The journey began at dawn. The company of sixteen, now armed and carrying sacks of precious grain, followed Aditya away from the temporary shelter of the caves and into the rugged, untamed heart of the Deccan hills. This was a different kind of travel. Before, they had been shadows flitting through a landscape defined by men. Now, they were explorers in a land that belonged only to the sun, the stone, and the scarce, hardy wildlife.
For three days, they marched. Aditya led them with a relentless pace, yet his path was never straight. He followed hidden game trails, led them through dry ravines to avoid crossing open ridges, and always seemed to know where the next source of clean water could be found. He pushed them to their limits, but his foresight was undeniable.
On the second day, Bhaskar, whose respect for the boy was now ingrained, found himself questioning their route. "My prince," he said, breathing heavily as they crested a rise, "the path of least resistance lies to the west. Why do we climb into these barren peaks?"
Aditya stopped and gestured for the company to rest. He unrolled a crude map on a flat rock. "The path of least resistance is also the path of the hunter," he explained, his voice patient, as if tutoring a student. "Other survivor bands, bandits, even Sultanate patrols will follow the easiest routes. We seek a place no one would think to look for. Furthermore, a base needs three things: defensibility, water, and fuel. The lower hills have streams, but little timber. The flatter lands are indefensible. Up here," he tapped a location on the map well ahead of them, "the maps show the convergence of a year-round stream and an old-growth forest. The terrain around it is a labyrinth of granite. It is difficult to reach. That is precisely why we must go there."
Bhaskar nodded slowly, a familiar sense of awe settling over him. The boy did not simply see a landscape; he saw a strategic chessboard.
On the afternoon of the third day, after squeezing through a final, narrow pass choked with thorny bushes, they emerged onto a ledge. Below them lay a sight that made the entire company gasp in unison. It was a valley, perhaps a mile long and half as wide, a perfect bowl of verdant green nestled between towering, sheer cliffs of grey granite. A single, swift-moving stream cut through its center, disappearing into a thick forest at the far end. The entrance, the very pass they had just come through, was the only discernible way in or out. It was a natural fortress.
"This," Aditya announced to the silent, staring group, "is our home."
The relief that washed over them was palpable, but Aditya did not allow them to rest for long. As they descended into the valley, he was already planning, his eyes scanning the terrain, laying out the invisible foundations of their settlement.
"Before any shelter is built for ourselves," he declared that evening, pointing with the tip of a spear, "we build a wall. The pass is narrow. We will fell trees from the forest's edge and build a palisade, reinforced with stone. It will be our gate. Until it is complete, we sleep in shifts, with four guards posted at all times."
The work that followed was the hardest any of them had ever known. It was a raw, physical struggle against the wilderness. They felled massive teak trees with axes that felt pitifully small, dragged the logs to the valley entrance, and dug deep post holes into the rocky soil. Aditya worked alongside them, his slight frame belying a surprising stamina. He did not just give orders; he demonstrated, showing them the principles of leverage to move logs they thought immovable and the proper way to notch the timbers so they would lock together for maximum strength. His knowledge seemed endless and, as always, unnervingly practical.
While the palisade was being built, he established the first laws of their new community. They were not complex, but absolute.
"Rations are distributed by me," he announced one evening around their central fire. "They are equal for all who work. Those who do not work, do not eat. Any dispute between two people will be brought before me and Bhaskar. There will be no private quarrels settled with fists or blades. Every person has a duty. Guarding the perimeter, hunting for game, foraging for edible roots, felling trees, or tending the fire. No one is idle."
After three weeks of back-breaking labor, the palisade stood finished—a formidable wall of sharpened logs that sealed the valley from the outside world. Behind it, the framework of the first few crude huts and a larger, central storehouse was beginning to rise.
That night, for the first time, a true sense of peace settled over the small community. They were protected. They were organized. They were fed. They looked at the boy-prince who sat by the fire, sharpening a spearhead, and they no longer saw just a leader who had saved them. They saw the architect of a new world, their world. They did not yet have a name for it, but as they looked at the flickering fire against the dark, imposing cliffs, they knew they were the first citizens of a place that was strong, secure, and entirely their own.