The past breathes not in memory, but in the heart that never forgets — the same heart that once whispered, 'let it be us,' and believed it.
~~~~~
In the mid 1750s, a boy of about 10 played freely in his family's garden, his laughter against the faint roll of British drums at the distance. His name was Madhav. He wore a cream-color silk kurta with a neatly tied dhoti. His face glowed with innocence, untouched by worry.
"Madhav, come here" his mother called.
He paused, breathless, and ran to her side.
"Meet her. She is my friend," his mother said warmly.
"Namaste," Madhav bowed politely.
Behind the lady stood a girl of the same age, with long black hair tied in a knot. She wore a simple ghagra and choli of pink cotton. She was half-hid behind her mother, her dark eyes glanced at him and then quickly away.
Madhav saw her shyness and felt an urge to talk to her, but then he ran back to the garden.
A few moments later, he noticed her in the garden, her steps slow and her feet small and hesitant.
"Do you want to play?" he asked, holding out a ball.
She did not reply, but when he rolled the ball to her, she kicked it gently back. That was enough. With that small exchange, a bond sparked into life. Their laughter soon filled the garden, breaking through her hesitation.
Her name was Pavitra. From that day, they often played together. Their mothers were close friends, so their lives intertwined naturally. They played board games, studied language together, and ran barefoot on grass.
In those years, their friendship became a living treasure — innocent, unbreakable.
When they turned 13, their mothers told them the truth: they were Aokma, chosen souls gifted with hidden powers. Training began.
They sparred together, studied hymns, and practiced under the guidance of elders. Sometimes Shivam and Kartikey, other Aokma children, joined them. But Madhav and Pavitra were inseparable.
They swam together in the river before training, their laughter rippling across the waters like music. Among the young Aokma, Pavitra stood apart. She was quicker than the rest, sharper in mind and movement. She learned hymns and techniques with ease, her powers blooming faster than anyone her age. Whether in combat, study, or channeling the force of her spirit, Pavitra excelled. She was not only Madhav's closest friend, she was also the most gifted among them.
By age 16, their gifts had revealed themselves. Madhav was the water spirit and Pavitra was the forest spirit.
Their bond had grown so close that they could not imagine life without each other. They laughed, fought, and cried together.
Pavitra had now grown into a young woman, charming and beautiful. Her presence drew the eyes of many — Shivam and Kartikey noticed, as did older Aokma boys. Madhav noticed too, though he did not yet understand the ache stirring within him.
One afternoon during training, when sweat clung to their brows, Shivam approached Pavitra.
"Can you…. meet me tomorrow?" he asked softly.
"Why?" she tilted her head.
"I… I want to learn the Hymn of Binding," he admitted. "You are far better at weaving power into words than I am."
Pavitra nodded with a small smile. "At seven, then."
Madhav overheard. His chest tightened. He walked over, pretending to be casual.
"What was he saying?"
"Nothing. He just wants me to teach him the Hymn of Binding tomorrow morning," she replied.
"He already knows it," Madhav muttered, irritated.
"He says he is not good at it."
Silence. His jaw clenched. "Don't meet him."
"Why not?"
"Just… don't."
"But why can't I? We meet alone too, don't we?" she asked, frowning.
Madhav had no answer. She looked at him, puzzled.
The next morning, Pavitra went as promised. But before she and Shivam could begin, a voice called out.
"Wait for me!"
She turned, and everything seemed to slow. Madhav came running through the golden haze of morning, his green kurta loose around him, his white dhoti tied so neatly, the fabric moving with each stride. His hair, was slightly messy from the morning rush, caught the light. A smile was across his face…. open, boyish, and warm.
For Pavitra, the world around her blurred. The trees, the birds, even Shivam's presence faded into silence. Her eyes was fixed on him…only him ….. the innocence of his face, the brightness in his eyes, the strength in his movement. Her heart began to pound, quick and heavy, as if it wanted to leap from her chest. She did not know why she felt this way, only that something had shifted.
It was as if time itself paused — not to show her the boy she had always known, but someone new, someone who made her breath catch and her pulse race.
"Why are you here?" asked Shivam.
"I want to practice the Hymn too," Madhav replied firmly.
Madhav did not know why, but jealousy ran over him whenever other guys took Pavitra's time or attention. He couldn't explain what his heart was feeling, it felt like a rush of emotions and yet none of them made sense to him.
A few days later, Madhav came running into Pavitra's courtyard, with a letter.
"Look!!! A letter from my cousin. Let's write a reply together!" he said, with excitement.
Pavitra hesitated. "I am sorry, Madhav. I am meeting Reem today… my aunt's son."
Madhav frowned. "Reem? He's older than us. Why are you meeting him? To study? To train?"
"No… just to know him better," she replied.
"Why?"
She looked at him carefully. "Madhav, I am sixteen. My parents are already thinking of my marriage. To them Reem seems good, he is handsome…responsible. I should at least meet him before things are decided. So I am going. Don't tell anyone." With that, she ran out, leaving Madhav stunned.
Something broke inside him. His chest ached. He sat in her yard for hours, waiting. The sun sank low, when she finally returned.
"Oh, you came again?" she asked softly.
"I never left. I was waiting," he replied, rising to his feet.
"You….." she began, but he stepped closer.
"You must love someone if you marry them. Do you think you can love him?"
"I don't know," she whispered.
He moved nearer, his voice trembling but firm.
"I don't know what love is. But I know this — I hate it when you stand beside another guy. I hate it when others look at you the way… the way only I want to look at you, I hate it when you admire other men, when you praise them. To me, love is what I have seen in my parents — caring, admiring each other and never growing tired of each other's company. I care for you, Pavitra. You know it. And I can care for you even more."
"I admire your strength, your spirit, your beauty. I could never grow bored of you. Since I was ten, I have always been happiest when I am with you."
His hands reached for hers, trembling but certain. "If we are to marry one day, let it be us. Pavitra, let it be us. I cannot bear the thought of you belonging to anyone else."