The sun hung low over Nalanda, painting the monastery domes in molten orange as a breeze rustled through the practice groves and stone corridors. The entire campus thrummed with silent pressure—an unspoken urgency that touched every disciple.
It was the week of the Mani Exams.
Some trained in silence, others in packs. The sparring rings were full from dawn to dusk. Chakra diagrams chalked onto stone courtyards glowed faintly from overuse. Even the air seemed heavier, saturated with breathwork and muttered mantras.
In the center of it all walked Pralay, his ring quietly pulsing on his finger, its warmth ever-present like a whisper he couldn't fully hear yet.
He passed through the open archway behind Tattva Bhawan, where the pigeon lofts were housed—usually quiet, rarely visited.
But today, there was movement.
A figure in brown robes stood on the edge of the railing, fumbling nervously with a rolled scroll, tying it to the leg of a snow-white pigeon.
Ravi.
Pralay (stepping forward): "Ravi?"
Ravi (jumping with a startled yelp): "Ai! Don't sneak up on people like that, man!"
He nearly dropped the pigeon, who looked more annoyed than afraid.
Pralay (raising an eyebrow): "What are you doing?"
Ravi (half-smiling, half-defensive): "Uh… nothing. Just… sending a letter."
Pralay (quietly): "To who?"
Ravi (brushing his hair back, laughing it off): "Home. Obviously. Can't a guy write to his family before an exam that might explode half his nervous system?"
He untied a second scroll from the coop ledge quickly, tucking it under his robe like it wasn't meant to be seen.
Pralay (watching): "You looked worried."
Ravi (smiling, but avoiding his eyes): "I always look worried. It's part of my charm."
Pralay didn't reply.
The wind tugged at their robes.
Ravi (quickly changing tone): "Anyway! You should be worried.
I mean, you're out here walking like it's another poetry recital while the rest of us are trying not to fail in public.
You already have your fancy God Stone and mysterious origin story.
Some of us are still trying to pass chakra alignment without catching fire."
Pralay (frowning): "So that's what this is about? You think I'm not taking this seriously?"
Ravi (voice rising slightly, still half-laughing): "Look, man. I know you've been through a lot.
Hell, I like you.
But just because you're carrying a ring that could probably slice a mountain doesn't mean you're finished.
Some of us are still climbing."
A beat passed. Ravi's shoulders relaxed just slightly.
Ravi (softer): "I'm sorry. That came out wrong.
I just…
This exam means something.
Maybe more than you realize."
Pralay studied him for a moment. There was something in Ravi's eyes—not fear, not jealousy, but something older. Like an echo he hadn't yet explained.
Pralay (calmly): "I never said I was finished.
The ring may have chosen me… but I still don't know why.
And I'm not planning to hide behind it."
Ravi exhaled slowly, then gave a wry smirk.
Ravi: "Well good. Because if I somehow get selected…
I plan to beat you.
And then blame it on 'strategy'."
They both chuckled—lightly—but neither of them entirely dropped their guard.
Overhead, the white pigeon flapped once, then soared into the glowing sky—disappearing toward the west.
Toward something unknown.
The central courtyard of Nalanda had never felt so alive.
Disciples from every department—Dhyanaalayam, Shastra Kosha, Tattva Bhawan, and the Martial Pathyam—gathered beneath the open sky, forming a sea of white and saffron robes. The great banyan in the center stood tall like a silent witness, its roots reaching wide into the past, its leaves whispering through the present.
At the head of the courtyard stood the Acharya of Nalanda, cloaked in deep saffron robes stitched with gold thread, the morning sun catching the translucent edge of his aura. Behind him stood the senior Yogis—each a legend in their own right. Among them:
- Yogi Agnivesh, arms folded, face calm but gleaming with intensity
- Yogini Maitri, serene and unreadable
- Yogi Arjun Devendra, silent as stone
- Yogi Satya Suryavanshi, radiating balance and control
The bell of the Dharma Gate tolled once—deep and resonant.
Acharya Aryabhatt stepped forward, voice echoing across the courtyard like a river through stone.
Acharya Aryabhatt: "Disciples of Nalanda.
The time approaches for the trial that defines your spirit."
The murmuring fell into a reverent hush.
Acharya Aryabhatt: "This year's Mani Exam—the path that leads to the Bodhi Tree—shall be held in the sacred city of Ayodhya."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Ayodhya wasn't just any city—it was a city of gods, kings, and stories so old they had become bones beneath the streets.
Acharya Aryabhatt (raising a hand): "But before you set your feet on that path—
You must prove your minds are as sharp as your bodies.
And so… the preliminary examination shall be held here, within Nalanda itself."
Excitement twisted into nerves. Scrolls rustled. Some students clenched their fists. Others gulped quietly.
