The third day,
Afternoon training had finally arrived, and his body already felt like it was stitched together with aching bones and raw will. For three days straight, Mala had drilled him relentlessly. From dawn to dusk, her voice was always in his ears, sometimes sharp, sometimes playful, but always leaving no room for rest. Even catching fish, four to seven become part of the daily rhythm.
Every time they returned home, Granny found a way to add her own tests. That afternoon, when the sky was still bright and the evening seemed far away, she beckoned him with a smile that hid something mischievous. "Do you see those leaves falling from the trees, child? The wind carries them where it wishes. Catch them before they touch the ground."
She handed him a bucket, and with a grunt he slung it over his back. The task sounded simple, but he learned quickly how deceptive it was. Some leaves drifted lazily, almost begging to be caught. Others twisted and whirled away at the last second, pulled by sudden gusts. He leapt, reached, and stumbled, sometimes managing to trap one against his palm, sometimes watching helplessly as it escaped.
Mala returned from her chores midway and, as if sensing his concentration, decided to interfere. She tossed small loads at him playfully, laughing as they slowed his movements. "Too easy for you otherwise," she teased. He grit his teeth and kept running, chasing falling leaves as the bucket on his back knocked against him. Some he caught with desperate lunges, others slipped past him no matter how fast he moved.
By evening, dark clouds gathered. Rain came at the same time for continuous two days, taking today it will be 3 days. Granny sometimes told him to stop and rest, but more often she said nothing, letting him struggle in the downpour. The rain mixed with sweat and washed streaks of blood down his arms, but it could not wash away the will. His legs trembled with exhaustion, yet his will remained same.
When the training ended and his body gave in, he would sit quietly on the wet yard. Granny would then cook the fish he had caught earlier. They all ate those very quickly.
On that night, when training was done and his body cried out for rest, he dragged himself to his mat, ready to collapse. But Granny's voice cut through the silence.
"Don't sleep yet. Come."
He lifted his head in confusion, but her tone was not one to argue with. In nodding, he followed her outside. The air still smelled of wet earth, and the moon peeked through thinning clouds. Granny studied him carefully, then asked, "I asked you tomorrow. Do you want to learn medicine?"
He blinked, surprised, then nodded slowly.
"Why is that?" she pressed.
He brought his finger to his chin and thought hard before answering. "If I learn medicine, I can heal my wounds. I can also show my mother that I know something useful. And… if she ever falls ill after coming here, I'll be able to cure her."
Mala, who had been lingering nearby, burst into laughter. Even Granny chuckled, shaking her head. He looked at them, bewildered, and asked, "Why are you both laughing?"
Granny leaned closer, her smile fading into something serious. "Because you speak of medicine as though it is only about herbs and wounds. Do you even know what it means to save people?"
He said "those people were bad. They called us lower class, mocked us, threw stone at us, even I saw those red monkey people are throwing someone in the river tomorrow. Mala sister also saw that. I don't want to save them, I will save myself, Mala sister, granny, Jaban uncle and my mother." Granny laughed at him and pressed. "It's ok for now but how?"
He thought hard, then blurted out, "Everyday, you made that turmeric paste for me, remember? And you mixed in neem leaves, and also… banyan tree leaves. That gave me strength and stopped the infection. It tasted bitter, but then—" he hesitated, grinning sheepishly, "—then I added some sweet mango pickle. That made it good."
Granny's hand came down on his head with a sudden thump. "You brat! How did you know where I put my pickles jar?"
Before he could answer, Mala burst out laughing. "We ate together one day when you took your pigs out grazing, Granny. That's when he found out."
Granny's nostrils flared, and before either of them could run, she snatched up the broom and gave both of them a sound whack on their backs. "You two nosy little sparrows! Snooping into my secrets!" They squealed and tried to dodge, but Granny was quick and precise, landing her swats with years of practice.
Finally, with her scolding done, she pushed a thick, worn-out notebook into their hands. "Read this together. Inside are the names of herbs and their uses. Learn from it. I stole it from a rich man's house. You puny brat—" she gave him another light bop on the head, "—and you too, cheeky girl."
When he pouted, Granny only smirked. "When you're about to sleep at night, Mala will teach you, she knows already all of them. I'll teach you how to apply it, Ahnnn...." Granny made a scratch on his head and said "writing and letters are boring. Mala will teach you."
Mala grinned proudly, puffing her chest out. "See? I'm the smart one here."
He rolled his eyes.
But Granny wasn't finished. She leaned closer, her tone suddenly serious. "As for what I will teach you… that's something no book will ever give. No one can teach it better than me. Come."
