The Tree of Enlightenment

Beneath the vast Bodhi tree, whose roots seemed to coil like serpents into the heart of the earth, Siddhartha sat unmoving, a lone figure against the tide of night. The air shimmered with unseen forces—whispers of gods and demons alike—testing his resolve with visions of fire, beauty, and terror. Yet his gaze did not falter. The branches above stretched into the heavens, jeweled with leaves that gleamed like emerald lanterns, as though the cosmos itself leaned closer to watch. Shadows writhed at the edges of the clearing, armies conjured by Mara’s malice, but each charge dissolved against an invisible wall of calm radiance. Time bent and trembled, stars flaring and fading as if ages passed in a single breath. At last, in the stillness beyond fear and desire, Siddhartha’s eyes opened—not as prince, nor wanderer, but as Buddha. Light unfurled from him like dawn, and the world itself seemed to awaken, bathed in the eternal truth he had wrested from the abyss.