The sun rose golden over Ram-Lalla Ashram, casting long rays across the stone courtyards and into the temple groves that shimmered with morning dew. Birds wheeled high above the red-flagged domes, and the Sarayu's quiet breath echoed faintly in the distance.
Disciples from Nalanda—cloaked in travel robes and braided mantra bands—stood in a half-circle at the edge of the eastern prayer platform. Their eyes were alive with nervous anticipation. Some clutched their satchels. Others stretched. All of them waited.
At the center of the gathering, Yogini Maitri Kashyapi stood with her usual serene composure. Her robes shimmered like the edge of a moonlit lake—silver threaded with twilight blue. She looked over the disciples one by one, as if seeing past their chakra auras into the truths they hadn't yet spoken aloud.
Yogini Maitri: "You stand today on the threshold of your final test—the Mani Exam.
The road ahead will not test how well you chant or meditate.
It will test how deeply you listen—to the world, and to yourselves."
There was a pause. Her gaze swept slowly across the courtyard.
Yogini Maitri: "This year's exam shall take place in the Kataka Forest that spreads beyond the southern ridge of Ayodhya.
Hidden deep within it are five rare fruits—Blue Mangoes, infused with aetheric resonance.
Your task is simple: retrieve one.
The first three disciples to do so and reach Yogi Agnivesh, who will be waiting by the Sarayu River,
will earn the right to approach the Bodhi Tree."
A beat.
Then—
Ravi (snorting quietly): "Wait wait wait—did she say Blue Mangoes?
Are we sure this isn't just the start of mango season?
Because I swear the market in Nalanda is selling apples and grapes right now—"
Naimisha (without even turning): "Shut up, you idiot."
Ravi (grinning): "Just saying. I came here for a god stone, not a fruit salad."
A few chuckles broke the tension. Even Anand smirked faintly, and Maruti was already bouncing on his heels like he was about to charge into the forest without permission.
Yogini Maitri (gently, unfazed): "The fruit is a symbol. But the challenge is real.
The mangoes have been enchanted. They shift their aura and cannot be sensed through common chakra tracking.
You will have to rely on instinct… and endurance.
This is a two-day trial. No breaks. No shelter. No guides."
A silence spread through the group like a ripple of wind.
Yogini Maitri (softer now): "But before the trial begins—
You should understand what waits beyond it."
She stepped forward and gestured toward the distant mist-veiled cliffs.
Yogini Maitri: "The Bodhi Tree is not just sacred. It is alive.
When one stands before it, it may choose to gift you a new God Stone,
one that has never before existed in this world—
or it may grant you an existing one, if the stone recognizes your will."
Pralay furrowed his brow, clearly confused.
He stepped forward slightly, his voice low.
Pralay: "What does that mean—'the stone recognizes your will'?"
Anand, standing a few paces beside him, turned his head—sharp and calm as ever.
Anand: "When the bearer of a God Stone dies, his will—his spirit, his essence—
does not fade.
It settles into the stone.
And the next time that stone is summoned…
it searches for a compatible will."
Pralay (quietly): "So… the stone chooses its next bearer?"
Anand (nodding): "Yes. If it finds one.
If not… the power inside begins to wither. Slowly.
And eventually, it dissolves—returning to the Bodhi Tree from where it was born."
Naimisha, arms folded, now turned slightly toward the others. Her expression had grown serious.
Naimisha: "Which means—if someone kills another to steal a God Stone…
they'll never truly unlock its power.
Because unless the will inside accepts them…
it will slip away.
Back into the roots of the Tree."
Ravi (whistling softly): "So… if you steal it, it's basically a very shiny paperweight?"
Anand (flatly): "If the will inside rejects you, yes."
Maruti (scratching his head): "Wait, wait—does this mean the stone is like… a person? Like, it remembers?"
Naimisha: "It's not memory. It's essence. The soul of the bearer lingers, like a flame waiting for the right wind."
Ravi (to Pralay, under breath): "…You think your ring ever thinks about me?"
Pralay (dry): "I think it pities you."
Yogini Maitri (smiling faintly): "I see you understand. That's good.
