Arnesh slipped silently into the hut. The slight darkness outside still carried the murmurs of the villagers, their harsh words clinging to him like smoke that refused to leave the skin. Inside, the air was softer. The smell of dried herbs and ground roots filled the room, where Mala and Granny were bent over a wooden table, shaping powders into small, round pills. The lamplight flickered against their faces, making the work seem older than time itself.
Jaban uncle slept in the corner, snoring faintly, his chest rising and falling under a torn blanket. Arnesh paused, watching them, then moved closer. The question that had been clawing at his chest since the afternoon finally broke loose.
"Granny… Granny," he whispered, tugging at the edge of her white sari. "What is low class?"
Granny did not look at him at first. Her hands kept working, pressing the mixture between her palms with white fumes until it hardened into a pill. Only when she placed it gently in the basket did she lift her eyes to him. There was no surprise in them, only a stillness, like she had been waiting for this moment.
"There is no lower class in this world, child," she said.
Arnesh frowned. "Then why did they say it? Why did they call me that?"
Granny chuckled, not with joy but with an odd sharpness. "Oh, they are saying," she replied simply, as though that explained everything.
Her laughter came suddenly, low and hoarse, but not unkind. She patted the mat beside her. "Come here. Sit."
He obeyed. Mala reached over with a small plate and dropped a handful of puffed rice into his palm. "Eat," she said with a grin, her teeth glinting in the lamplight.
Arnesh chewed slowly, the grains light on his tongue, but the taste did little to ease the knot in his chest. He looked at Mala and asked again, stubborn this time. "What is this?"
"Muri," she answered, laughing. "Eat it."
He said, shaking his head. "Not this. What is lower class?"
The hut grew quiet. Even Jaban's snores seemed to soften. Granny's eyes shifted, no longer fixed on him but staring beyond the mud walls, into some place unseen. Her voice dropped low, like she was speaking to the darkness itself.
"Listen well, Arnesh," she began.
"Long ago, four people sat together in a single boat, drifting across an endless river. The river was no friend to them. It raged with storms, it hid whirlpools, it pretended to be calm only to drag the boat down without warning. Yet still, the boat carried them forward, though none knew where it led."
Her hands, still dusted with powder, folded in her lap as she spoke.
"The first person bent his back to the oars. His palms blistered, his arms bled, his spine cracked. He did not stop. Stroke after stroke, his body bore the punishment of the river. He was the Rower. He knew the taste of sweat, the burn of sun, the weight of water pressing against him. His strength moved the boat, though no one sang his name."
"The second person stood tall at the rudder. He shouted, pointed, declared: 'Left! Right! Straight!' His voice filled the boat, his finger cut the air. He was the Commander. Though the river cared nothing for his orders, the others obeyed, believing direction mattered more than effort. His hands stayed clean, but his throat grew hoarse. He thought himself master of the journey."
"The third person reclined in the middle of the boat. He wore fine robes, jewels on every finger. He never touched the oar or rudder, yet he sat on a throne carved from the same wood as the boat. He claimed he was born to rule, that the river itself bowed to him. He was the Pretender."
"And the fourth soul — ah, the fourth — sang songs and wove tales. His tongue was his tool, shaping praise into chains, turning simple words into grand illusions. He cooked a little food, mended a scratch, and poured laughter like cheap wine when storms broke their spirits. They called him the Dreamer. He neither rowed, nor steered, nor bore the crushing weight of toil, yet he clothed himself in the guise of wisdom. His verses made the Rower believe his suffering was holy, his sweat a blessing, his wounds a duty. He gave comfort not by sharing the burden, but by sweetening the poison so it might be swallowed. He did not carry despair, he dressed it in ornaments, hid it under songs, and convinced the weary that their misery was virtue.."
Granny's voice trembled. Her laugh returned, brittle and sharp.
"Now tell me, child… who kept the boat alive? Was it the Rower, who carved a path with his bleeding hands? Was it the Commander, whose voice gave shape to their fear? Was it the Pretender, whose illusions chained them together? Or was it the Dreamer, who gave them reason to endure when all seemed lost?"
Arnesh sat frozen, the puffed rice forgotten in his hand. The lamp hissed as its flame bent to the breeze. But...
........
