Devraj Gurukul
The morning sun poured its golden light across the vast grounds of Devraj Gurukul, nestled between rolling hills and dense forests. Birds chirped in harmony with the gentle murmur of a nearby river, the sounds weaving together into a calm, almost sacred rhythm.
Devraj Gurukul stood as a living testament to the legacy of five great kings. Its ancient stone walls were etched with intricate carvings—epic battles, royal crests, and symbols of victories long past—each marking the passage of history and honor.
Devraj Gurukul was not merely a place of learning. It was a sanctuary of knowledge and discipline, reserved exclusively for princes of royal blood. Here, the future rulers of kingdoms were shaped—trained in governance, philosophy, and the brutal art of warfare.
The training grounds stirred with activity as young princes gathered, dressed in simple yet dignified attire. Swords rested firmly in their hands. Determination hardened their expressions, though traces of unease lingered in their eyes. Sweat glistened on their brows, the mark of relentless practice beneath the rising sun.
At the front stood Guru Shiv.
A towering figure with sharp features and piercing eyes, his presence alone commanded silence. When he spoke, his voice was calm—yet absolute.
"Hold your swords firmly," Guru Shiv said.
"Your weapon is an extension of your soul. Without discipline, it is nothing more than an instrument of chaos."
He demonstrated a fluid sequence of movements, his sword slicing through the air with flawless precision. Each strike flowed into the next, controlled yet powerful.
The princes watched in awe before attempting to mirror his actions. Steel clashed against training dummies and wooden staffs as they practiced, the sharp ring of metal echoing across the field—only to be broken by Guru Shiv's sharp corrections.
"Yug! Keep your stance balanced," Guru Shiv commanded.
"Strength comes from your core, not merely your arms. And Devan—do not hesitate. Strike with purpose."
The princes nodded quickly, adjusting their movements. With every correction, their postures grew firmer, their confidence slowly taking shape through discipline and repetition.
In the background, the senior disciples observed in silence. Their hands rested near the hilts of their sheathed weapons, eyes alert—ready to step in and guide the younger trainees whenever needed.
There, perched high on the sturdy branch of a tall tree, sat Dhruva—his clothes still damp, clinging to his small frame. He squinted through the leaves, stealing glimpses of the Gurukul's magnificent training below. As he watched the princes refine their skills under Guru Shiv's masterful guidance, a spark of curiosity lit his eyes.
Leaning forward to get a better view, Dhruva shifted his weight.
The branch groaned ominously beneath him.
A sharp crack split the air—
followed by the violent rustle of leaves.
Dhruva's eyes widened in alarm as the branch snapped. In the next instant, he plunged downward and hit the ground with a heavy thud.
The sound echoed across the training field.
Guru Shiv's voice rang out, sharp and commanding.
"Who is hiding behind that tree?" he demanded.
"If you value your life, step forward at once."
Dhruva grimaced, quickly brushing dust and leaves from his clothes. Under his breath, he muttered,
I'm in real trouble today…
Reluctantly, he stepped out from behind the tree. His head was lowered—but his spirit remained unshaken. Sunlight caught his face, revealing a lingering spark of mischief in his eyes.
Guru Shiv studied him closely, surprise flickering across his stern features.
A child? he thought.
Then, aloud, his voice firm but curious,
"Hey, boy. Come here."
Dhruva's heart pounded as he approached them, each step measured and cautious. Despite the unease tightening his chest, there was a quiet defiance in his stride—as if the forests themselves had shaped him for moments like this.
At Guru Shiv's signal, Dhruva crossed the threshold of Devraj Gurukul. Awe and nervous anticipation churned within him as he stepped into the grand courtyard.
His bare feet left faint traces of mud on the freshly cleaned stone floor. Around him, the disciplined energy of the young princes filled the air—focused, sharp, unyielding. Guru Shiv's piercing gaze remained fixed on the boy, unwavering, like an arrow locked onto its target.
"I have seen you standing silently behind that tree for many days," Guru Shiv said, his tone firm and commanding.
"Tell me—who are you, and why do you come here?"
Dhruva offered a nervous smile, his small frame betraying both excitement and fear.
"My name is Dhruva Devnarayana, Gurudev," he said earnestly.
"I ask forgiveness for my actions. I come here every day only to watch… and to learn from your teachings."
A ripple of laughter spread across the courtyard as the princes—dressed in fine royal garments—pointed at the poorly clothed boy. Their mocking laughter echoed off the Gurukul's ancient walls.
Then Guru Shiv lifted his head.
The laughter died instantly.
"Silence," he said sharply.
"This is a place of learning, not mockery. Let the boy speak."
Turning toward Dhruva, Guru Shiv's eyes narrowed with curiosity.
"You claim you come here every day," he said.
"But there is no village nearby. Where do you truly come from?"
Dhruva straightened his back. A quiet resolve shone in his eyes.
"I come from Tara Village, Gurudev."
Guru Shiv's brow furrowed in thought.
"Tara Village?" he repeated.
"That lies twenty kos from here. To reach this place, one must cross the river. Do you come by boat?"
Dhruva shook his head slowly.
"No, Gurudev," he replied.
"I cross the river by swimming."
A wave of sharp breaths rippled through the gathered students. Murmurs stirred the air. Guru Shiv's expression hardened, suspicion flickering in his stern gaze.
