Who are you?
The question clung to Pinku's mind like an unwanted louse, itching and gnawing at his thoughts. He flapped his wings vigorously, shaking off the errant notion that he might not be the parrot of the old oak tree.
Then who am I? A pooto with a lost mind, Pinku's million minds mused in disarray.
He had avenged his beloved Kaneri and his old friend Panto. The lifeless skeleton of the bald human lay sprawled across the wrecked orchard, his empty eye sockets gaping in eternal silence. Yet the death of his tormentor did little to quell the inferno of rage that burned within Pinku. It left him adrift, untethered, with no sense of purpose or direction.
He soared higher and higher, chasing the elusive hope of reaching the heavenly nest. His million lungs screamed in exhaustion as they struggled to carry him. And then, the inevitable—he began to plummet. A new hope bloomed within him: perhaps this fall would bring the sweet release of death. But it did not. The world around him blurred in agony, and Pinku screamed in despair, his wings faltering. The starry heaven had closed its gates to him, and mankind had stolen everything that once mattered.
What followed was a dark and twisted war against humanity, an endless cycle of torment and bloodshed. But then, an insidious thought began to creep into Pinku's mind: perhaps he was not merely a bird. Perhaps he had been a treacherous human in disguise, sent to destroy the innocent creatures of his kind.
His inner voice, once ever so obedient, rebelled against him. It whispered urgently, Look down.
Below, the land lay littered with the bodies of his fallen kin, their once-vibrant feathers stained with blood and ash. Their vacant eyes stared up at the heavens, asking an unspoken question: What sin had we committed to deserve this fate?
The air around him sighed, a mournful exhalation at the folly of his choices. What had he hoped for when he summoned these docile birds to wage war against humankind? The breeze rustled, whispering a word that once had been spoken to Guha, the mighty king of the blessed ones.
Sinner.
The word buzzed into Pinku's million minds, a poisonous seed planted in the garden of his confusion. His vision blurred, and his exhausted wings finally surrendered to the weight of the devil's voice.
And once again, Pinku found himself trapped within the strange, suffocating cage. This time, the vibrations pulsed through the air, like the storm before the tempest. The violent shaking grew stronger, and before he could process the shift, a shimmering tunnel appeared before him, swirling with vivid colors. It drew him in, pulling him downward, into a bottomless void.
Guha awoke with a start, as if someone had whispered his name, soft and insistent. It wasn't his mother's voice, but he could feel the presence of something—someone—familiar. He blinked against the stabbing pain in his head, and as his eyes opened, he saw three faces looming over him: his mother, and two unexpected ones.
"Oh! SON, please never leave me again," his mother exclaimed, pulling him into an embrace that stole the breath from his chest.
"Welcome back, brother," said one of the faces he hadn't expected, the voice full of warmth. Guha blinked in disbelief. Could it be? Was he still dreaming?
"Honestly, you two boys make me worry to death," the second face said with a teasing tone, stroking his hair. "Not a single morsel has gone down in her mouth for two days!"
Guha winced, seeing the swollen, red eyes of his mother. Avantika, his mother, was the toughest woman he had ever known, forged from the strength of Seric Steel of Chera. She had once challenged Lord Oman to a duel, seeking to prove her worthiness as a friend to the mighty lord. Of course, Lord Oman had won, but the battle had been no easy feat. Guha had never seen his mother cry—until now.
"I'm sorry, mother," Guha murmured, feeling the weight of his guilt press against him as he returned her hug.
When she finally pulled away, her tears still flowing, she wiped them away with a trembling hand. "You've drenched your tunic with my foolishness," she said with a gentle laugh. "Go, take a bath. I'll have Kuchi prepare us a good lunch."
Guha smiled at the thought of food, but his body still ached from the ordeal. A cool bath would do wonders for his headache. He hurried off, urging Ishit to wait for him in the dining room. He had stories to share—stories of the strange dream world and the even stranger things he had seen.