Her voice carried weight, heavier than her broom ever did. The two children followed her, curiosity chasing away their earlier playfulness. Granny led them into a small side room they rarely entered. The air there felt different.
Against the wall stood a doll, almost the same size as them. At first glance, it looked ordinary, but as they stepped closer, they saw the fine details. Tiny pins, so small they looked like resting mosquitoes, dotted its face and body. Each had a faint mark beside it.
He blinked in wonder. "What are those markings?"
Granny didn't smile. "Acupuncture points. The very map of the human body's flow. Learn them. Remember them. Used wrongly, they can kill. Used properly, they can heal. These points could decide life and death."
He gulped. Granny's gaze sharpened. "Is your body still hurting from the training?" "Yes… every time," he admitted softly.
Mala frowned. "Then why do you keep training like that?"
He turned to her with a small smile. "Not everything needs to be answered, Mala."
Her cheeks puffed with annoyance. "You little… Yesterday I said something like that, and today you're throwing it back at me? Getting sharp-tongued with me now, huh?"
Before the argument could rise further, Granny's hands clamped down on both their heads, pulling them close. "Focus!" Her voice cracked like a whip. "This is not a game. Time is short. Little boy, learn fast. Face first—every point, every name. Study until you remember them in your sleep."
She left them there with the doll, her shadow long in the doorway.
He bent closer to the doll's wooden face, eyes darting over the tiny pins. The marks were etched so faintly that at first they looked like scratches, but slowly they began to form patterns in his mind. His lips moved without sound, as though he were already making notes for himself. Mala crouched beside him, pointing every now and then.
"That one is under the cheek," she said, tapping lightly.
"No," he shook his head. "It's here—see? The angle is different." He traced the point with a finger, steady and sure.
Mala frowned, leaned in, and realized he was right. "Hmph… you got sharp eyes suddenly."
While they bickered softly, his gaze flicked to the corner of the room. Hanging on the wall were strange faces, bright with feathers, their eyes hollow and dark. "What are those?" he asked.
Mala turned her head. "Masks. Granny keeps them for the festival. Everyone wears them to dance. That way, nobody knows who's lower caste or higher caste. We all look the same."
He stared at them for a long moment, then without a word, got up and slipped outside.
A few minutes later, Granny entered the room and noticed the empty space. Her brows knit. "Where did that boy go?"
"Outside," Mala replied lazily.
Granny muttered something under her breath but didn't follow.
When he returned, he carried a bucket filled to the brim with wet mud. Granny's eyes narrowed. "Where did you run off to this time?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed one of the feathered masks and hurried into the yard. There, on the ground, he began shaping the mud with small, careful hands. Slowly, the outline of a human face appeared. He pressed the mask against it, carving the features neatly, giving form to eyes, cheeks, and mouth.
Mala gasped. "What are you doing?"
Granny crossed her arms but couldn't hide the glint of pride in her eyes. "Clever boy," she murmured. "You want to practice on something real."
Mala crouched beside the muddy face. "Alright then—see, the point is here."
He shook his head quickly. "No, look closely—it's here." His fingers pressed against the clay's cheek.
She leaned closer and, to her annoyance, realized he was correct again. "Tch… you're just lucky."
But luck didn't explain the speed. Point after point, he marked them carefully, his memory snapping each detail into place. By the time the mud face was filled with tiny dots, Granny had stepped closer, her lips pressed in thought.
"Practice on it," she said simply. Then she turned to Mala. "Come with me."
They stepped aside, leaving him to his work. His small fingers traced the marks silently, again and again.
Granny said in a low voice. "That boy's memory is sharp. You've been learning for weeks and still forget things. He's learned all these points in just a few hours."
Mala puffed her cheeks. "So what? You have to remember he's my brother."
Granny snorted and swatted her lightly on the back. "Big words for someone who still forgets the basics."
Before Mala could argue back, his voice came from the yard. "Granny, I'm sleepy."
Granny's stern face softened. "Mala, go eat with him. Teach him herbs while you can."
That night, the boy sat cross-legged with a bundle of herbs in front of him. Mala read aloud, tapping each leaf. "This one's for fever. This one's for swelling. This one stops bleeding."
He listened earnestly, but after only the 12th herb, his eyelids drooped, and he slumped sideways. Mala raised her foot, ready to nudge him awake, but Granny's voice cut her off.
"Let him sleep. A tired body needs rest more than books."
And so the night passed.
At dawn, he was awake again before the birds. His routine had already become a rhythm: running along the narrow paths, push-ups and sit-ups until his muscles screamed, then carrying heavy buckets of water back to the house. His bare feet splashed in the mud as he balanced across two bamboo poles, pouring the water carefully into the animal feeder. Sweat soaked him, but he kept moving, driven by something beyond orders.
