The sun had dipped low behind the trees, casting long shadows across the Ganga. The river murmured softly, and the forest around the hut was alive with the sounds of evening—crickets, rustling leaves, and the occasional goat argument.
Dhira's group was preparing dinner.
The fire crackled.
The rabbit roasted.
The riti dough was being flattened with mango leaves.
And then they saw him.
The Arrival
A boy emerged from the forest path.
Lean.
Dust-covered.
His clothes were torn at the edges, stitched in places with thread and bark.
His feet were blistered.
His bow was slung across his back, and a small quiver hung at his side.
He looked no older than Dhira.
But his eyes were older.
Worn.
Searching.
The Suspicion
The group froze.
"Thief," whispered the first follower.
"Definitely thief," said the second.
"Look at the sneaky elbows," said the third.
"He's here to steal our mango sabji," said the fourth.
"He's just a traveler," Bhairav said.
They watched him approach.
His steps were slow.
His posture cautious.
But when he stepped into the firelight, they saw the truth.
Torn clothes.
Blistered feet.
A bow not raised in threat, but slung in weariness.
He looked like someone who hadn't eaten in days.
The Invitation
Dhira stepped forward.
"You hungry?"
Karna nodded.
"Join us."
The group relaxed.
The first follower offered him water.
The second handed him a mango.
The third asked if he wanted to help stir the sabji.
The fourth tried to braid his hair.
The fifth declared him "Guest of the Flame."
They sat together.
The Prayer
Before eating, they stood in a circle.
Dhira raised his hands.
"We thank the god of mangoes and the god of life."
"For fruit, for fire, for friendship."
"And for rabbit."
They bowed.
And began dinner.
Karna's Thoughts
As he ate, Karna watched them.
They were loud.
Chaotic.
Ridiculous.
But kind.
He had heard of a group like this once—six travelers who moved like a storm, led by a boy with a stick and a smile.
But here, there were seven.
"Maybe the stories were wrong," he thought.
"Or maybe they grew."
He didn't ask.
He didn't speak much.
But he felt something settle inside him.
Not trust.
Not yet.
But warmth.
The Hut
After dinner, Dhira offered him a place to sleep.
"The hut's yours tonight," he said. "We'll take turns guarding the rishi."
Karna nodded.
Stepped inside.
And froze.
The Tree Man
The figure lay on a bed of leaves.
Covered in herbs.
Wrapped in mango pulp.
Glowing faintly under the moonlight.
Karna's breath caught.
"A burial ground?" he thought.
"A sacred idol?"
"A tree spirit?"
He didn't ask.
He didn't panic.
He simply bowed.
"If this is their culture," he thought, "I will respect it."
He lay down on the far side of the hut.
Closed his eyes.
And rested.