In the quiet village of Keshapuri, where the Ganga flowed like liquid gold under the morning sun, a boy named Arjun lived with questions that no one could answer. The elders dismissed his curiosity as childish folly; his friends laughed at his endless fascination with the old temple ruins. But Arjun felt it—something ancient called to him, whispering secrets in the rustle of banyan leaves and the murmur of river waters.
It was at the base of the village's oldest tree that his journey began. The tree, sprawling and gnarled, stood guard over a forgotten shrine. Most avoided the place, for it was said to be cursed—a home to spirits best left undisturbed. But Arjun had always been drawn to its quiet mystery.
That morning, as he swept aside a thick carpet of fallen leaves, his fingers brushed against something cold and hard. Digging deeper, he uncovered a fragment of an idol—a piece of black stone carved with intricate patterns. Though worn by time, its craftsmanship was unmistakable. A faint glow pulsed from the stone as if it were alive.
"What is this?" Arjun whispered to himself.
The village priest had once told him stories of divine artifacts left behind by the devas, the celestial beings who shaped the world. Could this be one of them?
As he held the fragment up to the light, a sudden gust of wind swept through the grove. The air grew thick with the scent of incense and the sound of distant bells, though no temple stood nearby. Then, as if carried on the wind, a voice spoke:
"Seek the Eternal Flame. The truth lies in the ashes of the past."
Arjun stumbled back, dropping the fragment. His heart pounded, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the stone.
"Arjun!" a voice called, snapping him out of his trance.
He turned to see Meera, his closest friend, running toward him. Her dark braid swung behind her as she moved, her expression a mixture of worry and exasperation.
"I knew I'd find you here," she said, catching her breath. "What are you doing this time?"
Arjun held out the fragment. "Look at this, Meera. I found it buried under the banyan tree. And… I heard something. A voice."
Meera frowned as she took the stone. "It's beautiful, but a voice? Are you sure you didn't imagine it?"
"I'm sure," he insisted. "It said something about the Eternal Flame."
Her eyes widened. "The Akhanda Jyoti? That's just a legend, Arjun. A flame said to burn eternally in a forgotten temple of Agni, the god of fire."
"What if it's not just a legend?" he asked, his voice urgent. "What if this fragment is a clue?"
Meera hesitated, glancing between the stone and her friend. "Even if it is, where would you even begin? No one knows where the temple is, and the world beyond our village… it's not safe."
"Neither is ignoring this," Arjun said, his resolve hardening. "If the gods left this behind, it's meant to be found. I'm going to follow it, Meera."
"You're serious."
"I have to be."
Meera sighed, then handed the fragment back to him. "Fine. But if you're going, you're not going alone. Someone has to make sure you don't get yourself killed."
Arjun smiled. "Thank you."
As they left the grove, the fragment grew warmer in his hand, its faint glow pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Far away, in a temple long forgotten by men, the Eternal Flame flickered. The gods were watching, and Arjun's journey had only just begun.