After Drona left to take some rest, Onish didn't follow suit. Instead, he peeled off his ornate attire, letting the heavy fabric crumple to the floor, and cleansed himself with the cool water that tingled against his skin. Refreshed, he sat cross-legged on a woolen mat, his mind replaying the revelations from his cousin.
The spirit, when circulated through well-defined routes, grants power.
The notion was tantalizing but daunting. Out of the 72,000 nadis in the body, how could he possibly discern these pathways? He needed a proper method—a map to guide him. Reckless experimentation was out of the question. As a former yogi, Onish knew the perils of meddling with nadis and chakras without guidance. He'd seen ambitious seekers in his previous world succumb to madness and illness, victims of their own impatience.
Shaking off the thought, he turned his attention inward, scanning his body for any irregularities. Everything felt fine—except for a lingering heaviness. The meal he'd eaten earlier seemed to carry a dark, tamasic energy. He had suspected it in the clamorous dining hall but now felt its subtle effects weighing on his spirit.
In Ayurveda, food was known to absorb the qualities of its surroundings: the emotions of the cook, the nature of the ingredients, even the atmosphere of the kitchen. A tale from his previous world came to mind, one his guru had shared:
Long ago, when kings ruled Bharata, a mystic was invited to dine at a palace. The pious king ensured every guideline set by the yogi was followed to perfection. The meal was sumptuous, and the mystic retired to his lavish quarters, pleased with the hospitality. But as the night wore on, a strange thought took root: why should only kings enjoy such luxury? Perhaps he, too, deserved a taste of this life—not permanently, but for a time.
By midnight, his desires consumed him. He found himself in the royal treasury, greedily filling his dhoti (unstitched cloth worn by a yogi)with jewels and gold. When morning came, he awoke in a hidden cave, treasures gleaming around him. Dismayed, he realized it hadn't been a dream. The food, tainted by some impurity, had clouded his judgment.
Onish reflected on the story as he prepared to purify himself. He lacked the yogic powers to cleanse the tamasic energy directly but could rely on a mantra:
।। अन्नाद् भवन्ति भूतानि पर्जन्यादन्नसंभवः। यज्ञाद भवति पर्जन्यो यज्ञः कर्म समुद् भवः।।
As he chanted, syllable by syllable, he felt a subtle shift. A mysterious energy gathered around him, soothing and caressing like a mother's touch. Though he couldn't fully grasp it, he sensed the tamasic energy dissipate, leaving him invigorated.
The hour before Brahma Muhurta stretched before him, serene and quiet. Feeling cleansed and at peace, Onish finally allowed himself to rest.
The next morning began with loud knocks on his door. When he opened it, Drona stood there, dressed for travel but devoid of his usual bright smile.
"Would you like to see me off at the airfield?" Drona asked as Onish rummaged through his cupboard for a less ostentatious tunic.
"I would love to," Onish replied, pulling on a blue silk garment that seemed less gaudy than the others.
"Uncle wouldn't allow it—not after the fire dancers incident," Drona sighed, sadness tinging his voice.
"What happened?" Onish asked as they walked down the corridor, where the scented morning breeze mingled with the scurrying of castle servants.
"The fire they commanded turned on them, burning them to ashes. The whole city is in shock. Even Atlantia will likely take notice," Drona explained, his tone heavy.
Onish had no idea who Atlantia was, but he hoped the incident wouldn't delay his meeting with the awakener. The lingering sense of crisis gnawed at him.
At the castle door, Oman stood waiting alongside a hooded figure. The lord's weary face betrayed a sleepless night. Onish immediately recognized the hooded man as Fowler Bhadra.
"Uncle, we can leave now. And…" Drona hesitated, glancing at Onish. "Ishit wants to see me off at the airfield."
Oman's gaze shifted to Onish, whose expression remained guarded. The boy's discomfort was evident; he still hadn't fully accepted Oman as his father.
"I'm afraid he cannot," Oman said, watching Drona's face fall. "The city is unsettled, and he has an appointment with Awakener Chalukya."
"That's good news," Drona said, forcing a smile. "Ishit, send me a pigeon with the results. I'll see you after the term ends—two years from now. Take care of yourself."
He hugged Onish tightly before mounting his ashva, a spirit horse, with Bhadra. Without looking back, Drona rode off, leaving Oman to watch until they disappeared around the corner.
"He looks so much like his father," Oman murmured to himself, a wistful longing in his voice. He wished Ayan were alive; his brother had been destined to rule.
"Did Drona leave?" Padma's gentle voice broke his reverie.
"Yes, he left with Bhadra," Oman replied, his mood lightening as he turned to his wife. Padma's beauty seemed to bloom anew since Ishit had awoken, though the lines of worry still lingered around her eyes.
"You should have told him to wait for me. I wanted to see him off," Padma said, fussing over Onish's attire. Oman chuckled at her motherly instinct.
"I forgot. Besides, he was running late. Let's focus on getting to the guild. You know how fussy Chalukya can be," Oman said, guiding them to the waiting carriage. As they settled inside, Oman turned to Onish with a serious expression.
"Son, I understand it's hard for you to accept us as your parents. We're content just to have you back. But you must learn: this world is cruel and unforgiving. You can't let others know about your amnesia. After your meeting with the awakener, Suta will fill you in on what you need to know. And try to smile when you're with us, alright?"
Oman's playful pinch on Onish's face softened the heavy moment.
"Stop teasing him," Padma chided gently. "Son, you can wear any face you want, as long as you call me Mom a dozen times a day."
Onish looked at their beaming faces, their love and affection tugging at his heart. He stifled the urge to reveal the truth, choosing instead to hold on to this fragile, newfound bond.