"None were lower," Granny continued. "None were higher. All were bound to the same fragile wood, to the same merciless river. Yet the Pretender spat at the Rower and called him low. The Commander echoed the insult, for without it his own authority would crumble. Even the Dreamer mocked the Rower at times, because songs are easier when someone else breaks their back against the current."
She leaned closer, her eyes catching the dim light, her whisper sharp as a blade.
"But the river does not care, Arnesh. To the river, the Pretender's throne is driftwood. The Commander's shouts are only wind. The Dreamer's songs are echoes. Only the Rower's hands keep the boat above water. Yet he is the one called low."
Arnesh's lips trembled. "So… that is what they mean by lower class?"
"Yes," Granny said. "A lie repeated until even the Rower begins to believe it. A trick of the tongue, sharpened to wound. But when the storm rises, when the boat cracks, when the river swallows them all, you will see — there is no higher, no lower. All will sink the same."
The hut was silent. Only the creak of wood and the faint rattle of Jaban's breath filled the pause. Granny's hand reached out, resting warm and steady on Arnesh's shoulder.
"Remember this, child," she whispered. "They are all in the same boat. The words 'high' and 'low' are nothing but shadows. Before the river, all are equal — equally fragile, equally temporary. And the river…"
Her voice broke, the sound hanging heavy in the room.
"The river is always waiting."
After some time, granny laughed, her shoulders shaking as she looked at Arnesh."Do you understand now, the meaning of lower class?"
Arnesh grinned shyly. "Yes. It means they are fools, trying to make us feel lower just by pretending they are higher."
Granny clapped her hands together with delight. "Exactly! You are cleverer than those two fools sitting here."
Mala and Jaban uncle, both caught off guard, pointed at Arnesh at the same time."He's the fool! He can't even understand a simple thing!" they said.
Granny smirked. "If it is so simple, then tell me, why did you both start fighting with them last year over this very argument?"
The room fell quiet for a beat. Mala chewed her lip, and Jaban uncle scratched his head. Granny went on, her voice light with teasing."See here—Jaban uncle is middle class."
Arnesh looked at him curiously. "So that's why you keep ordering me to do this and that?"
The whole hut burst into laughter. Even Jaban chuckled for a moment before waving them off. He lay back down with a groan. "Don't call me now. Let me sleep."
Time passed. The lamp's flame flickered, and the air outside grew heavy with the smell of wet earth.
"Hey, Jaban uncle, wake up! We need to talk seriously about you!" Mala shouted, poking him.
But he didn't stir. His snores filled the room. Then Arnesh spotted a snail crawling across the floor. Mischief sparked in his eyes. He picked it up and, with great care, brought it close to Jaban's nose.
Before it could touch him, Jaban shot upright. "You little monster! Just wait, I'll beat you for this!"
The hut roared with laughter again. Mala wagged her finger. "Go, Mala," Granny said softly. "Rain will come soon. And Jaban—wait here."
When Mala left, Granny leaned closer to Jaban. "He said he wants to learn martial arts. I tried to explain it will only burden him in the future, but he insists. And truly, here is no one better than you in this village. You yourself said so yesterday."
At that time, Jaban with thinking something stepped outside, gazing at the gathering clouds. His smile was crooked, tinged with disdain. He muttered to himself, almost too low to hear:"What a shit life you have, Jaban. You trained, and they made you proud by giving sacrifice. Now another one comes…"
A sudden wind stirred, rattling the trees until their branches groaned, dust curling through the air, leaves torn free from branches. One green leaf drifted down through the storm, wavering, and finally came to rest in Uncle's palm. He stared at it in silence, his lips curving into a faint, unreadable smile, and whispered, almost to himself, "Alright… it begins."
He rose from the dim hut and stepped onto the veranda, where the world smelled of damp soil and restless air. Jaban Uncle was already there, leaning on his knees, eyes fixed on the shifting clouds above. Their gazes met the same sky, but each carried a different weight in his silence.
"I want to learn," Arnesh said quietly, almost like a prayer. "Granny… can I?"
Granny's voice came sharp from inside, "For the last time, child, learning is not for lower class people like us. Don't put hopes in places where the doors are locked."
Mala came with a bowl, her laughter small but kind. "Doesn't your body ache?" she asked.
"Not too much," he answered, chewing the puffed rice she pressed into his hand.
"Then why don't you just ask me?" Mala tilted her head.
