The twilight was gently descending, draping the majestic chinars of Kashmir in purple silk, and the shadows faded away. I stood at the edge of a spring in Mughal Garden, Achabal, Anantnag, with moist eyes, unable to believe that my feet were finally touching the sacred earth of my dreams. Around me, the world had grown quiet — the tourists, the birds, and even the air had gone still. A sweet, enchanting serenity settled upon the valley. The mountains were standing like ancient guardians, watching over the silence. It appeared as if nature itself were bowing its head in holy prayer.Yet, before me, the crystalline clear waters of the spring refused to rest, leaping and surging with an unbroken joy, singing a timeless melody into the quiet night.In that breath-taking silence, the liquid melody of Achabal carried me back in time, to a cosy, sunlit classroom of my childhood in Punjab, where I first read the golden verses of the saint-poet, Bhai Vir Singh in my textbook. His words had ignited a quiet flame in my young heart: “Seene khich jinha ne khadhi, oh kar aaram nahi bahinde; nehon vale naina ki neendar, oh dine raat pae vahinde” (Those whose hearts have been pierced by love can never sit in quiet rest; how can sleep ever visit eyes intoxicated by longing? They must flow on through day and night, never resting).Spellbound by its beauty, I had copied the poem and pasted it above my study table. Through the long, exhausting nights of school and the demanding years of college, those verses were my sanctuary. Whenever my spirit grew weary, I would look up at the poem ‘Ichhabal te doonghian shama’, and borrow courage from the spring’s endless pilgrimage to the sea, and push forward quietly to cross my academic milestones. For years, that paper on my wall was a window to a mystical sanctuary I desperately longed to see.And then, at last, that dream became a reality. Gazing down at the stream, I felt as though the poet himself stood beside me in the deepening dusk, revealing that the spring actually represents the human soul, driven by a deep spiritual longing to merge with the Divine.An overwhelming peace washed over me. I knelt on the mossy banks, and let my trembling hands dip into the icy, pure stream, feeling the pulse of an infinite devotion. The touch was electric. The water would not tire, and neither would I. And in that profound moment, the boundaries between my childhood dream and the magic of Achabal spring simply dissolved into a single tear of gratitude.Sarabjeet Singh Kanwal, ChandigarhTribuneindia.com invites contributions to SHAHARNAMA. Share anecdotes, unforgettable incidents, impressionable moments that define your cities, neighbourhoods, what the city stands for, what makes its people who they are. Send your contributions in English, not exceeding 450 words, to shaharnama@Jattvibemail.comDo include the name of your city and your social media handles (X/ Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn)