Chapter 8: Unanswered Questions and the Guru's Secret
The last blush of sunset had sunk from the sky, leaving the Tapobhumi grass painted in cool blue shadow. Now, a thin white sheet of dew was being laid over it. The day's cacophony of the gurukul the clang of practice swords, the drone of chanting, the slap of running feet had all drowned in the rising tide of evening quiet. All that remained was a deep, heavy melancholy, thickening in the damp air.
In a corner of the now-empty training ground, Nirgh was trying to carve his frustration out of the sky with his sword, Sheetapsi. His movements were a blur a shadow that leapt, spun, and slashed with lightning speed. But with each strike, his breathing grew more ragged. The red glow in his eyes wasn't just from anger; deep within them, black flames of self-loathing flickered, fed by the civil war inside him.
Suddenly, with a sharp, animal-like cry, his body gave out. He crashed to his knees on the damp grass, fists clenched in the soil. Sheetapsi lay beside him, lifeless metal.
"Why?" his voice was a frayed wire, vibrating with pain. "So many years... so much training... Why won't this power become mine? Why can't I make it obey?"
He thrust a hand out fingers trembling and a jet of flame erupted. It was not a controlled exercise. It was a detonation. It hit a large boulder used for target practice, and in a blink, the rock was gone, transformed into a soft, blooming cloud of warm ash. The heat of it washed over him. And in that heat, two distinct tracks carved paths down his ash-smeared cheeks not of sweat, but of hot, silent tears. His shoulders shook with ragged sobs he couldn't stifle.
Anvay had seen it all. He approached now, not like a hunter, but like someone nearing a wounded, dangerous creature. He placed a hand on Nirgh's shoulder. The touch was so light it could have been a fallen leaf.
"Be still," Anvay's voice was the whisper of a night breeze. "This is not a battle you fight alone."
Nirgh's head snapped up. His face was a mess of ash and tears, his eyes those of a cornered animal. "You? Why are you here? Come to enjoy the show? To watch my failure?"
Anvay didn't flinch. He used the back of his hand to wipe the grime from Nirgh's cheek. His fingers were cool and steady, like stone. "I am not here to watch. I am here to stand with you. Your pain is my pain."
"Go away!" Nirgh's voice rose to a shout again, but it lacked force. It was the crack of something already broken.
"No." Anvay's voice held no hardness, only the immovable, humble firmness of a mountain. "I came to be your friend. Not to mock you."
Nirgh searched his eyes. He didn't find the malice he expected. He found only a deep, still concern like a pond watching a nearby tree burn. Yet, the god's words echoed: Your friend could be your greatest enemy…
"Lies!" Nirgh's voice dropped to a raw whisper. "You... you envy me. You want me weak."
Anvay gave no verbal answer. He simply took Nirgh's hand and turned it over, cradling the scarred palm in his own. "Trust me. Close your eyes."
"But—"
"Just close them."
Nirgh shut his eyes. Behind his lids, images of conflagration still danced. Anvay closed his own hand around Nirgh's wrist.
"Now, repeat after me: I call upon the element of fire."
"I... call upon the element of fire."
This time, there was no explosion. A single flame kindled in Nirgh's palm small, steady, its very flickers slow and deliberate. It was not a weapon; it was a prayer.
Nirgh opened his eyes. His breath hitched. Seeing that obedient, gentle flame, his eyes welled up again, but these tears were cool with disbelief.
"See?" Anvay's voice held the faintest hint of a smile. "You can. You always could."
Nirgh slowly tilted his hand. The flame danced, obedient, serene. He bowed his head. "I'm sorry... I thought you... your intentions..."
"It's nothing," Anvay said, his hand still on Nirgh's shoulder. "Friends sometimes lose their way in the dark. What matters is that they find each other again."
The corner of Nirgh's mouth twitched upward. It wasn't a smile of victory, but of profound relief like a lost traveler finally seeing a familiar light.
"Don't ever try to hide your pain from me again," Anvay said, a brother's command in his tone. "I am here for you. Wherever you need me to be."
Nirgh took a deep, shuddering breath, as if it were his first true breath in years. "Do you want to know... why the war inside me?"
Anvay nodded.
"This power..." Nirgh looked at the flame in his hand, "...is not mine."
"What do you mean?"
Closing his eyes, Nirgh gave words to the old wound. "Eight years ago... I was dying. A sickness with no name, no cure. Father... Neer... they tried everything. Even his water element would enter my body and flow right back out, like a door slamming shut."
His voice grew quieter. "Then, Uncle Agni came. The two of them... to save me... they poured a piece of their own souls into me. Agni's flame and Neer's cool essence... they forced them to coexist inside my dying body. This power is their gift. Their sacrifice. I am just... the vessel carrying it."
Anvay's breath stilled. His eyes showed not disbelief, but a deep, painful understanding.
"I remember," Nirgh whispered, "when I woke... I was ten. They had brought me from the banks of the Shipra river. My real parents... no one knows. Probably dead. But Neer and Agni... they are everything to me. And I..." his voice broke again, "I can't even hold their gift properly. Because of me, Father's own power is diminished. I... I am their burden."
Anvay took Nirgh's hands in his own. "You are not a burden. You are... you are their greatest act of courage. They gave a part of themselves to save you. And you... you have carried this secret, this love, inside your heart all this time. The war inside you isn't yours. It is their love two forces, separate, yet fused together within you."
Nirgh opened his eyes. They were wide with a new, staggering wonder. No one had ever framed his pain that way.