"You expect me to believe this?" he said sharply.
"No child would swim such a distance every day merely to spy on my teachings. Speak the truth."
Dhruva hesitated for a moment—then gathered his courage.
"I am telling the truth, Gurudev," he said firmly.
"I truly come here from Tara Village."
Guru Shiv studied the boy's face closely. There was no fear there. No deceit. Only sincerity—raw and unguarded. The truth stood plainly in Dhruva's eyes.
After a brief pause, Guru Shiv turned to the assembled students.
"That will be all for now," he commanded.
"Return to your respective practices."
Reluctantly, the princes dispersed, casting curious glances back at the boy as they left. When the courtyard finally quieted, Guru Shiv turned his full attention to Dhruva.
"Tell me," he said calmly, though his tone remained probing,
"how long have you been coming here? I have only noticed you recently."
Dhruva dragged his foot lightly against the stone floor, eyes lowered before he dared to meet the guru's gaze.
"I came here for the first time twenty-seven… maybe twenty-eight days ago, Gurudev," he replied seriously.
"I came by boat with a few friends. When I saw you teaching the princes the art of war, respect filled my heart instantly. I accepted you as my guru that very moment, but…"
He faltered, his voice wavering.
Guru Shiv leaned forward slightly.
"But what, Dhruva?"
Dhruva swallowed and spoke with quiet honesty.
"I never had the courage to step inside the Gurukul," he said.
"I had heard that only children of royal blood are allowed to study here."
Dhruva's gaze lifted toward the sky, the weight of his words lingering in the air between them.
"I should leave now, Gurudev," Dhruva said quietly. "It is time for me to return home. My mother will be worried."
At his words, Guru Shiv's expression softened. The severity that usually defined his face gave way to a thoughtful calm, as if the boy's concern had reached a place long guarded.
"Very well, Dhruva," Guru Shiv said at last.
"Come here tomorrow morning. From tomorrow onward, I will teach you this art."
Dhruva's eyes widened in disbelief. Shock and gratitude collided in his voice.
"But… that wouldn't be right, Gurudev."
Guru Shiv's posture straightened, his voice firm.
"And why would it not be?"
Dhruva hesitated, his words careful.
"The rule of this Gurukul is that only children of royal blood are permitted to study here. But I am—"
Guru Shiv raised a hand, cutting him off.
"Do not concern yourself with that," he said resolutely. "I will take responsibility for it. Education is the right of all—whether one is born into royalty or into any other lineage."
A wide smile spread across Dhruva's face, his eyes shining with gratitude.
"Thank you, Gurudev," he said softly.
With renewed energy, Dhruva turned and hurried toward the river. Curious—and eager to test the truth of the boy's words—Guru Shiv followed him in silence.
Keeping himself hidden behind a tree, Guru Shiv watched as Dhruva climbed onto a large rock by the riverbank. The boy drew in a deep breath, steadying himself—
and leapt.
The sharp splash of water echoed through the air.
Dhruva moved effortlessly through the river, his strokes strong and precise. The swift current pushed against him, but it could not overpower his resolve. With practiced ease, he cut through the water, his movements confident, controlled—almost instinctive.
Guru Shiv watched in quiet astonishment.
"He was telling the truth…" he murmured to himself.
"This boy is truly extraordinary."
Tara Villege, Evening Time
Evening had fallen, and the once-bustling streets of Tara Village were now wrapped in an unsettling silence—broken only by the hurried shuffle of footsteps moving with quiet urgency. Dhruva's heart sank as he neared his home, confusion and dread clouding his thoughts.
Muted voices and the rustle of hurried movement filled the air.
Dhruva broke into a run through the narrow lanes, weaving past neighbors who were carrying bundled belongings in their arms. His breathing quickened when he saw his mother standing outside their modest home, tying together clothes and essential items into a tight bundle.
"Ma!" Dhruva cried anxiously.
"What's happening? Where is everyone going? Why are you packing our things?"
Kalyani paused when she saw him, worry etched deeply across her face. She drew in a slow, heavy breath before speaking, her voice weighed down with resignation.
"The king has ordered everyone to leave this village, Dhruva," she said.
"If we do not vacate by tomorrow morning, we will be forced out. We have no choice."
Dhruva stared at her, disbelief and sorrow tightening his chest.
"Why is this happening, Ma?" he whispered.
"This is our home…"
Kalyani reached out and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, tears shimmering in her eyes though her voice remained firm.
"I know, my son," she said softly.
"But we must go. Sometimes, life forces us to move forward—even when our hearts wish to stay."
With a heavy heart, Dhruva nodded. He bent down, lifted a small bundle of their belongings, and stepped out of the house beside his mother. The streets of Tara Village were now lined with people—families walking in quiet rows, leaving behind the lives they had built with their own hands.
Soft sobs and the shuffle of weary feet echoed through the air.
As Dhruva walked beside his mother, he turned back for one last look at the house where he had spent his childhood. A tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, his resolve hardening in silence.
And so, Dhruva and the people of Tara Village left their homes behind—carrying not just bundles of possessions, but the weight of broken memories and shattered dreams.
They did not know it yet.
But this departure was not an ending.
It was the beginning of an extraordinary journey—one that would change Dhruva's fate forever.