Acharya Aryabhatt: "For those who believe strength alone will carry them—be warned.
This test will not be one of combat…
but of knowledge."
A new wave of murmurs spread.
From near the front, Maruti Vanar crossed his arms and smirked confidently.
Maruti (grinning): "Knowledge test? Pfft. Easy. Bring it on."
A few nearby students looked at him like he'd just announced war on the sun.
Ravi (elbowing Pralay, whispering): "Does he even know how to spell 'knowledge'?"
Pralay (deadpan): "Honestly, I think he thinks 'mantra' is short for 'banana'."
Both tried—and failed—to stifle their laughter.
Maruti turned sharply, tail flicking behind him.
Maruti (mock outrage): "Oh, laugh it up now, you two paper nerds!
But when I top this exam, it's gonna be me standing on the Bodhi path laughing like a champ.
And then I'll write my name on the Tree itself!"
He raised both fists to the sky and let out a booming, echoing laugh that startled a few pigeons into flight.
Maruti: "HAAAHAAAA! The Top Disciple! The Vanar of Victory!"
A few students in the back clapped sarcastically.
Ravi (grinning): "Like hell that's happening."
Pralay (chuckling): "Let's just hope he remembers to read the questions before answering."
From the podium, Yogi Maitri raised an eyebrow and turned to Yogi Agnivesh.
Yogi Maitri (softly): "Is it always like this before the exams?"
Yogi Agnivesh (smiling): "If they weren't loud, I'd be worried.
This is how fire tests the air—by laughing at it."
The Acharya raised his hand once more.
Acharya Aryabhatt: "Prepare your minds.
Meditate on your truths.
For the first step toward the Bodhi Tree is not taken with your feet—
but with your understanding."
He turned, his robes sweeping behind him like a comet of wisdom.
The disciples began to disperse, their expressions split between awe and anxiety. But deep within the courtyard, in the spaces between the noise and the cheers—
A quiet tension remained.
Pralay's ring pulsed again. As if it, too, knew that the true trial had only just begun.
The week before the Mani Exam wrapped Nalanda in a storm of breath, ink, sweat, and silence.
Even the air felt different. Heavy with pressure. Charged with energy. It crackled between the banyan roots, slithered through the training halls, and clung to every scroll and stone wall like unseen mist.
Disciples moved like ghosts now—silent, focused, their eyes narrowed to slits of fire or fear.
The four pathashalas—Dhyanaalayam, Tattva Bhawan, Shastra Kosha, and Martial Pathyam—had stopped feeling like schools. They felt like arenas. Every corner carried the weight of a student asking the same unspoken question:
Am I worthy?
Ravi Gupta, the usually loud, irreverent clown of the group, had disappeared.
Not literally. Just… emotionally. His laugh came quieter. His footsteps quicker. He could be found at odd hours inside the scripture vault of Shastra Kosha, surrounded by open scrolls, reciting mantra origins with furrowed brows and chewing on charcoal sticks in place of snacks.
Once, Pralay caught him scribbling in three languages at once.
"Didn't sleep again?" Pralay had asked.
Ravi blinked like he didn't understand the question. "Didn't... sleep... again?"
He paused. "Was that—wait, what day is it?"
Maruti Vanar became a mystery.
He didn't vanish like Anand or meditate like Naimisha. But he had stopped shouting jokes in the dorms, stopped doing handstands in the corridor, stopped flexing his tail every time someone passed by.
Instead, he trained.
Brutally.
His knuckles were scabbed. His chakras were controlled. He was often seen shirtless at sunrise, sweat rolling down his back, whispering his own name like a mantra as he punched the air hard enough to make it ripple.
One day, a stone pillar cracked from his uppercut.
He grinned.
Then bowed in apology.
Then did it again.
Naimisha Vats moved with stillness. A paradox of grace and power.
She was always the first to arrive in Dhyanaalayam's upper meditation tier and the last to leave Shastra Kosha's mantra chamber. Some days she barely spoke. Other days she asked questions so sharp even Yogi Agnivesh had to pause and consider.
She never let anyone see her worried.
But at night, when she sat alone by the central lotus pool—eyes closed, lips still—you could almost hear the war waging behind that calm face.
Anand Yadav was a storm behind glass. Rarely seen. Often whispered about. Rumors said he was granted private sessions with Yogini Maitri. That he was allowed into the sealed wing of the Shastra archives. That he had already memorized all known God Stone interactions in Aryavarta.
No one saw him sweat. But everyone saw his eyes. And no one forgot them.
Pralay, meanwhile, walked his own path. He didn't push harder than necessary. He didn't stress. But he never slackened either.
