Sunday, 20 August – Nandanpur
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The monsoon paused that day. The clouds hung high, but the air felt washed and clean. It was a rare Sunday with no school, no extra classes, no tests—just time.
The morning began with laughter.
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🛖 A Village Sunday
At the Kumar house, Sunita spread soaked wheat to dry while Vrinda and Meera picked flowers near the fence. Rajesh returned from the new field smiling faintly — the soil had stayed firm through the rains.
At the Sharma house, Vikram corrected some tuition notebooks, and Neha stitched torn school uniforms, joking with Vaidehi and Aariv about their handwriting.
By 10 AM, all eight kids gathered near the village banyan, their favorite hangout.
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🍲 Shared Lunch and Old Stories
They laid out a meal on banana leaves — roti, rice, mango pickle, and some sweets Abhay had bought quietly from Devgarh.
"Should we tell Simran she's missing the feast?" Aariv smirked.
"She'll claim the leftovers," Meera added with a grin.
While eating, the kids shared stories about old childhood dares, Vivaan's failed cartwheel, and that time Ishanvi chased a chicken thinking it stole her pen.
The wind rustled the banyan.
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🔥 A Strange Whisper
After lunch, as they lay beneath the tree, Ishanvi heard it again. That faint whisper — like before, at the Sudarshini Utsav temple.
She sat up.
"Did you hear that?" she asked Abhay.
"Hear what?"
"It sounded like… a woman calling me."
Abhay frowned. "That's what I dreamed of last night."
Ishanvi turned sharply.
"You dreamt too?"
"She called me by name. And then said… 'the fire must remember.'"
They looked at each other. Then toward the distant hills where the old Devgarh temple stood, its flag barely visible through the trees.
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👣 Unknown Visitor
That evening, as Sunita walked back from the well, she paused.
At the edge of the path stood an old woman in a blue shawl.
She smiled kindly.
"Your daughter... she glows brighter than the sun," she said.
"Be careful. The light can warm... or burn."
And then the woman was gone.
Sunita stood frozen, water pot trembling.
As night came, thunder echoed far away.
In Devgarh, Simran sat on her bed, flipping through a book titled "Ancient Powers in Indian Lore."
She had underlined something:
"When the Fire and the Water awaken, the Earth will shift."
She didn't know why she cared.
But something told her — this wasn't just a story anymore.