The boy sat on the edge of the cliff, his legs dangling over the edge. The wind tugged at his shawl, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and snow. Below, the valley stretched endlessly, a sea of green and gold bathed in the soft light of dawn.
He closed his eyes, trying to remember her face. His mother. But it was always the same, a blur of shadows and fleeting impressions. He could hear her voice, though, soft and melodic, singing a lullaby he couldn't quite recall.
The boy closed his eyes, letting the wind carry him back to that distant memory. He could almost hear her voice, soft and melodic, singing a lullaby he hadn't heard in years.
"Nindiya, ay re, nindiya, ay re..."
The words were faint, like a whisper in the wind, but they brought a warmth to his chest. He hummed along, his voice trembling as he tried to remember the rest.
"Chandni raat mein kho jaaye re..."
The memory slipped away, leaving him with an ache in his heart. He touched the pendant around his neck, the only thing he had left of her. It was warm to the touch, as if it held a piece of her spirit. 'Aditya,' she had whispered, pressing the pendant into his small hands. 'Take this. It will keep you safe. I'm so sorry, my little sun. I have no choice.'
A sudden gust of wind brought him back to the present. He shivered, pulling the shawl tighter around his shoulders.
"This is the only thing left which can lead me back to the place I belong.." he sighed while gently gripping the small wooden pendant. "It's almost time for my early training, I better hurry."
He walked back to the hut, the memory of that night still fresh in his mind. The cool morning air brushed against his skin, carrying the scent of pine and earth. His feet, now calloused and strong from years of training, moved effortlessly over the rocky terrain. Yet, the scars from that night remained—a reminder of where he came from.
As he approached the hut, he saw his master sitting outside, cross-legged and meditating. The old man's presence was as steady and grounding as the mountains themselves.
Aditya paused, his mind drifting back to that fateful night where he encountered his master.
......….
He was running, his small legs pumping as fast as they could. The forest was a blur of shadows and glowing eyes chasing after him, the growls of the beasts echoing in his ears. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest burning with every step. His feet, cut and bleeding, left smears of blood on the forest floor.
Suddenly he tripped.
The ground rushed up to meet him, and pain shot through his knees. He tried to get up, but the beasts were already there, surrounding him. Their eyes glowed like embers, bearing their sharp teeth. The boy's heart pounded so loudly he thought it might burst.
'This is it', he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. 'I'm going to die here.'
But then it happened.
A gust of wind, sudden and fierce, swept through the forest. The trees swayed, their leaves rustling like whispers. The air grew heavy, charged with an energy that made the boy's skin prickle. It was an aura—profound, almost divine, but tinged with something darker, something that made his stomach churn.
The beasts froze. Their glowing eyes widened, and a low whine escaped their throats. They backed away, tails tucked between their legs, before turning and fleeing into the darkness.
He tried to stand, but the aura was too much. His vision blurred, his legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground.
The last thing he remembered was the sound of footsteps—slow, deliberate, and steady.
......…..
The memory faded, but the questions remained. 'Who is Master? Why did he save me? And what was that aura?'
His master opened his eyes and gestured for the boy to join him. Without a word, the boy sat cross-legged, mirroring his master's posture.
"Breathe," his master said, his voice calm but firm. "Focus your mind. Let go of your thoughts."
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he meditated, he felt a familiar warmth in his chest—a faint echo of the energy. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but before he could gather the energy a sudden image of the beast flashed in his mind and the little ball of energy puffed and disappeared in thin air.
"The past is a shadow," his master said, his voice calm but firm. "But it does not define you. Your strength lies in the present!"
Aditya looked at him, searching for answers, but the sadhu simply smiled and held out his hand. "Come. It's time for your martial training."
.......
He wiped the sweat from his brow, his muscles trembling with exhaustion. The early morning training had been brutal—hours of physical exercise, meditation, and breath control. But he had pushed through, as he always did.
His master stood nearby, his expression unreadable. He nodded once, a silent acknowledgment of the boy's effort, before turning and walking back toward the hut.
Aditya followed, his footsteps slow and deliberate. It was almost noon the sun was hiding behind clouds and few rays were escaping from them, casting a golden glow over the landscape. The air was crisp, the silence broken only by the sound of his breathing and the distant call of a bird.
He sat by the fire near the cooking spot, his fingers absently tracing the scars on his feet. The pendant around his neck felt warmer than usual, almost as if it was reacting to something. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, just as he did during meditation.
For a brief moment, he felt it—a flicker of that same energy, the aura from that night. It was faint, elusive, like a whisper in the wind. But before he could grasp it, it slipped away, leaving him frustrated and longing for more.
Across the fire, his master watched him, his sharp eyes missing nothing. He saw the boy's frustration, his longing for answers. He knew the boy was on the cusp of discovering something important, but he also knew the boy wasn't ready yet.
"Master," Aditya called, his voice hesitant. "That night... the aura that saved me... was it yours?"
The sadhu was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the flames. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured.
"The energy you felt that night... it was not mine."
His eyes widened. He opened his mouth to ask more, but the sadhu raised a hand, silencing him.
"When the time is right, you will understand. For now, focus on your training. The answers you seek will come, but only when you are ready to face them."
The boy was left stunned, his mind racing with possibilities. If the aura wasn't the sadhu's, then whose was it? Could it have come from... him?
The sadhu spoke. "In the ancient texts, the sun is called Aditya—a symbol of strength, light, and life. It rises each day, unwavering, no matter how dark the night. Do you know why?"
Aditya shook his head, his eyes fixed on the flames.
"Because it knows its purpose," the sadhu said. "Just as you must know yours."
As he lay on his mat that night, staring at the ceiling of the hut, the boy couldn't shake the feeling that the pendant around his neck held more than just a memory—it held a key to the truth.