For many 90s born this phrase celebrates the folk tale tradition of childhood. These were the stories told in the evenings by elders their laps felt like the magical spaces and their words opening doors to some magical world, the world where their words acted like key more powerful than that chant of “khul ja sim sim” known later for revealing treasures. No smile remains veiled pondering upon how innocent the world used to be where fairies greeted us, trees sung and the birds narrated tales.

The stories mostly spoke of princes in quest for golden water turn into statues when mysterious voices of spell casted b followed them to their turn, and of their well-wishers who searched for the golden water afterward that could bring them back to life. The golden water flowed from the roots of a singing tree, reached only after travellers crossed the Valley of Idols with cotton in their ears to block the bewitching voices. With the help of a guiding ball from a wandering fakir, the travellers found their way there, filled their vessels with the golden water, and restored the stone figures to life. The return of these figures marked the return of spring to their kingdoms.
At the end of the tale, the storyteller would always close with the same sentence: “They went there, we came here.”
For long , this sentence less consumed my attention rather at times It passed by unnoticed, neither did I try to reflect on it.
But sometimes, the key to centuries-old hidden wisdom falls into the hands of one person destined to hold it. Perhaps that key I held writing this .
It Is often said, when a person dreams beautiful, waking up feels like a loss until reality makes them realize , everything has its own time, and that time exists only for what it is meant for. For the peace of mind, our brain selects dreams as per our desires, but the duration of our stay, within those dreams is set by nature.
Through the balance day and night, nature reminds us to leave those enchanted dreams and face reality, to accept both its sweetness and bitterness.
The length of dreams and their eventual fading is something nature arranges, but the spell of stories and fables requires another key to be released.
That key was often this very phrase: “They went there.”
Who ? Those very characters who carried the essence of a story, who strolled through rise and fall, who ignited life and colour in the tale.

Where did they go?

To the world they came from, their world of books and stories.
Now question is, they already dwelled in that world so when did they left it and where they return from to that world, why did they leave only to return?
Truly speaking every character is always part of pages and the imagination of stories.
But a good writer or storyteller presents them in such a way to feel part taking in the reader’s or listener’s inner world.
Once their temporary stay ends, they must return to their original abode, just as a stream flows back to the sea.

“we came here”?

Where?

It is our return from our own imagination to reality, where life is altogether different from the stories we indulge in. I found no shadow of doubt upon saying, whoever first included this sentence in our folk tale tradition wanted to remind us of the value of time and the necessity of facing reality.
As readers and listeners, we witnessed the beautiful endings of these fictional journeys. But once that completion is achieved, our elders would call us back, for reality has its own rightful place.
To linger too long in the realm of stories is unnecessary, for they leave behind nothing but a faint ache.
Time, in my view, is like a swift steed, always in motion with its rider. To ease the exhaustion of such relentless movement, night’s sleep was gifted, dreams were gifted, and the mind was given the power to weave them.
These dreams soften the waves of restlessness within us, giving our consciousness a taste of tenderness where desire finds its shape.
The world of stories works in a similar way. Dreams are the form of our unspoken wishes, while stories express the demands of our emotions. Neither is purely real, nor are they meaningless. Dreams hold interpretations, and stories hold meanings. Both exist for the same purpose, to briefly lift the traveller of life out of time’s rapid current and offer moments of comfort, by showing visions that please the heart.
Veil from another aspect of “they went there and we came here” was lifted off from me when my friend once wanted to know my opinion about some book. Upon asking, she replied, “You don’t know how this tale attachment ruins later so it’s better to be careful early.”
She seemingly knew that being too attached to stories can affect reality in harmful ways, leaving one unable to detach.
Same idea might have compelled the elders who created this distinction being aware of this risk.
They knew, if stories crossed their boundary, they could disturb reality, filling it with unrest and leading a person into endless and fruitless pursuit.
Yet stories had to exist in imagination of a reader rather outside the books to flourish the creativity.
Imagination has its place, and reality has its own, but both must remain bound by their time and space so no confusion arise.
One day, we again may meet those characters in the world of thought, far from reality but only for the sake of enrapturing sigh only to quieten our inner restlessness, not to spring the unfinished longings. For there is always a chain that pulls us back to the present. “They went there, and we came here.”

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