"You are not alone, Nirgh," Anvay said, planting each word like a seed in firm earth. "I am here. I always will be. No matter what the gods say. No matter what fate writes."
Their eyes held. And in that moment, the war of fire and water inside Nirgh stilled. It didn't vanish, but it grew calm, becoming a deep lake, on whose surface Anvay's reflection was perfectly, peacefully clear.
---
On the other side of the gurukul, Kalpit stepped out of his room and saw Aksh sitting on the steps below. A sharp smirk played on his lips.
"What's wrong, Aksh? Found the gurukul air too thin? Planning your escape?"
Aksh looked up. His eyes held a cold glint. "No. I'm not like you, jumping at every shadow out of fear."
"Fear?" Kalpit's voice rose to a sneer. "How dare you—"
"Remember swordsmanship class?" Aksh's voice turned to ice. "When your hands shook so badly you nearly dropped your blade? Yes. Everyone saw."
Kalpit's face flushed crimson. Without thinking, he shoved Aksh hard. Aksh tumbled down the stone steps with a sharp cry of pain. Kalpit didn't look back, disappearing into the gathering dark. Below, Aksh slowly picked himself up, a trickle of blood from his lip. The pain in his eyes was now joined by a darker, colder spark—the first ember of a deep-seated hatred.
---
In Vedika's chamber, peace reigned. She was folding her blankets when her gaze fell on the sword in the corner. Meghanshi. Akshansh's sword. He had forgotten it there that afternoon when he came with Anvay.
Without a second thought, she picked up the heavy blade and hurried towards Akshansh's quarters. He opened the door, his hair still disheveled from evening practice.
"Vedika? Is something wrong?"
"Your sword, Prince," she said, offering Meghanshi. "You left it in my room."
Akshansh's eyes lit up. "Ah! Thank you. I was wondering where..."
He glanced back into his room, his eyes falling on the empty water pitcher by his bed.
"Is everything alright?" Vedika asked.
"It's nothing. Just... the water pitcher is empty. I'll have to manage till morning."
"That will not do!" Vedika said immediately, an unexpected firmness in her voice. "I will fetch some."
"No, I couldn't—"
"Give me the pitcher," Vedika extended her hand, her eyes holding the same unwavering focus they did when she healed. "It is my duty."
Akshansh looked into her eyes that sincere, steadfast gaze and handed her the pitcher. "Alright. But come back quickly."
Vedika smiled and left. She returned shortly, the pitcher full to the brim. She placed it carefully on his table, as if performing a sacred rite.
"My thanks," Akshansh said.
Vedika's face softened into a faint, rosy blush, like the last light of dusk touching her skin. "Thanks are not needed, Prince. It was... my wish."
"Did you say something?"
"Nothing. I should go now."
She turned and left quickly, but her steps carried a new, light energy. Akshansh stood at the door, watching her go, a strange warmth settling in his chest.
---
Outside, Shital sat on a flat rock, counting the emerging stars. Footsteps sounded behind her.
"Prince Prakash? You're here?"
Prakash walked over, holding a handkerchief. "You dropped this. I thought you might need it in the cold."
Shital took it with a small smile. At that moment, Prakash took the light shawl from his own shoulders. "Here. The breeze is cold. Use this until you go inside."
He draped it over her shoulders. The wool was soft and warm.
"You are very kind," Shital said, her voice holding a gratitude that went beyond words.
Prakash simply nodded with a gentle smile. "Take care of yourself, Princess."
He walked away. Shital watched him go, the shawl a light weight on her shoulders, but its effect on her heart was immeasurably deep. The faint scent of future sorrow was already on the wind.
---
Neer's hut was dark. Agni pushed the door open silently. Neer was asleep on his cot, his breathing light and even. Agni padded inside and saw that Neer had not pulled his blanket over himself. From a hook on the wall, Agni took a spare quilt and, with immense care, laid it over his sleeping friend. He then adjusted the pillow under Neer's head, raising it just slightly for easier breathing. He did it all with a silence so profound it didn't stir Neer's slumber.
For a moment, Agni looked at Neer's face—peaceful, weary, content—and then slipped out as quietly as he had come. As he closed the door, a smile touched his lips, a smile only he could understand.
Outside, he saw Shital sitting alone.
"Shital? Why are you out so late?"
Shital jumped up. "Greetings, Acharya! I was... just looking at the stars. I'll go in now."
She hurried away. Agni watched her go, then looked up at the sky. The stars twinkled, as if whispering secrets.
---
Farthest of all, in a small, secluded hut, Guru Vishrayan sat in deep meditation. A single oil lamp burned before him, its flame perfectly straight, untouched by any draft. His eyes were closed, but a subtle smile played on his lips.
He was seeing no, feeling. The conversation between Nirgh and Anvay, the new thread tying them. The seed of malice sown between Aksh and Kalpit. The delicate thread being woven between Vedika and Akshansh. The gentle breeze stirring between Shital and Prakash.
His smile deepened. The gods' prophecy, the secrets of the past, the conflicts of the present all were unfolding precisely on the path he had foreseen. Nirgh now knew the source of his power. And when roots are strong, the tree can withstand the storm.
He opened his eyes. The lamp's flame flared brightly for a single moment, then settled back into perfect stillness.
"All is well," he said to himself, his voice so soft only the flame could hear. "Everything is happening exactly as it must."
And the deep, knowing silence of the guru's hut descended once more a silence where everything is known, and nothing is yet revealed.