Part I
In a quiet pond, white ducklings floated merrily — each one identical, carved from the same mould of feathers and beaks. All, except one. He was different.

The others laughed at him. They teased and bullied him.
“Look! He has odd feathers!”
“See his ridiculous neck!”
“Listen to that strange voice!”

The dark one felt cursed — His feet hesitated to walk, fearing mockery. His long wings folded in shame, lest they invite ridicule. His voice, meant to chant truth, remained buried deep within, for fear of cruel laughter. And when no one was watching he shed tears.

Seasons turned. The white ducklings became plump, off-white ducks with yellow beaks. They waddled, they quacked, they flapped short, clumsy flights.

The dark one, now tinged with silver-grey, had grown tall and graceful. His swimming was swift, his walk poised, his flight effortless. The ducks still mocked him — but now their eyes gleamed with envy.

One dawn, he gazed into the still water. The reflection staring back was not ugly at all. It was strong, beautiful, radiant. All those cruel words… lies! He could glide across water, soar into the skies, walk with elegance on land. He was not like them — he was like the majestic swans he had once admired, free in the winter sky. With a joyous cry, he spread his wings and soared.

Part II
Long ago, on the banks of seven sacred rivers, there lived a people whose roots ran as deep as the Indu Ocean and whose gaze reached as high as the Himalayas. They sang the hyms of the Vedas, told the stories of Rama and Krishna, and measured time by the dance of the stars.

Then one day, ships with billowing white sails pierced the horizon like storm clouds. Strangers stepped ashore, their faces white as snow and eyes cold as ice. Their words cracked like whips:
“You idol-worshipping Pagans!”
“You uncivilized, illiterate people!”
“Look at us! We have one book, one truth, one God! What have you? You bow before many-headed, many-armed demons! You devil worshippers!”
They boasted: “We are of the purest race, enlightened by science. All of your dusty Sanskrit scrolls are not worth even one shelf in a British library!”

Shaken, the children of the sacred soil thought they were born of a lesser parent, a child of a smaller god. They looked inward and saw shadows where once there had been light. Doubt crept in where there had been shraddha. The lotus was plucked from its pond and told it was only a weed.

Generations passed. The inferiority grew. The conquerors were cast out, yet their words clung like dust in the mind. The children of this land forgot the fragrance of sandalwood, the rhythm of shlokas, the pride of their ancestors. They carried the insults like a yoke, believing themselves to be ugly ducklings — never daring to look in the mirror of their own past.

Until one day, one of them did look. Past the dust. Past the scars. Into the still waters of their heritage. And what they saw was not the face painted by the strangers — it was older, wiser, radiant. It was not a duck at all. It was a Swan!

Palm-leaf manuscripts whispered to him. The Vedas’ chants, the drumbeat of dharma, the voices of sages and scientists, poets and philosophers echoed. He saw his lake was not a mere pond — it was a vast sarovar where sacred rivers were born, where lotuses bloomed in every hue, where countless gods, countless philosophies, countless paths to the divine sparkled like constellations in the night sky. Wisdom spoke in a thousand voices. Astronomy mapped the heavens. Music floated like incense on the breeze and debates flowered freely.

The weight of centuries was being lifted from his wings. He saw clearly — he had never been child of a lesser god. In fact, he was not the child of any god, nor was he a sinner, and neither was he a lamb. He was divine! He was Brahma! So’ham!

So’ham… Ham’so — I am That… That am I.

Rising from the still waters, he soared into the sky, no longer just a swan among the ducks, but a Paramahansa — the supreme swan that knows how to draw pure truth from the world’s mixed waters. With each beat of his wings, the mantra breathed through him: So’ham… Ham’so…