Morning arrived quietly—like a promise whispered rather than declared.
The first signs of dawn crept gently across the sky, brushing away the darkness with soft hues of pale gold and blue. The world stirred slowly, as though reluctant to leave the comfort of night.
Then came the sound.
Birds.
Chirping, calling, answering one another from the treetops. Their voices layered into a lively chorus that filled the air with life. It was not loud, not overwhelming—but steady, persistent.
A beginning.
Anand's eyes fluttered open.
For a brief moment, he lay still, staring at the woven ceiling above him. His body felt… lighter than yesterday. The deep, dreamless sleep had done its work, washing away the worst of his exhaustion.
"…Morning already…" he murmured.
He pushed himself up slowly, stretching his arms. A faint soreness still lingered in his muscles—a reminder of the road—but it was manageable now.
Not crushing.
Not unbearable.
Just… there.
Outside, the village was already awake.
Anand stepped out, the cool morning air brushing against his skin. The faint scent of damp earth and flowing water greeted him, grounding him instantly.
He didn't linger.
His feet carried him almost instinctively toward the river.
The same river from the previous evening.
The water flowed calmly, reflecting the early light of dawn like a moving mirror. A few villagers were already there, washing, filling pots, or offering silent prayers.
Anand crouched by the edge.
Without hesitation, he splashed the cool water onto his face.
A sharp intake of breath followed.
"…Yeah, that wakes you up," he muttered.
He washed properly this time—arms, face, neck—letting the cold seep into his skin, clearing away the last remnants of sleep.
For a moment, he just sat there.
Listening.
The gentle flow of water.
The distant rustle of trees.
The quiet murmur of voices.
It was peaceful.
"…Not bad," he said softly.
But peace didn't last forever.
Because today—
He was leaving.
Alone.
When Anand returned to the ashram, he found Satyaka already waiting.
Of course he was.
Standing exactly as he always did—straight, composed, as though time itself moved around him rather than with him.
Anand raised a hand in greeting.
"Morning."
Satyaka nodded.
"Morning."
A brief pause followed.
Then Satyaka asked, "Will you depart now, or later?"
Straight to the point.
Anand scratched his cheek lightly.
"I'll leave after eating," he replied. "And after I pack everything properly."
Satyaka gave a small nod.
"Very well."
And just like that—
He turned and walked away.
No further conversation.
No unnecessary words.
Anand watched him go for a moment, then let out a small breath.
"…Man of few words till the very end, huh…"
He shook his head slightly, a faint smile forming.
Then he turned toward his belongings.
Packing didn't take long.
But Anand took his time anyway.
Carefully folding his mat.
Checking his bag.
Making sure everything was in place.
His phone—still sealed, still holding that precious battery.
His torch.
His lighter.
His notebook, filled with scribbles and thoughts that only he truly understood.
His pens.
His medicine kit.
His worn clothes.
His boots.
Everything had a place.
Everything had a purpose.
He adjusted the straps of his bag, lifting it briefly to test the weight.
"…Still heavy," he muttered.
But manageable.
Before he could continue—
A voice called out.
"Food is ready."
Anand didn't need to be told twice.
The meal was simple.
Yet—
To Anand, it felt like a luxury.
He sat among the others, the leaf plate placed before him, steam rising gently from the freshly prepared food.
He took the first bite slowly.
Then paused.
"…Yeah," he said under his breath. "I'm gonna miss this."
Because he knew.
From here on—
Meals wouldn't always be guaranteed.
Comfort wouldn't always be available.
There would be days of walking.
Days of uncertainty.
Days where even something this simple might feel out of reach.
So he ate.
Properly.
Savoring each bite.
Not rushing.
Not holding back.
Just… enjoying it.
For once.
After the meal, Anand rested briefly.
Not long.
Just enough to let his body settle.
To let the food sit.
To gather himself.
Because once he stood up again—
There would be no more pauses like this.
He reached for his bag.
Lifted it onto his shoulders.
Adjusted the straps.
Took a breath.
"…Alright," he muttered.
Time to go.
The ashram gathered near the entrance.
Sages.
Disciples.
Faces both familiar and new.
They stood calmly, offering quiet smiles, silent blessings.
Anand stepped forward.
He bowed slightly.
"Thank you," he said. "For everything."
One of the elders nodded gently.
"May your journey be safe."
Another added, "Walk with awareness."
Simple words.
But they carried weight.
Anand smiled.
"I'll try."
Then—
He turned toward Satyaka.
"…Guess this is it," he said.
Satyaka nodded.
"It is."
No grand farewell.
No emotional exchange.
Just understanding.
Anand shifted his bag slightly.
"Take care."
"You as well."
Anand turned.
Took a step forward.
Then another.
He didn't look back immediately.
Didn't hesitate.
Just walked.
"Anand."
The voice stopped him.
He turned.
Satyaka was approaching.
For a brief moment, Anand wondered—
Did I forget something?
But then—
Satyaka held something in his hand.
A small amulet.
Simple in design, yet carrying an undeniable presence.
Without a word, Satyaka stepped closer.
"Give me your hand."
Anand blinked.
"…Uh, okay?"
He extended his arm.
Satyaka tied the amulet around his wrist.
The motion was steady. Precise.
Then—
He began to chant.
The words were unfamiliar.
Ancient.
Carrying a rhythm that Anand couldn't follow, yet somehow felt.
The air seemed to shift slightly.
Not dramatically.
But enough.
Enough for Anand to notice.
"…What's this?" he asked quietly.
Satyaka finished the chant.
The moment passed.
Then he spoke.
"This amulet will protect you," he said. "Three times."
Anand frowned slightly.
"Protect me… how?"
"From threats," Satyaka replied. "Even those that endanger your life."
Anand blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"…Wait, seriously?"
He looked at the amulet.
Then back at Satyaka.
Confusion.
Surprise.
And something else—
Gratitude.
"…You didn't have to—"
"Guru Agastya instructed this," Satyaka said.
Anand paused.
"…Oh."
The moment shifted.
His expression softened.
"Still," he said after a second, "thank you."
Satyaka nodded.
Nothing more.
What Anand did not know—
Was that this had not been a simple instruction.
That before the journey began—
Satyaka himself had approached Agastya.
He Had asked and insisted.
That Anand, walking alone towards Ayodhya, should not go unprotected.
And Agastya—
Who had already considered the same—
Had agreed.
Anand adjusted the amulet on his wrist.
It felt light.
Unassuming.
Yet—
Reassuring.
"…Guess I've got three chances," he muttered.
Then he looked up.
At the path ahead.
At the road that now belonged only to him.
He raised his hand.
Waved once.
"See you," he called out.
Then—
He turned.
And began to walk.
The village slowly faded behind him.
The sounds of life grew distant.
Replaced once again by the forest.
By the road.
By the quiet rhythm of his own footsteps.
Ayodhya.
It would take him—
Almost a week.
Less, if the path was kind.
More, if it was not.
Anand let out a long sigh.
"…Great," he muttered. "More walking."
But this time—
There was no one ahead of him.
No steady figure to follow.
No silent guide to set the pace.
Just—
Himself.
His steps.
His decisions.
"…Alright," he said quietly.
He adjusted his bag.
Straightened his posture.
And took another step forward.
Then another.
And another.
Toward a city he had only known as a story.
Toward a truth he was no longer certain he was ready to face.
But one he would walk toward anyway.
Because now—
There was no turning back.