Before Arnesh could speak, Granny cut in, "Mala, enough. Go light the fire. Prepare the food. Jaban is staying here tonight." She turned her eyes toward Arnesh. "How much profit today?"
"Five hundred kari," he said.
Granny nodded. "Hmm." Nothing more. Silence filled the air as evening slipped into the bones of the house.
Later, clouds thickened like secrets. Rain began softly, then drummed heavy. On the veranda, Arnesh and Jaban Uncle had fallen asleep side by side, backs resting against the wall. Granny stepped out, smirked, and without warning kicked them both. They jolted awake, colliding into each other, startled.
"Go bathe in the rain," she scolded. "Then come back with clean clothes. Jaban, what do you think of this boy?"
Jaban stretched, water dripping from his hair. He looked at Arnesh with a strange smile. "Do you really want to learn, boy? Then listen. It will bring you problems. Heavy problems, even made you unable to.... If they come, what will you do?"
Arnesh lowered his eyes. An ant crawled across his arm, biting sharp. Without thought, he crushed it between his fingers, then lifted his gaze back to Jaban in silence.
Jaban chuckled. "Good. Then take the spade. Go outside. Dig a pool of this yard, the size of your body, water up to your neck. Understand?"
Arnesh nodded at Jaban's words, but before he could rise, Mala pulled him back with a frown."Don't go yet. Eat first, then do whatever nonsense you're planning," she said, pushing a bowl toward him.
He sat cross-legged and quietly ate the rice mixed with vegetables. The warmth filled his stomach, but his eyes kept glancing outside where the rain poured like silver ropes. Just as he was about to finish, he noticed Mala ladling soup into another bowl. The smell was strange, earthy, and slimy.
"What is that?" he asked.
"Snail soup," she said with a smirk.
Arnesh's face twisted in disgust. He spat out the last bite he was chewing and shouted, "I will not eat that!" With a sudden burst of energy, he sprang up, grabbed the spade leaning against the wall, and dashed outside into the rain.
The cold water slapped against his skin, but he barely noticed. His heart was pounding with something he couldn't name—anger, determination, fear. He ran through the place some distance from the yard, searching for a spot to dig a pool, but every place he tried was flooded or too hard. Exhaustion made him stop, and he whispered into the storm, "Granny… where should I do?"
Before he could turn back, a voice struck him like a blade. It was deep, raw, filled with fury demonic almost. "Don't turn back."
Arnesh froze, every muscle stiff.
The same voice boomed again, sharp as thunder."Make the stab where you stand."
The words shook his chest, vibrating through his bones. Then, suddenly, another voice emerged—different, calmer, serene, carrying the weight of a thousand years. "Before you strike… do you truly want this? Do you want to change your fate again?"
Arnesh clenched the spade tighter. "Yes," he whispered.
Both voices, dark and light, spoke together, their unity terrifying yet divine. "Then step forward."
He stepped again, trembling.
Again, the voices asked in unity: "Are you going to start again? Think. You are about to defy your fate. Begin a new journey. Do you want that?"
Arnesh swallowed hard. "Yes."
"Then know this," the voices thundered, "can you complete it?"
He lifted his head against the rain. "Yes. I will do it."
From the hut, Granny's voice cut through like a final command. "Don't just stand there! If you want to start, move forward. Do your work. You must finish it tonight. No one will come to help you again. From now on—you fight, you fall, you learn, you rise. Again and again. It's your choice from now on..."
He started to dug the spade into the earth.
The rain kept falling, heavy and endless, yet the only sounds were its patter and the steady rhythm of steel striking mud. His small frame moved with relentless energy, refusing to stop.
From the yard, Mala whispered, awe in her voice, "How does he have so much strength?"
Jaban uncle leaned on the doorframe, eyes half-closed, watching the boy. "Hunh. That? I don't know. But I know one thing, when someone truly wants to learn, their will becomes stronger than anything, even heaven itself would crack beneath their feet."
Granny barked back sharply, her laugh cutting through the night. "Fool! There is no heaven in this world. Only hell. Hell is everywhere, heaven is full of stupid bastards, who just sat, sing, eat and poops. They only brainwashed people to do into this and that. As for him, he will work till dawn. His strength has no end. Jaban, go sleep now but before that don't forget, make another batch of pills."
...........