As Guha dashed away, Padma, Avantika's lifelong friend, chuckled, "I told you there's someone who loves you more than I do." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "I do wonder if you two were lovers in a past life."
"If it's true, I wouldn't be surprised," Avantika quipped, a rare softness in her gaze. "Though you'd never believe how hard I tried to wake him up. Ishit needed only a call."
"And how did you decide to visit this poor friend of yours?" Avantika asked, glancing toward Padma as they left the room.
Padma smiled, her heart warming at the sight of Guha's return. "I'm ashamed of my childish behavior," she said softly. "I hope you can forgive me."
"Never mind," Avantika said, ruffling Ishit's hair, "Now that my nephew Ishit has returned, I have no need for you."
Padma blushed slightly but smiled. "Could you excuse me for a while? I need to freshen up. You boys wait for me in the dining room." Avantika left with a soft kiss on Ishit's cheek. The boy wiped it away with a rueful gesture, his cheeks turning red.
Padma couldn't help but tease, "You'd better loosen your belt, son. Avantika won't let you leave the table so easily."
Ishit chuckled but didn't argue as they entered the grand chamber, where a feast awaited them. The maids had prepared saffron milk sweetened with honey from ember bees, and the aromas filled the air, making Ishit's mouth water. He didn't wait for an invitation—he picked up the silver glass and drank deeply, savoring the sweetness.
Guha's voice was an endless stream of questions as he bombarded Ishit with his curiosity. What was it like waking up after so long? Did he meet the dream fairy, or was he led astray by some demoness of nightmares? Did he remember him in the dream world?
Ishit smiled faintly, remembering their carefree days together, and how Guha's endless chatter had always kept him on his toes. Soon, they were lost in conversation once more, the joy of their reunion filling the air.
And then, Avantika arrived, bringing with her a never-ending spread of food. She served them so much that it seemed she was trying to feed them the entire table. Ishit's stomach swelled with each course, and he couldn't help but laugh at how quickly he had abandoned his yogic restraint.
The two mothers finally excused themselves, leaving the boys alone. Guha led Ishit down the grand corridor, his chatter as relentless as ever, until they arrived at a closed door.
"This is where we used to spend our time," Guha said, pushing open the door to reveal a large room filled with strange instruments and books. The walls were decorated with maps and portraits, all hinting at the great and strange world they lived in.
Guha turned to Ishit, his gaze serious. "Have you really forgotten everything?"
Ishit was amused. "Who would play such a trick?"
Guha sighed dramatically, walking to the window. "I can remember every single wretched thing that happened to me, even the nightmares," he said, looking out at the garden. "And the funny thing is, I feel guilty about something I did in my dream."
Ishit's curiosity piqued. "Tell me about it."
Guha glanced over, a shadow of guilt crossing his face. "You know, I really wish I could forget. Some things are better left unremembered."
Ishit smiled knowingly, thinking of his own journey of awakening. "Sometimes, it's better to let the past go," he said gently. "It was a lesson, not a life sentence."
As they continued their conversation, Guha became more animated, recounting the strange events of his life—his lost parrot, Niro, who had been possessed by Pooto, and the assassin who had attacked him. Ishit listened intently, the bond of their friendship growing stronger with every shared story.
Finally, the conversation turned to spirits, and Guha explained their workings. "You don't need to worry," he assured Ishit. "The Spirit Academy will determine your ability. You'll learn more than you ever wanted to."
Ishit smiled at the thought of studying such strange arts, relieved that his ability to understand the ancient Patri script would be an advantage. Guha lent him a few books, one on the origins of spirits and another, the Book of Mazia. They weren't beginner's texts, but Ishit was confident that with time, he could master them.
Their evening ended with Meriva, the house anima, calling them to join the others. Avantika and Bhadra were preparing to leave for the castle, and Ishit knew that the next chapter of his journey had already begun.