Every morning he awoke before the bells. Practiced his breathing. Walked beneath the banyan roots. Listened to the pulse of his ring—never loud, never clear, but always there.
In the training hall, he opened his second chakra again—cleaner, faster, smoother.
Not for the exam.
For himself.
Then came the dayThe bell at the Dharma Gate rang three times.
Not the usual rhythm. This was the sacred tone reserved for revelations.
Within minutes, the courtyard overflowed.
Students poured in from all corners—robes fluttering, sandals slapping stone, scrolls forgotten.
All of them stared at the marble pillar that stood before the assembly gate—its surface blank, waiting.
At the base stood the masters: Acharya Aryabhatt, draped in indigo silk, the sun catching the golden lining of his robes. Beside him stood Yogi Arjun Devendra, Yogini Maitri Kashyapi, Yogi Agnivesh Singh, and Yogi Satya Suryavanshi—each embodying a different kind of power.
Acharya Aryabhatt stepped forward and raised a hand.
Silence fell like snow.
Acharya Aryabhatt: "The names of those who have passed the Preliminary Trial of the Mani Exam shall now be revealed. Let the ink of your efforts shine."
The pillar began to glow.
Letters emerged, floating in golden script, dancing in the air like they were being drawn by invisible hands.
The crowd held its breath.
Line by line, the names appeared.
All eyes locked on the golden letters forming slowly in the air, like fireflies tracing the divine script:
Preliminary Mani Exam - ResultsRank 1: Maruti Vanar
Rank 2: Anand Yadav
Rank 3: Naimisha Vats
(Others Qualified: Names Listed Below)
Silence.
Then a collective gasp.
Ravi (staring): "That's... impossible."
He took a step forward as if getting closer would change the truth of the words written before him.
Ravi: "He must've cheated. There's no way."
Pralay (quietly, with a small smile): "No. We just underestimated him."
He looked over to see Maruti Vanar—broad shouldered, grinning ear to ear—pumping both fists into the air and shouting loud enough to shake birds from the temple rafters.
Maruti: "HAHAAAA! I told you monkeys don't just climb trees—they climb rankings!"
Students laughed, some clapped, some stared in sheer disbelief.
Naimisha, third place, simply folded her arms and smiled faintly. Anand, standing in second, gave a polite nod to the crowd, his pride carefully masked with practiced humility.
Ravi (to Pralay, muttering): "The world's ending. First the Bloodborn King returns, now this guy tops a written exam."
Pralay: "We all qualified. That's what matters. Rankings don't mean much—this was just the first gate."
Ravi (grudgingly): "Yeah... I guess. Still, I'm not calling him 'Top Monkey.' I'm drawing the line there."
In the days that followed, Nalanda shifted from tension to a new kind of energy—farewell and preparation.
Scrolls were returned to the Shastra Kosha. Final meditations were conducted under the banyan. Goodbyes were exchanged in quiet corners and crowded kitchens.
Within the week, the names of those selected were carved into Nalanda's history. They would leave the sacred halls behind—for now—and step onto the larger road: the path to Ayodhya, where the Mani Trial awaited them at last.
On the morning of departure, the entire campus gathered at the eastern gates.
Banners waved gently in the breeze. Offerings of marigold and camphor smoke filled the air. Young disciples handed fruit garlands to the qualifiers. Even the birds seemed to fly in ceremonial spirals above.
The procession was led by none other than Acharya Aryabhatt, radiant in deep saffron silk, his steps like time moving forward.
Beside him walked:
Yogini Maitri Kashyapi, her long braids swinging, her eyes sharp as ever
Yogi Agnivesh Singh, clad in crimson robes, his staff bearing the Agni Stone now wrapped in protective gold mantra-thread
Behind them, the selected disciples—including Pralay, Ravi, Naimisha, Anand, and Maruti—stood in ceremonial robes, bags strapped, hearts full.
Yogi Arjun Devendra and Yogi Satya Suryavanshi stood solemnly at the gate, their presence a reminder of both legacy and protection.
Yogi Arjun (to the group): "Walk not as students. Walk as guardians. What you seek is not only power—but truth."
Yogi Satya (softly, to Pralay): "And the truth... weighs more than any sword. Be ready."
Maruti (grinning): "I was born ready. Let Ayodhya have a seat—I'm bringing the whole empire."
Ravi (rolling his eyes): "And I'm bringing earplugs."
Naimisha (to no one, softly): "Ayodhya... the city where gods once walked. And now... we walk toward it."
Pralay said nothing. But the ring on his finger pulsed quietly, as if it, too, had been waiting for this moment.
And with that, the gates of Nalanda opened.
The path stretched outward, sunlit and uncertain.
The journey to the Bodhi Tree had truly begun.
[End of Chapter]