After a short rest, he took up the wooden sword. The blade came down in steady arcs—one, two, three, four—over and over, until the air was filled with the sound of his breath and the thud of wood. By the time he reached ten thousand downward strikes, the sun had already climbed high overhead.
Granny called him in for food, but even after eating, he did not slow down. With a sharp knife, he marked the trunk of a tall tree, then began climbing. His small hands dug into the bark, his feet scrambled for holds, his body straining upward. Each time he reached higher than before, he carved another line into the trunk, a silent record of progress, each mark etched with sweat and stubborn will.
Mala watched from below, arms crossed, torn between pride and irritation. "Show-off," she muttered. But Granny only smiled faintly, her old eyes glinting.
.....................
The sun had climbed to its highest point, its heat pressing down over the village fields. Arnesh was still at it, his fists striking the air, kicks snapping one after another. Sweat and blood clung to his back, soaking his shirt, but he did not stop. The rhythm of his training was his world, until the sudden sound of footsteps and sobs broke through.
From the lane beyond, five boys stumbled into the yard, some younger, some older, their faces streaked with dirt and tears. They were crying openly, clutching their bruised arms. Mala, who had been resting near the shed, turned sharply and went to open that door.
"What now?" she demanded, striding over.
The boys rushed to her, voices tripping over each other."Mala sister, come—those bastards came back and kicked us out of the playground! Please help us!"
Arnesh kept punching. "Didn't I teach you how to fight? How did you lose?"
One of the older boys sniffled, "We beat them! But soldiers came from the side… with that pig boy. They beat us down. We're not as strong as him."
Her eyes narrowed. "Where is he?"
"He went with Jaban uncle to cut the paddy," another answered.
"And Granny?"
"She went with the pigs and cows. She'll come back soon… I have to clean the cowshed quickly," one muttered.
But the boys pressed in, crying harder. "Please, sister, come with us. If those bastards come again, what about our parents? We can't stop them. The village head is on their side! He even made false accusations on our parents. Those soldiers—those big ones—took them away. And they dragged Jaban uncle too, forced him to fight! They said he beat soldiers… now they've taken him as well. The red monkeys came and took them away!"
Mala froze. Her face hardened. "Wait. Jaban uncle is stronger than those low monkeys. How did he lose?"
The youngest boy, his lips trembling, whispered, "It wasn't them. That woman who was teaching them. She struck him down in a single move. He was already tired from the paddy field. He couldn't fight her."
The words struck like a stone. Mala cursed under her breath, then swung her bag onto her shoulder. "I'll call Granny."
But before she could move, a voice floated from the distance. Granny's voice "Don't waste time calling me. Go with them. If something happens, I'll be there in the end."
Mala's eyes flared. She snatched a bundle from the corner, slung it over her shoulder, and turned to Arnesh. "Keep training. I'm going to beat the shit out of them."
From somewhere behind, Granny shouted again, her tone sharper. "Take that thing on the table! Throw it when the time comes! Not yet—it's not time…"
And with that, Mala disappeared with the crying boys, her steps quick, her braid swinging like a whip behind her.
Granny came out a few moments later, searching the yard. She expected to see Arnesh still striking, but he was gone. She frowned. "Evasive now, is he…"
Then she caught sight of him by the river. He had filled two buckets with water and balanced them on his arms, standing knee-deep in the stream. His kicks and punches tore through the air, but the water sloshed violently. It spilled over, running down his arms, splashing his legs. His jaw tightened, teeth gritted—he was trying to keep his form steady, but the buckets wavered, then tipped. The water spilled out completely.
He stood there breathing heavily, ashamed at his failure.
Granny's voice cut through the rustle of water. "Balance, boy. Buckets will fall anyway if you fight against them. Let them go."
He turned his head slightly, eyes burning but listening.
She pointed to the stones by the shore, small flat rocks that fit perfectly into the palm. "Take those. Hold them firm. Balance with them." He nodded silently. Without a word, he bent down, picked up the stones. The stones were weighing his palms, he moved again. Punch. Kick. Strike. This time the river water rippled, but he did not falter.
.............
The boy lay on the ground, chest rising and falling in sharp breaths, his eyes locked on the vast evening sky. Clouds drifted lazily above, carried by winds that seemed freer than anything he could ever imagine. His arms still trembled from the weight of rocks and buckets, his body a patchwork of cuts, bruises, and swelling. Yet his gaze was fixed beyond the world, as if he could pierce through the drifting white and see the truth that haunted him.
Granny's shadow fell across him. She leaned on her stick, studying his battered frame. "Did you break your leg bone?" she asked flatly.
