Beneath the Stars
The three friends nestled together on the weather-worn steps outside Manu's home, the old wooden planks creaking softly beneath them as if sharing their own stories. The tranquility of the mango grove wrapped around them like a warm embrace, punctuated only by the rustling of leaves, the occasional chirping of crickets, and the sparkling dance of fireflies that blinked like forgotten memories in the depths of night. Manu, the most recent addition to their little constellation, often worried he was an outsider. But tonight, as laughter echoed in the soft air and the others' shoulders brushed against his, he felt a rare, silent kinship that settled deep in his chest—both comforting and unfamiliar, like the first note of a song remembered from childhood.
Rudra sat mesmerized, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns on the stone leaf, the cool surface grounding him amidst the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. He wondered if his ancestors had once held something similar, if they too had searched for answers in the night. Next to him, Niya hugged her knees tighter, her gaze flickering between the fireflies and the distant stars. Every flicker transported her to the warmth of her Ajji's lap, where stories spilled like monsoon rain—stories that felt vivid yet were slipping away, as if the night itself was erasing them. Manu, ever restless, gnawed at a twig he'd picked up, trying to mask the jittery uncertainty inside. He longed to belong, but the weight of unspoken expectations pressed against his ribs, making his breaths short and shallow.
Finally, breaking the stillness, Niya spoke, her voice laced with a blend of hope and apprehension. The question trembled at the edge of her lips, barely louder than the whispering grass. "So… what now? We've sifted through memories, but where do we go from here?" Her words hung in the humid air, delicate and uncertain, tugging at the secret worries each of them harbored.
Scene 2: The Argument
Rudra lifted his head, his eyes shimmering with a quiet determination that belied the nerves fluttering in his stomach. "We have to follow it. The spiral. The vow we made to each other and to those who came before us. We have to go deeper—explore what it means for us." His voice sounded steadier than he felt, and he silently hoped the others didn't notice the way his hands trembled just slightly in his lap.
Manu, with an incredulous frown pulling at his brow, shook his head vehemently. "Into what? Dreams? Ghosts of the past? You want to drag us into a world that revolves around the whispers of a deceased prince? One that left behind only a scar on our land?" His words tumbled out too fast, betraying the fear he tried to hide behind sarcasm. He gripped the edge of the step, knuckles white, as if physical contact could anchor him in the present and keep the shadows of the past at bay.
"It's not about business, Manu," Rudra insisted, the fervor in his voice revealing the depths of his conviction. "It's about healing. About piecing together the fragments of history that can illuminate our own lives."
"Remembering what?" Manu shot back, frustration boiling over his composure. "A war we didn't live through? A betrayal that none of us truly understands? A mere horse that has now become legend?"
Niya intervened, her voice calm yet impactful, laden with the wisdom of the past. "It's about restoration, Manu. We don't have to embrace everything Ajji said as gospel truth, but we felt it deeply. The connections, the threads that tie us to those who walked these paths before us. They matter." As she spoke, a gentle ache bloomed in her chest—a longing for stories lost and a fear that, if they stopped searching, the voices of their ancestors would slip away forever.
As Manu stood, pacing like a caged lion, his shoulders tensed with each step, he struggled with a tempest of emotions. "I'm not dismissing the past or saying it's unimportant. But it's dangerous, Rudra. What if we open wounds that never heal? What if we unearth a truth that shatters us?" The words caught in his throat, his voice cracking just a little as he let his deepest fear slip out—fear not only for himself, but for the fragile unity of their group.
"Then we're wrong," Rudra maintained, his voice steady but filled with a complex mix of fear and courage. "But I'd rather walk the spiral and risk falling than remain in this position—forgetting everything that has shaped us and will continue to shape our future."
The Fire Circle
With a deliberate motion, Manu knelt to ignite a small fire, taking care to direct the flames as they flickered to life. The trio settled in a circle around it, their faces illuminated by the soft, warm light. The stone leaf, a tangible embodiment of their conflict, lay at the center between them.
"Ajji told us about Bhanu," Niya said softly, her voice imbued with nostalgia and respect. "He wasn't a warrior; he was a recorder of events. That's what I think we do—our role is to capture and understand these narratives."
"Do you want to be Bhanu?" Manu asked, his brow arched in disbelief.
"No," she replied, shaking her head with conviction. "I want to be Niya—a unique individual, not a shadow of someone else. Yet… there's a part of me that feels as though I've wandered this path before, that I've faced something similar in another life. The echoes are too strong to ignore."
Rudra smiled gently, warmth gleaming in his eyes as he nodded. "You're both—Bhanu and Niya. And I suspect I've been Veeraj—the one who remembers, who stands at the crossroads of past and present, trying to reconcile them into something meaningful."
"And me?" Manu asked quietly, staring into the depths of the fire, an ember of self-doubt flickering in his heart.
Rudra picked up the stone leaf, running his thumb over its surface before placing it firmly in Manu's hands. "You are Malhar, the loyal friend, the one who returns, who bridges the past with the present. You embody the strength we need to navigate this journey."
The Decision
With newfound certainty, they began sketching a plan in the dirt, their fingers carving out a path that felt almost predestined.
"Return to Korlai with Ajji's blessing," Rudra proposed, his voice unwavering. "We need to map these spiral echoes—identify significant places, people, verses connected to our lineage—and weave them into a narrative that honors both the past and our future."
As the outlines of their plan took shape, Manu, ever the pragmatist, interrupted with the weight of reality. "And if we fail? What then? What if we expose ourselves to something we can't handle?"
Niya's smile, though tinged with the understanding of risk, radiated warmth. "Then we'll leave folded leaves behind, each one inscribed with a story. For the next ones who will follow. We'll let them know that they, too, are not alone, that their journeys matter, and they can add to the tapestry we've started."
✨ Soul Verse
Ek tharav zhala.
Ek mitra bhidla.
Ek paan thevale.
Ek marg nighala.
(One argument sparked. One friend resisted. One leaf was shared. One path began.)