He was rumored to be 118 years old. The monastery that he lived in was ancient and inviting. It welcomed everyone, and many had taken up the offer. They came every few years, predictable like cicadas, descending in swarms.
The questions were always the same. Was it true? Was he the man-with-no-regrets? The whispers had only gotten louder. His silence amplified the rumors - as he smiled and closed his eyes at the questions.
They would spend a week or so writing articles, taking pictures with monks, and trying to get him to talk but to no avail. He had stopped speaking many decades ago - a Maun Vrat (vow of silence). He lived in a blissful state. He would walk to the lake every morning and spend the entire day meditating. The ebbs and flows of life around him, rocking him gently into a zen-like state. No words needed utterance throughout the day. They would follow him around and ask their questions - only to get smiling, silent replies.
The last time the man had spoken, he had given a sermon on how the supreme rule of nature was that everything was a cycle. Everything from the seasons, and fashion fads, to life and death itself. What was new would be old, and the old became new again. The ponies on the carousel would always go up and down. So many times that it became meaningless to be elated about your pony going up or lament your pony going down. Happiness and sadness, good and bad, all were the same. He spoke about how understanding this fundamental nature of nature was key to nirvana. Key to reaching that state of enlightenment where you were nothing but a blip of blissful consciousness: Nirvana Shatkam. A state which defied definition. You did not have greed or pride, nor duty nor desire. No hatred and no liking. You were neither the mind, nor the flesh, nor the ego. Neither satisfaction nor regrets. "No regrets" became the last words he spoke and thus was born the craze of the man-with-no-regrets. The youtube video had since racked up millions of views, and watching it was a rite of passage for anyone joining the cult of no regrets.
Today though, he lay on his death bed. His body hollowed out, surrounded by his fellow monks and the cicadas who had insisted on being here. They were hoping that he would break his vow of silence and drop some nugget with which they could feed the world. The youngest, a boy not more than ten years of age, tentatively approached the man and asked him the same old question.
"Sir, please tell us if it is true that you have no regrets?"
The man-with-no-regrets smiled as he shook his head and broke his vow of silence with these words as he breathed his last.
"I regret not having regrets."
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