I walked past my house… but I didn't feel like stopping there.
I just crossed it without a thought.
My legs kept moving, leading me once again toward that old construction building.
I wasn't even aware of my surroundings anymore.
After a while, the only thing I could see was my feet.
The rain began to fall.
Still, I kept watching my legs as they stepped into the mud and puddles on the road.
Eventually, I neared the building—but before that, I noticed a fair being held near Eeranaaja Temple.
The crowd's voices rose all around me.
A chariot was moving forward with tall men dancing in folk costumes, long needles in their hands.
I could hear everything clearly, but there was nothing left for me to see—
just my legs, walking endlessly.
Suddenly, I collided with one of the folk dancers emerging from the chariot's path.
Lifting my gaze, I saw a man—tall, six feet or more, around his thirties.
He had a thick mustache, a strong figure, and wore traditional folk attire.
In one hand, he held a sword with a lemon pierced on its tip; in the other, a long needle.
He looked down at me and said in a powerful voice:
"Laghubālaka nu... ninagu pathaḥ na tu yatra padadvayaṁ gacchataḥ... tatpathaṁ śodhayitavyam."
(O young boy… your path is not where your two feet walk… that path must be examined.)
Without warning, he held my cheeks, took his needle, and pierced it through one side of my cheek—
straight through the flesh to the other side.
I screamed.
He applied turmeric on the wound like it was nothing, then suddenly lifted me onto his shoulders.
He brought me to a square filled with burning hot charcoals.
People were running across them barefoot.
He removed my shoes.
"Wait, what are you doing?!" I asked in a frightened voice.
He replied:
"Padadvayaṁ dikkubhraṣṭatāṁ prāptuṁ śaktim āvāhisatāṁ na karotu."
(Let not your two feet gain the power to lose their direction.)
And he pushed me into the charcoal field.
I ran across it in four or five hurried steps.
The burning embers scorched my feet.
My legs were burned.
What kind of tradition forces people through this?
That man… What had he said?
And yet, through it all, I realized something:
I had lifted my head.
Disappointed and hurt, I lowered it again, staring at my wounded legs as they carried me forward,
toward the construction site.
I was about to climb to the top floor, but the gate was closed.
Instead of a latch, there was only a thick rope tied tightly.
I tried untying the knot, but it wouldn't budge.
I used my mouth, but the hole in my cheek stung too badly.
Still, I didn't want to give up.
I began climbing the gate.
I pulled one leg up, took a step—
and my burned leg gave out.
I fell hard, crashing into the muddy ground below.
Rain hit my face.
The drops blurred my vision as my tears went lost in rain with the falling water.
"Why…"
Meanwhile, Sira still sat in silence, thinking.
Tejas, I was never angry at you. But… why?
Am I really immature… or am I just kind?
She remembered a day from her past.
She was standing in front of a coffin draped in the Indian flag.
Soldiers stood around, saluting.
Her mother wept beside her.
Sira—sixteen years old—stood motionless.
No tears.
No grief.
Just a gentle, honest smile.
It wasn't forced… but why was she smiling in a moment like that?
Her eyes teared up.
"Why am I like this…?"
And then she remembered what Tejas had said:
"Don't follow me, Sira…"
She felt something was wrong.
"What did he mean by that?"
In that moment, she ran—toward the construction site.
"It can't be… Tejas, don't rush… not before I get there!"
She reached the site and tried climbing the gate.
She slipped because of the rain.
Still, she didn't give up.
She jumped the gate, entered the building, and ran to the highest floor—
the same place where she had once met Tejas.
"Don't… just wait for me, Tejas."
She looked around.
Tejas wasn't there.
She let out a sigh of relief.
He didn't try to repeat his act…
She dropped to her knees and cried loudly, alone in the empty space.
On the other side, Tejas walked home.
He reached the gate of his house.
His father was standing at the door.
"Tejas… What time is it? You're late," his fathe
r said.
I opened the gate and looked at him.
"You're the one who's late, Dad…
It's been two years since I saw you last…"
I broke down, hugging him tightly