill to pay.

No delivery charge.

No Swiggy tip.

No carbon footprint.

HERMIT (smiling)

You paid.

With attention.

With gratitude.

That’s the real price of nourishment.

SIDHARTH

But Hermit…

How do you afford this life?

I mean, we assumed you were poor.

Living like this.

No job.

No salary.

No security.

HERMIT

I am not poor.

I am free.

That’s a different currency.

IRFAN

But what about money?

Kids?

Emergencies?

What if something happens?

HERMIT

You’re asking the right questions.

But from the wrong fear.

You ask, What if something goes wrong?

I ask, Why do we create a life where things go wrong in the first place?

RAMESH

But we need money!

How do you survive without it?

HERMIT

I never said money is evil.

But your relationship with it is.

It’s not a servant anymore.

It’s your master.

SIDHARTH

That’s… uncomfortably true.

I’ve been in EMI debt for 11 years.

Two cars.

One flat.

Three insurance policies.

And a gut that doesn’t digest peace anymore.

IRFAN

I once earned 2 lakhs a month.

Still felt like a beggar by the 25th.

Now I earn 80K.

And spend less.

And feel… richer?

HERMIT

Because richness is not what you hold.

It’s what you can let go of.

RAMESH

Then what is your bank account?

HERMIT

This land.

These seeds.

That sun.

This breath.

These children who know the names of birds.

That old woman who sends rice from her harvest.

That tree which gives me shade.

This silence that money can’t buy.

These are my assets.

SIDHARTH

When did we sell all that?

For what?

HERMIT

For opinions.

For approval.

For show.

For fear.

You traded peace for pride.

And now you wonder why your heart feels poor.

IRFAN

But how can we change?

We have families.

Loans.

School fees.

Relatives who measure our worth in grams of gold.

HERMIT

I never said drop it all.

Just stop lying.

Stop pretending you like the race.

Stop acting like the job is your joy.

Start small.

Start honest.

RAMESH (whispers)

I don’t even know what I truly want anymore.

HERMIT

That’s a good place to begin.

Better than chasing what others want for you.

(A squirrel drops a tamarind near them. They laugh. For a moment, they feel ten years younger. And ten years wiser.)

HERMIT (gazing at them)

Remember…

You’re not trapped in the world.

You’re trapped in a story about the world.

Change the story.

You’ll walk free.

---

---

PART 6: THE DEATH OF NOISE

SCENE: LATE AFTERNOON, HERMIT’S COURTYARD, A GENTLE BREEZE BLOWS

The friends sit under the neem tree.

The Hermit brews tulsi tea in a clay pot.

The village is quiet.

No horns.

No TVs.

No phones ringing.

RAMESH (fidgeting)

It’s been six hours since I looked at my phone.

I feel like I’m going to die.

SIDHARTH

I checked mine five times already.

No signal.

And somehow, I’m still addicted.

IRFAN

I didn’t even realize how noisy I had become.

Not just outside.

Inside.

HERMIT (pouring tea)

That’s the real disease.

Noise.

Noise of news.

Noise of opinions.

Noise of social comparison.

Noise of artificial urgency.

SIDHARTH

But how do you keep up without the news?

What if something important happens?

HERMIT

Like what?

What’s so urgent?

A politician said something?

A celebrity divorced someone?

The stock market sneezed?

You’ll still eat.

You’ll still breathe.

You’ll still die.

What exactly are you trying to keep up with?

RAMESH

But don’t we need to be informed?

HERMIT

You are misinformed in the name of being informed.

You carry the world’s suffering in your pocket, and call it awareness.

You absorb 100 tragedies a day, and forget to smile at your neighbour.

That’s not awareness.

That’s noise addiction.

IRFAN

I feel like I’ve lived in a mental mall for the past decade.

No quiet corner.

No exit gate.

HERMIT

And what did you buy from that mall?

More things to worry about?

More things to want?

More reasons to feel small?

SIDHARTH

It’s true.

Even my rest was restless.

Scrolling till I slept.

And waking up tired.

HERMIT

That’s not rest.

That’s unconsciousness.

RAMESH

So what do you do in the evenings?

No TV.

No phone.

No Netflix.

Don’t you get bored?

HERMIT (smiling gently)

I sit.

I listen to the wind.

I watch the cows.

I write letters.

I mend tools.

I watch the stars.

I talk to my children.

I listen to the silence between their words.

IRFAN

We… forgot how to do that.

Even our love became noisy.

Loud dinners.

Shouting matches.

Silent screens.

HERMIT

Noise is not just sound.

Noise is speed.

Noise is judgment.

Noise is craving.

Noise is the fear of stillness.

SIDHARTH

I want to be quiet.

But my head is full of traffic.

Even here.

HERMIT

That’s why silence is the real wealth.

Not everyone can afford it.

But anyone can earn it — with patience.

RAMESH

Is that why you left everything?

HERMIT

No.

I didn’t leave anything.

