Weeks became a month, and days a week. Each day, early in the morning, before the sun rose high in the sky, Deepak ventured into the thick jungle, training without any break. The rough terrain, the thorny roots, and the rocky ground were his home now. Daily, he stretched himself, going in for sword swings, honing his agility, and building his physique under Zahir's watchful eye.
One night, as the final rays of sunlight colored the sky orange and purple, Deepak stood in front of a huge boulder. He had worked for weeks to get it to budge, his hands hardened, his muscles aching, his resolve unshaken. He set his palms against it, gritted his teeth, and shoved with every ounce of strength he had.
A slight sound of moving earth rang through the quiet. The rock shifted—just slightly, but it did shift!
Deepak gulped, sweat rolling down his forehead. He swung around to Zahir, a look of excitement in his eyes. "Zahir! I shifted this large rock slightly!"
Zahir stood there for a moment, then let out a sigh. "You did well, but. I'm disappointed in you, a little bit."
Deepak scowled. "What did I do wrong? I did it correctly!"
Zahir folded his arms. "Yes, you shifted it. But you ought to have shifted it further. Strength isn't only of muscles, it's of willpower. You surrendered too early."
Deepak stared at his shaking hands. "This is all I can do. I've done only this much. I cannot do more than this."
Zahir shook his head. "Fine, I'll teach you the next lesson, but first let me ask you something."
Deepak wiped away the sweat from his forehead. "Speak on, what is it that you want to tell me?"
Zahir's eyes grew a darker shade. "What is your idol?"
Hesitation wasn't present when Deepak spoke. "Hiran Ananya."
Zahir smirked. "Hiran Ananya, eh? He is an excellent swordsman. A good person."
Deepak nodded eagerly. "And he is Master Sword."
Zahir's face changed in an instant. "Wait, wait, what did you say?"
Deepak paused. "Master Sword?"
Zahir scowled. "What kind of title is this?"
Deepak was flummoxed. "What do you mean? Aren't there titles for swordsmen?"
Zahir sighed. "You don't know, do you? Fine, I'll tell you. All swordsmen get titles based on their wars—how many wars they've fought, how many victories and losses they've had, and how many enemies they've defeated. These titles chronicle a swordsman's life."
Deepak's curiosity blazed. "Okay, I get it. But how many titles are there?"
Zahir held up a hand. "There are twenty titles. Let me recite them to you."
1. Aranyakhadgacharya – Sword Master of Aranya
2. Dharmayodha – Warrior of Righteousness
3. Shauryavir – Hero of Valor
4. Atmabalavant – Self-Powered Warrior
5. Shastrakanta – Sword Sage
6. Nayakadhira – Courageous Hero
7. Vijayavijeta – Conqueror of Victories
8. Akhandayoddha – Unyielding Warrior
9. Shastranayaka – Sword Leader
10. Dhvajapani – Flag Bearer
11. Vijayarathi – Victory Charioteer
12. Dvandvadhanushi – Dual-Weapon Specialist
13. Karmavir – Heroic Fighter
14. Sanyasainani – Military Leader
15. Talwaracharya – Sword Instructor
16. Kavachadhari – Armor Bearer
17. Dvandvavijaya – Duel Victor
18. Shastrayoddha – Sword Warrior
19. Shastrasadhaka – Sword Practitioner
20. Shastravidya Shishya – Swordsmanship Apprentice
Zahir went on, "And one more thing—the title of Sword Master of Aranya is exclusive. Only one individual can possess it at a time."
Deepak scrunched up his brows. "I don't get it. Anyone can achieve the other titles, but only one individual can be the Sword Master of Aranya? Why?"
Zahir's voice fell to a whisper. "It is a dark and long story. But I will give you a short one. Each Sword Master of Aranya needed to defeat the last one in order to be called the title. They needed to kill them."
Deepak's eyes went wide. "So Hiran Ananya. he must have killed the last Sword Master of Aranya, right?"
Zahir shook his head. "No. You're mistaken. Hiran currently holds the title Dharmayodha – Warrior of Righteousness. He has not yet become the Sword Master of Aranya."
Deepak felt a chill run down his spine. "Then. who is the current Sword Master of Aranya?"
Zahir's gaze drifted toward the horizon. "No one knows. The last Sword Master of Aranya vanished without a trace."
Deepak remained quiet, the burden of the information settling on him. "Zahir, I have a question."
Zahir regarded him. "Ask away."
Deepak hesitated, then inquired, "Of the former Sword Masters of Aranya, were there any. evil ones?"
Zahir's face darkened. "Yes. There were several. But they never retained the title for more than a few years. Do you know why?"
Deepak shook his head.
Zahir let out a breath. "Because the Sword Master of Aranya is cursed. If an evil individual takes the title, they will fall soon. They will be vanquished by someone better. Always."
Deepak shivered. "That means no evil person can keep it for long."
Zahir nodded. "Exactly. Destiny will always have a way to take them away."
Deepak tightened his fists. "Thank you, my friend. You have taught me so much today."
Zahir tapped his shoulder. "Now, stop wastage of time. Continue practicing. I must do some work. I shall meet you again tomorrow."
Deepak grinned. "Okay, go ahead. I will practice."
As Zahir walked into the jungle, Deepak stepped back to face his rock again. He stood on either side of it and took a breath. Then, with all the force he had, he pressed against it. The rock still weighed the same—but something in him was different.
He would not relent. Not until he was powerful enough to earn a title of his own.