Because if you succeed—if the Tree calls to you—
it will not judge you by your rank. Or your strength.
Only by your alignment with the stone's will."
There was a long silence. Even the breeze felt still.
For a brief moment, every disciple stood not just in a courtyard—
—but at the edge of destiny.
Yogini Maitri (final): "The forest waits. So does the river. And so, perhaps… does the Tree."
She turned, the silver trim of her robe catching the light like ripples on sacred water.
Yogini Maitri: "Tomorrow, at dawn… the trial begins."
The group began to slowly disperse from the courtyard, some stretching or preparing their gear, others falling into hushed conversations.
But Pralay stood still.
His brows were knit, eyes locked on the ground, as if something deeper than rules or competition stirred inside.
Naimisha noticed.
She stepped beside him, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Naimisha (softly): "You're still thinking."
Pralay (quietly, after a pause): "If stealing a God Stone doesn't let you use its power…
And killing the previous owner doesn't work either…
Then what's the point of attacking someone for it?"
He looked up at her, something unsettled behind his voice.
Something old.
Something remembered.
Pralay: "My grandfather and I…
We were ambushed in Bhoolok-Mool.
He died protecting this ring.
And now I'm wondering—
if they couldn't use it, why go so far?"
Naimisha's expression shifted—just slightly.
The calm edge of her voice gave way to something more careful. More knowing.
Naimisha: "Theoretically… there is a way."
Pralay's gaze narrowed.
Pralay: "What way?"
She folded her arms, glancing away for a breath before answering.
Naimisha: "If the bearer willingly hands over the stone…
Even if it's under threat…
Even if it's forced…
Then the stone can recognize that transfer.
And the new owner can become its rightful master."
Pralay: "Even if the will inside the stone doesn't like it?"
Naimisha (nodding): "If it was willingly given—then yes.
Because the act of surrender binds the stone's soul to the next."
Pralay's face darkened.
Pralay (quietly): "So someone could… torture, manipulate, threaten…
until the owner breaks and hands it over.
And that would still count?"
Naimisha (grimly): "Yes.
That's how many of the great families in Aryavarta Nation have held on to their stones for generations.
They don't wait for the Bodhi Tree to choose.
They pass them on… through bloodlines.
Through ceremonies.
Through willing submission."
Pralay: "That's how they keep the power balance intact."
Naimisha: "And why so many want to disrupt it."
The wind stirred faintly.
The weight of what she had said pressed down between them—unspoken implications settling like dusk over water.
Pralay looked down at the ring on his finger.
It felt heavier than before. Not because of the power it held. But because of the truth it was still hiding.
Ayodhya by day was sacred.
Ayodhya by night… was divine.
Lanterns flickered along every rooftop. Strings of marigolds swayed in the soft breeze like whispered blessings. Crimson flags fluttered above every window, and silver diyas floated in shallow water pots placed outside homes. Children ran barefoot with incense sticks like glowing swords, and temple bells rang gently in the distance as if the city itself was preparing to dream.
The great Ashtami Market had unfolded along the riverfront—stalls of food, copperware, silks, bangles, toys, and devotional art stretched as far as the eye could see. Everything shimmered in the light of oil lamps and moon-kissed clouds. It was as if the heavens had descended for one night to stroll alongside mortals.
Pralay, Ravi, and Maruti walked through it together—wide-eyed and swept into the magic of it all.
Maruti (munching on something fried and sweet): "I don't know what this is called, but my soul just achieved moksha."
Ravi (chewing next to him): "That's 'jalebi'. It's fried sugar pretending to be enlightenment."
Pralay, meanwhile, let their banter fade as his eyes wandered across the glowing stalls, the dancing shadows, the rising hum of a city in full celebration.
Then, he saw her.
Naimisha.
Alone.
Standing quietly near a bangles cart at the edge of a flickering lamp line, her silhouette traced in soft orange light. Her robes were simpler than usual, pale lavender with a white dupatta draped like moonlight over her shoulder. Her long hair was braided, the end tied with a thread of gold.
She didn't look lost.
Just… somewhere far away.
Pralay (to the others): "I'll catch up."