The rain had stopped sometime past midnight. By dawn the world was washed clean—trees gleamed as if polished, and the air was sharp with the scent of wet earth. A new day, a new sun, a new light stretched across the horizon. For most in the village, it was a beautiful morning.
But for Arnesh, he lay curled beneath the old neem tree in the yard, beside the shallow mud pit he had dug through the night. His spade was still planted in the ground like a soldier who had died standing. His body, however, had surrendered. Exhausted, feverish, he had collapsed into sleep against the tree's roots, his face streaked with dried rainwater and soil.
Mala found him first. She shook his shoulder gently, then harder. "Wake up, fool. Jaban uncle is calling you for teaching."
Arnesh stirred, blinking against the sunlight, but as soon as he tried to rise, his knees buckled. He crumpled back into the mud.
Alarmed, Mala knelt and pressed her palm to his forehead. "Granny!" she shouted, "he's burning up!"
Later, when he cracked his eyes open again, the world was foggy. He saw Jaban uncle's broad figure bending over him, tilting a cup toward his lips. "Wake up, boy," Jaban grunted. "You haven't even started, and already you want to quit?"
Arnesh groaned. His chest ached, his arms felt like stones. In a muffled voice he managed, "I… don't know." Suddenly his breath started to come down.
Instead of scolding, Jaban chuckled, scratching his beard. "Hungry?"
The boy gave the smallest nod.
"Good. Then brush yourself, come here, and drink this."
Arnesh did as told, staggering into the hut. The smell of boiling vegetables reached him, and for a moment he thought hope had returned. But inside he found Mala tending a pot, her back rigid.
She glanced at him once, pointed her index finger towards his forehead and her lips twisted. "Bad brother. No food for you. Get out. I warned you yesterday, didn't I? You never listen. So today, no food!"
He smiled weakly, thinking it a jest, but when he sat down stubbornly on the mud floor, Mala snatched a charred stick from the hearth. "Didn't you hear me? Out! Or I'll thrash you myself." That was enough. With a yelp, he scrambled and dashed outside.
In the yard, Jaban was seated cross-legged, chewing leisurely on a flatbread. He eyed Arnesh with amusement. "She threw you out?"
Arnesh nodded, still catching his breath.
Granny stepped out just then, her hair tied back, her eyes sharp. "What mischief have you caused now? No matter. Go fill that pool."
Arnesh turned toward the pit. The rain had transformed it overnight into a muddy pond, water glistening knee-deep. He scratched his head, uncertain, and then noticed Granny holding the same burned stick Mala had brandished earlier. Taking the hint, he grabbed his spade and set to work.
The task was endless. The soil nearby was soft and slippery, swept away by the storm. Each load of earth he hauled slid apart in his hands. He trudged back and forth, scooping from different corners of the yard, mud clinging to his legs like chains.
Three hours later, the pool was half filled. His arms trembled from the effort. He sank onto the ground, panting. Just then Jaban walked over, hands on his hips. "Hey, boy! Open the pool again. That's your training ground. Why are you filling it up? Dig it out, all of it."
Arnesh blinked, sweat dripping into his eyes. His voice cracked. "Again?"
"Yes, again," Jaban barked.
Arnesh nodded faintly, but instead of moving, he remained seated, spade across his knees, chest heaving.
Moments later Granny appeared. Her eyes narrowed as she saw him idle. "Why are you sitting there like a lump? I told you to fill that pool, didn't I? Move!"
Arnesh looked around desperately. Jaban was nowhere in sight now, as if he had vanished into thin air.
Before he could respond, another voice drifted from the lane. "Granny! Did he really make that pool?"
It was Jaban again, returning with a swagger from now where.
"Yes," Granny replied evenly. "He dug it."
"Then why is he filling it back up?" Jaban asked, puzzled.
Arnesh pointed a muddy finger toward Granny. "Because she told me to!"
Jaban frowned. "Granny… did you really say that?"
She folded her arms, an inscrutable smile tugging her lips. "No. When I asked him earlier, he said it was for training."
Arnesh's jaw dropped. His heart thudded with outrage. "But—!" He stammered, words caught in his throat. For a moment he thought to argue, to shout, to throw the spade itself.
.....................
Was it Arnesh's eyes that betrayed him? Or, was it mischief from those around him? And what secret hides in the burned stick?
To know, read Nirbindra.
To be continued…