– The Last Evening
The late afternoon sun poured golden light through the living room window. Dust drifted in the air. The fan turned slow circles above.
Sharank kicked off his shoes and stepped into the house.
"I'm home," he said, his voice soft but light.
His mother came out from the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel. "You're back early," she said, her eyes scanning him. "You look... strange. Like you're holding something in."
Sharank tried to keep his face calm. But it didn't work.
A smile broke through.
Then he laughed.
"I got my name!" he blurted. "Gajanand! My pathway is Mammoth!"
She blinked. "Wait—what?"
He stepped forward, his excitement bubbling now. "It's a beast-type pathway! Not just any—Mammoth! I got five perks!"
His mother raised an eyebrow. "Five?"
He nodded eagerly, counting them on his fingers. "Strength of a Beast. Instinct of Beasts. Beast Synchronisation. Beast Weapons. Beast Servant."
He said each slowly, savoring them like sweets.
His mother stared, stunned.
"Beast Servant?" she echoed. "That's... rare. That's usually awakened in elite lineages, not—"
"I know!" Sharank said, almost bouncing. "The priest hesitated. For a second, I thought he'd say something else. But it came out. Gajanand. It's a strong name."
His mother finally smiled. It started small, then widened until her cheeks lifted. Her eyes glistened.
"I'm proud of you," she said quietly.
He felt the warmth of those words settle deep in his chest.
She stepped forward and placed her hand on his head gently.
"You deserve something good," she said. "After all the long days, after waiting for your father's letters, after keeping the house quiet... you really deserve something good."
Sharank nodded, unsure how to answer. A part of him still waited to wake up. Like all this might fall away if he blinked too hard.
"Let me cook something special," she said suddenly, turning toward the kitchen. "We still have some lentils. And I think I can borrow yogurt from Mrs. Nath."
"Okay," Sharank said. "Can I help?"
"You can sit and talk," she said, waving him off.
He sat at the edge of the kitchen step, watching her cut vegetables. The sounds were soft—knife against board, oil sizzling in a pan, the whistle of the old pressure cooker building steam. He felt like a guest in a familiar dream.
"I wonder what your beast will be," his mother said, breaking the silence. "You get to meet it soon, don't you?"
He nodded. "After my pathway stabilizes. Maybe a few weeks. They said it'll appear naturally if I spend time in nature."
"What kind of beast do you want?" she asked, stirring the dal.
He thought for a moment.
"Something... big," he said. "But gentle. Maybe with tusks."
She smiled. "A proper mammoth then."
"Maybe," he said, resting his chin on his knees. "Or something stranger. I don't mind."
She finished cooking just as the sun dipped below the rooftops. Shadows stretched long across the floor. They sat cross-legged at the table and ate together. Rice, dal, fried potato slices, yogurt, and green chutney.
The food was simple.
But tonight, it felt like a feast.
---
Later, after washing the dishes and folding the clothes from the line, they sat on the balcony.
Night had settled. The street below was quiet. A few kids still played with sticks and wheels. Distant laughter echoed faintly.
His mother leaned back against the wall. "Do you want to write to your father?" she asked.
Sharank shrugged. "He won't reply fast. But maybe later."
She nodded. "Still. He'll be proud too. Maybe now you'll get accepted into a special school."
"I don't know if I want that," Sharank said, watching the stars appear. "I just want to understand this name. What it means. Where it leads."
"You've always been like that," she said. "Quiet. Careful. But deep down, stubborn."
He smiled. "You think so?"
"I know so."
They fell silent for a while.
Then she spoke again, softly. "I'm glad it wasn't something like 'Homeless' or 'Forgotten.' Some kids get names like that. They carry it forever."
Sharank's smile faded for a moment.
Something cold pressed at the back of his mind.
> Homeless.
Never grow hungry.
Never grow sad.
Those words flickered like static.
He shivered lightly.
"You okay?" she asked.
He nodded quickly. "Yeah. Just tired."
"You should sleep early," she said. "It's been a long day."
He stood up. "Thanks, Ma. For everything."
She smiled. "You're my son. I'll always be proud of your name."
---
That night, Sharank lay on his bed staring at the ceiling.
He whispered the name again.
> "Gajanand."
It felt right.
But beneath it, something else stirred.
Something older.
Madhagaza.
The syllables hummed through his chest like a buried bell.
He closed his eyes and tried to rest.
But dreams came slowly, and in pieces.
A forest.
A shrine.
Black robes.
A name spoken not by priests, but gods.
He turned over, face half-buried in his pillow.
The breeze through the open window smelled like rain.
Tomorrow would begin like any other.
But tonight—this one night—he was just a boy.
And for once, he was happy.