The parable of writing pen

What do you enjoy most about writing?

In a quiet village, there lived Siddhi Jaya who carried a fire within her chest. It was not the warm fire of comfort, but a restless blaze of old wounds, regrets, and voices from the past. Whenever the fire grew too hot, it burned her peace and clouded her thoughts.

One day, while walking by a river, she found a pen lying on the bank. It looked ordinary, but when they picked it up, the river spoke:
“Dip the pen into me, and I will carry away what you release.”

Curious, she began to write on a scrap of paper. Each sentence that flowed from the pen felt like drops of water falling from the fire inside. The heat softened. Anger turned into quiet lines. Sadness flowed out like gentle ripples. The more she wrote, the cooler she felt, as though the river was drinking their pain.

Soon, she discovered that the words did more than release the fire. She painted unseen images—gardens that had never grown, skies that had never shone, and paths that had never been walked. Writing was not only a release; it was creation, like drawing a bridge of light from the fire of suffering to the waters of peace.

From that day, the person no longer feared the fire within. Whenever it rose, they dipped the pen into the river, turning flames into flowing words. What once burned them now became stories, and what once hurt them now became healing.