A Tale of Memory, Mystery, and the Threads That Bind Us
🌿 First Discovery — Near the Fort Ruins
Rudra returned alone to the fort ruins, the evening sun casting long shadows over the ancient stones. The neem sapling near the spiral niche swayed gently, its leaves whispering secrets to the breeze, almost as if it awaited the return of an old friend. Everything about the moment felt charged with expectation—a sense that something hidden and precious was about to reveal itself.
With a sketchbook tucked under his arm, he stepped cautiously across the uneven ground, every footfall stirring echoes of the past. It was as if the ancient stones recognized his presence, drawing him forward—not with urgency, but with a quiet welcome, like the embrace of a place that holds your secrets and sorrows.
Kneeling at the base of the neem tree, Rudra felt a familiar tug in his heart—a gentle ache of nostalgia mingled with hope. He dug carefully, the earth cool and damp against his fingers, so different from the golden warmth on his shoulders. When he struck something solid, he paused, letting memories of past adventures ripple through him like a silent song.
He unearthed a piece of faded cloth, sealed with what looked like neem resin. Inside was a scroll—fragile, trembling with history. Rudra's breath caught as he unrolled it, the verses inside seeming to pulse with life, as though the ink carried the heartbeat of generations past:
"Ek paan hote,
ek shabd hota…
Jithe veer shant hoto,
tithe vishwa jage hote."
(Where the warrior became silent, the world began to awaken.)
A heavy silence enveloped him, one that words could not penetrate. Reverently, he folded the scroll and slipped it into his sketchbook. Beneath him, the spiral carved in stone seemed to hum, its resonance threading the past and present together in a quiet song only Rudra could hear.
🎨 Second Discovery — Through Niya's Sketches
Later, as dusk spilled golden through the window, Niya sat sketching by candlelight. The flickering glow danced across her pages, illuminating the mural she was weaving from Ajji's stories. As her pencil lingered over the spiral motif, she paused, her eyes narrowing in sudden curiosity.
"What's this?" she murmured to herself, carefully examining a series of three dots appearing beneath the spiral—a tiny clue, perhaps, a buried trail waiting to be discovered. "Rudra, come look at this!"
Rudra, who had been leaning against the doorframe watching her, felt a spark of curiosity ignite. "What did you find?" he asked, moving closer.
"Look at this," she said, excitement bubbling in her voice. "It's like a path leading away from the spiral!"
Without hesitation, the two set out once more for the ruins. The air brimmed with anticipation, their earlier discovery still buzzing in their minds. Manu, waiting nearby, joined them with a knowing smile, as if he too sensed the story unfolding in the stones.
"Ready for another adventure?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.
"Absolutely," Rudra replied, glancing at Niya, who nodded eagerly.
Manu guided them to a stone ledge, half-hidden by a blanket of moss. "This way," he said, brushing away the green cover. Together, they moved the stone aside, revealing yet another scroll nestled in the earth.
The earth yielded beneath the stone, revealing a folded scroll bound in brittle cloth. Dust curled upwards like incense, and the spiral etched in the rock seemed to pulse, echoing its own memory. Rudra bent lower, brushing soil from the parchment. Though the script was faded, the rhythm of the words thrummed with life, humming in the stillness.
Niya's fingers trembled as she traced the first line.
Niya's fingers trembled as she traced the first line.
"Kaala megh ek gungun hoti,
Chandrachi chhap kapalat hoti…"
Her voice faltered, but the cadence carried. Malhar leaned closer, his eyes wide, as though the verse had been waiting for him. Together, they read, the buried povada unfurling like a forgotten song:
Kaala megh ek gungun hoti,
Chandrachi chhap kapalat hoti,
Dolyat jyoti, hridayat dhadkan,
Veerache paan ek athavan hoti.
Ghungurache taal ek gungun hoti,
Meghrajachi chhap pasrat hoti,
Korlai cha dagad ya chakravarchi rekha,
Jaalyat dharma, jaalyat prem hote.
Nadicha sur ek gunj hoti,
Vrukshanchi chhaya sang hoti,
Malhar che naav ek athavan hota,
Meerache jagne swapna hoti.
Kaala megh ek gungun hoti,
Chandrachi chhap kapalat hoti,
Gane ani hasya ekatra yeti,
Maitri chakrachi jyoti hoti.
Rudra whispered, reverence thick in his voice, "Bhanu wrote this. He didn't just echo; he preserved." The weight of history pressed around them as they shared a wordless moment of understanding—a thread binding them to all who had come before.
🐎 Third Discovery — At the Future Sanctuary Site
Weeks later, Rudra wandered into a quiet valley near Panvel, where the wind whispered of new beginnings. He stood lost in thought, picturing the horse sanctuary he hoped to build. The land felt just right—soft, silent, and patient, as if it had been waiting for his dreams to take root.
Meghraj, his steadfast horse, walked ahead, his movements slow and sure. When Meghraj paused near a stone faintly marked with a spiral, Rudra felt drawn to him. "What is it, boy?" he murmured, kneeling beside the stone.
With careful hands, he began to dig. The earth felt cool and inviting, and soon, he unearthed a scroll wrapped delicately in horsehair. It seemed to pulse with significance.
Opening it reverently, Rudra felt tears welling up in his eyes as he read the words inscribed upon it:
"Jithe ghoda shant hoto,
Tithe veer punha janm gheto."
(Where the horse found peace, the warrior was reborn.)
A rush of emotion surged through Rudra, and he wept openly. Meghraj stood steadfast at his side, silent yet deeply present, as if he understood the weight of the moment. The valley itself seemed to listen, wrapping man and horse in a gentle embrace, a silent witness to their journey and their dreams.
✨ Soul Verse
"Ek shabd hota.
Ek gungun hoti.
Ek paan hote.
Ek punarjanm hota."
(One word. One hum. One leaf. One rebirth.)
— And so, the echoes carried forward, woven into the hearts of those who dared to listen.