A journey to the part of Auroville that is and will always be beyond the time and space that it currently occupies, and most importantly beyond the reach of forces that seek to control it.
Written in June, 2025
Fluffy little clouds drifted across the horizon, scattered on a canvas of deep blue sky. A gentle breeze whispered through the treetops, softening the heat of the midday sun to a bearable moment—something fleeting, almost imagined. The land stretched out before me, blanketed in tall grass that reached up to my knees, and even higher in some places. Clumps of trees and bushes appeared here and there, dotting the landscape. There was something ominous in the air, a weight to the silence. One might have easily mistaken this for the vast plains of Africa—were it not for the unmistakable silhouette of the Matrimandir rising on the northern horizon, like a golden punctuation mark.
I don’t remember exactly. Or perhaps I never really knew. But one thing was certain: my destination was the Matrimandir. Where were the houses, the people—Auroville itself? Their absence felt strange, yet natural. An Auroville without buildings, roads, or even other souls. Just trees. And at the center of it all, the Matrimandir—like a waiting ship, still and patient. Though there were no signs, I knew it intuitively: the Matrimandir marked the next phase of the journey. A gate. A bridge. To what, I could not say. I only knew that I had to reach it.
That’s when I saw them—the lions.
They lay in the shade of trees ringing the outer reaches of the Matrimandir. I could see them clearly now. Most were lionesses, panting under the burden of the heat, yet regal and composed. Their coats shone with vitality; their bodies were muscular, well-fed, and powerful. More lions appeared to my left and right, arranged in loose clusters of three or four, forming a wide, protective circle around the mandir. These were its guardians. Those who trespassed here without clarity in their stride, who carried too much fear or too little purpose, likely became food for these majestic beasts. I understood, then, that this was no ordinary place. This was a no-time, a no-space moment—not Auroville, not any when or where, but rather an embodiment of aspiration. I was not merely walking; I was embodying the will to reach the Matrimandir.
As I continued forward, my heartbeat began to slow—or was it time itself that was stretching, bending around the growing sense of danger? The lions had seen me. Some rose slowly, drawn toward the edges of their shadows. Did I feel fear then? It’s hard to say. Certainly, there was apprehension. Yet it was in that very uncertainty that something deeper stirred: a seed of courage. And in a single instant, it blossomed.
It was not bravado, not defiance. It was a courage rooted in something more essential—a wellspring from which this entire experience had emerged. A certainty. A truth. An aspiration. I still cannot name it clearly, but I knew it then to be real. I had no precise understanding of what I was aspiring toward, only that the aspiration was sincere. And that sincerity was sword enough for any battle I might face.
With that realization, the fear faded. In its place came surrender—not a sense of defeat, but rather of acceptance. What else could I do but surrender? “Come, lions,” I thought. “Let us dance. For we are one and the same.” A few more lions rose, curious about this newcomer. I passed among them, brushing past their watchful forms. They sniffed at me, but made no move. I walked on, grateful for this encounter.
I woke up with a start. Daylight spilled through the window. It wasn’t the dream itself that startled me, but the vividness with which I remembered every detail, every emotion. It remains with me even now—clear as the morning in which I awoke. That’s what astonishes me. I rarely remember my dreams. My nights are usually a blank slate of deep, dreamless sleep. And yet I know, as many have written, that dreaming is natural, universal. I believe that now more than ever.
By Aurovrata
(A dream dreamt at the Mission Bungalow, Kalhatty, The Nilgiris – Summer 1994)