I returned.

To what I always had.

Before noise told me I wasn’t enough.

(A deep stillness falls. The neem leaves whisper. A crow caws once, then quiets. Inside their chest, the three men hear something they haven’t heard in years — their own breath.)

---

---

PART 7: THE SOFT REVOLUTION

SCENE: EVENING. THE SKY IS TURNING COPPER. HERMIT LIGHTS AN OIL LAMP.

A gentle glow spreads across the mud courtyard.

The silence is now warm, not awkward.

A sense of inner revolution is brewing.

RAMESH

You’ve shown us something today, old friend.

Something I can’t explain in words.

But I feel it.

Like a curtain slowly lifting.

SIDHARTH

Yes.

Like I’ve been fighting the wrong war all my life.

And didn’t even know it.

IRFAN

We thought you had given up.

But it’s us who gave in.

To pressure.

To pretense.

To panic.

HERMIT

You’re not weak.

You’re just tired.

Tired of running someone else’s race.

Tired of pretending exhaustion is success.

RAMESH

But how do we change?

Not everyone can move to a mud house.

Not everyone has land.

HERMIT

You don’t need to copy my life.

That’s not the point.

This is not a template.

It’s a mirror.

SIDHARTH

A mirror?

HERMIT

Yes.

Hold it up.

Ask yourself:

Do I truly live by my own values?

Do I sleep peacefully?

Do I love gently?

Do I consume honestly?

Do I speak without fear?

If the answer is no,

Then start there.

IRFAN

It sounds so… simple.

Yet feels impossible.

HERMIT

Because you think you need a revolution of power.

But what you need is a revolution of softness.

A soft revolution.

Where you choose:

Less over more.

Truth over image.

Health over speed.

Presence over performance.

RAMESH

It won’t be easy.

Our world isn’t kind to softness.

HERMIT

That’s why it’s revolutionary.

Anyone can shout.

But try sitting still for ten minutes —

And your mind will wage war on you.

That’s where the healing begins.

SIDHARTH

So what’s the first step?

Tell us.

We’ll try.

HERMIT (lighting incense)

Begin at home.

In your breath.

In your plate.

In your garbage.

In your conversations.

In your calendar.

IRFAN

That’s… a lot.

HERMIT

Take one.

Make it honest.

Let it ripple.

RAMESH

Will we lose people?

Friends?

Status?

HERMIT

Yes.

But you will find something deeper.

Not followers.

Not fans.

Fellow walkers.

Who are also done pretending.

SIDHARTH (nodding slowly)

That… feels enough.

For the first time, I’m not hungry for more.

Just ready for less.

IRFAN

Let’s walk back in silence.

I think it’ll say more than we ever could.

HERMIT (bowing his head)

Walk slowly.

Not to reach.

But to feel.

The ground has missed your bare feet.

The sky has missed your eyes.

You were never lost.

Just loud.

(They rise quietly. No handshakes. No dramatic goodbyes. Only the soft revolution inside each step as they walk back into the night — slower, lighter, and more human than they’ve been in years.)

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EPILOGUE: THE RETURN

SCENE: THREE WEEKS LATER. DIFFERENT HOMES. DIFFERENT LIVES. SAME SHIFT.

RAMESH’S BALCONY — EARLY MORNING

RAMESH (to his wife)

No tea for me today.

I’ll make kashayam.

And look — I bought local veggies.

No plastic.

WIFE (suspicious)

Did you join some cult?

RAMESH (smiling)

Yes.

The Cult of Breathing.

Try it. It’s free.

(He waters a plant, barefoot, humming an old forgotten song.)

SIDHARTH’S KITCHEN — NIGHT

SIDHARTH (on phone)

I’ve resigned.

Yes, really.

Freelancing now.

Half the pay.

Double the peace.

VOICE ON PHONE

Are you okay?

Did you see a baba or something?

SIDHARTH

Yes.

Inside my own chest.

Turns out, I was always home.

Just forgot the address.

(He finishes cooking, eats with his daughter — without screens, without rush.)

IRFAN’S LIVING ROOM — AFTERNOON

IRFAN (sorting junk)

This goes.

This too.

Books I never read.

Gadgets I never needed.

Clothes I wore once to impress people who forgot me.

NEPHEW

Are you going minimalist?

IRFAN (grinning)

No.

Just going honest.

For the first time.

(He opens the windows. Sits cross-legged. Prays. But this time, he means every word.)

MEANWHILE, THE HERMIT’S COURTYARD — SUNSET

DAUGHTER (to Hermit)

Appa, your friends came and went.

Will they come back?

HERMIT

No need.

They’re not following me.

They’re following truth.

DAUGHTER

And you?

What are you following?

HERMIT (smiling gently)

Silence.

It tells me everything.

(He closes his eyes. The wind rustles the leaves. Somewhere far away, three hearts beat slower, softer, freer — echoing the revolution that began not with rebellion, but with remembering.)

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