Maruti (still chewing): "Tell her I said hi. Or better—tell her he said something romantic and write my name."
Ravi (grinning): "Go. But don't mess it up. She's got that look tonight—the kind where one wrong word and you get frozen solid."
Pralay rolled his eyes and crossed the cobbled street.
He approached her slowly, unsure why his heartbeat had picked up. She hadn't looked at him yet—just kept turning one bangle after another on the vendor's cloth, the glass tinkling lightly as she lifted them toward the lamplight.
Pralay (quietly): "You don't strike me as someone who shops for bangles."
Naimisha (without looking at him): "And you don't strike me as someone who interrupts people quietly."
He blinked, then gave a sheepish laugh.
She finally turned her head, just slightly—eyes teasing, lips fighting a smile.
Naimisha: "It's Ashtami. Why shouldn't I be here?"
Pralay: "No, I didn't mean— I just thought…"
He trailed off.
Naimisha (arching a brow): "You thought I'd be meditating under a tree somewhere. Or maybe sharpening chakras in the moonlight."
Pralay (grinning): "Something like that."
Naimisha: "Well… surprise."
She looked back to the bracelets and picked up a thin one of violet glass with silver edges.
Then—without warning—she slid it onto his wrist.
Pralay (startled): "Uh—what—"
Naimisha (mock serious): "You talk too much. Now you look festive. Let's walk."
She turned and began strolling down the lamp-lined street.
Pralay followed—still flustered but smiling.
The market stretched out in warm, endless colors. They passed henna artists, sugar-sellers, and a young boy selling wind chimes that sounded like laughter. Devotional music drifted from a nearby temple. The whole night was soaked in something golden and unreal.
As they walked, her voice softened.
Naimisha: "So. Bhoolok-Mool. What was it like?"
Pralay paused.
Then breathed in the river wind.
Pralay (quietly): "Simple.
Morning chores, sunrise prayers, tending the fields, milking goats.
I'd run down to the lake after temple, collect herbs for Grandpa, sleep under neem trees.
It was quiet. The stars felt… closer."
Naimisha (soft): "Sounds magical."
Pralay: "It was. But this—"
He gestured to the glowing city, the chants, the music—
"This feels like something from the sky. Like… the world breathing."
She didn't answer right away.
They walked in silence, until his voice cut through again.
Pralay: "What about you? What are your parents like?"
She slowed.
Her smile faded into something smaller.
Naimisha (gently): "They died. Young.
They were part of the Vanguard Force…
Dispatched during the war with the Avanti Empire."
The street noise receded. Even the laughter seemed far away.
Pralay opened his mouth. He had a hundred questions.
About the war. About the Vanguard. About the loss.
But he didn't ask them.
Instead, he looked at her—really looked.
Pralay (softly): "They would've been proud of you."
Her eyes met his.
And for the first time in a long time, she didn't deflect. Didn't joke. Didn't hide.
Naimisha (quietly): "…Thank you."
Far behind them, Maruti and Ravi watched from a stall selling spiced milk.
Ravi (whispering): "Are you seeing this?"
Maruti (sipping): "They're looking at each other like they just shared reincarnations."
Ravi: "This is it. This is the moment they fall in love. I've read scrolls on this."
Maruti: "You can't read."
Ravi: "Shut up and drink."
Suddenly, a loud bell echoed from the riverside.
A deep, resonant chime—followed by the slow rhythm of temple drums and the blowing of a conch.
Pralay looked up.
Pralay: "The Aarti?"
Naimisha (smiling): "It's Ashtami night. Maa Durga's Aarti always happens at the central temple."
He hesitated a moment. Then turned to her, his voice softer now.
Pralay: "Would you… like to go? With me?"
She looked at him—eyes searching.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
Naimisha: "I'd like that."
Hand in hand, or almost, they walked toward the temple stairs—where lamps floated in silver bowls, and petals lined the steps like a river of devotion.
And as the priests raised their torches skyward and chanted the thousand names of the Goddess, their voices rising with fire and faith—
Two disciples from different worlds stood side by side, caught in the light between destiny and something deeper.
[End of Chapter]