He let out a half-laugh, half-groan. "Not totally… but yes."
"Then come here." She tapped the ground beside her. "Sit. Leave those things now."
His jaw tightened. "Still a thousand to go."
"Nope." Her voice cut through his stubbornness. "Come here. No need. I already know you've done more than five thousand of each. That's more than enough. You're doing great, boy… but in haste, you are breaking your own body in haste. Don't do that. It's a human body, not iron. It needs rest. It needs food. It needs sleep. Don't go for fishing today."
The boy finally let the stones slip from his palms. He dragged himself over, sitting beside her, his small chest heaving. His arms and legs were riddled with scars, angry red swellings, and fresh cuts. He looked like a warrior child torn straight from battle.
Granny's eyes softened, though her voice remained firm. "I will ask you once again. Why are you rushing so much? What drives this madness? Even when no one asks you, you increase your training. Why?"
Silence stretched. The sky above deepened into hues of orange, the last light of the sun fading away.
At last he whispered, voice raw, "Because you're all lying."
Granny's brow furrowed. "Lying? What lie did I tell you, child?"
"You said my mother would come next week. You all said it. But she won't." His fists clenched over his knees. "She went away. To those stars."
The old woman's face stilled. "Did your memory come again?"
He shook his head, his small eyes glistening but refusing to cry. "No. Just pieces. Dreams. They come and go."
Granny touched his shoulder gently. "Tell me… what did she tell you in those dreams?"
The boy's lips trembled. He looked up at the sky, remembering. His voice carried the weight of someone far older than his years.
"I was sleeping on the bamboo poles that was going on river… and her voice came to me. She called out, 'Arnab, wake up. Wake up.' I shouted, 'Mom, where are we going?' She said, 'Not we… only you.' I asked her, 'Why?' She said, 'Because we are playing hide and seek.'"
His words faltered. The evening air grew still.
"I asked her again… 'Why can't I see your face?' And she said, 'My good child, see there… there are so many stars. I am going there. If I show you my face, you will find me quickly. I don't want that. So, you must remember it. Hold it in your heart. And find me again.'"
His voice cracked. "If I became stronger, I would climb there to find you."
.......................
His small fists clenched. "Then tell me, how do I get there? Can I fly? Can I jump that high?"
She tilted her head, smiling. "Didn't I say it before? You must find your own path."
His brows furrowed. "So… do I need to become stronger to go there?"
Her smile deepened, proud yet fragile. "I don't know, Arnab. Maybe it is strength. Maybe it is chance, or luck, or some kind of will beyond ours. But perhaps, if you keep carving your own path, you might one day stand among those stars."
He raised his chin stubbornly. "I don't need anyone's chance. I'll carve my own way. I'll become stronger than anyone else. But…"
She leaned closer. "But what?"
He lowered his voice, ashamed. "I don't know how to grow stronger."
She chuckled, a giggle like bells fading in wind. "Nature, little Arnab."
"Nature?" He blinked. "What is that?"
She gestured around. "Where you stand, where you sleep, what you eat—that is nature."
"Can it… teach me?"
Her eyes softened. "Nature is the greatest teacher. Did you see that deer by the river?"
He looked, and yes, there was a deer drinking quietly. In the shadows, a wolf crouched, waiting.
She whispered, "Tell me, will the wolf attack him? Or will the deer run?"
"The deer will run," Arnab answered quickly.
Her lips curled with knowing. "Perhaps. But what if the wolf catches him? Then the wolf learns survival, and the deer learns death. If the deer escapes, he learns swiftness, and the wolf learns hunger. Either way, there is always a lesson."
Arnab frowned, confused. "So… who really wins?"
She bent closer, her breath warm, fading like mist. "That is the point. No matter who wins, both the deer and the wolf are learning. But above them both, the true winner… is nature. Because everything they gain or lose comes from it. Nature is the hand that gives and the hand that takes away."
Arnab rubbed his eyes, suddenly heavy. "Mom… go hide quickly. I'm getting sleepy."
She brushed his hair gently. "Alright, my little boy. But listen well. Remember this before you sleep. Nature will break you first, then heal you. It will test you until you scream, and then it will cradle you like a mother until you can stand again. It will strip you down to nothing, and then it will show you what truly matters. If you wish to grow stronger, don't just fight against it—learn with it. Sleep under its sky, eat from its soil, bleed on its stones, drink from its rivers. Let the storms tear you apart and let the sunshine sew you back together.
You see, Arnab, nature doesn't care for pride, or wealth, or power. It doesn't choose favorites. It only teaches. It is the patient teacher who waits for you to ask, and the harsh master who corrects you when you forget. It will never give you what you want, but it will always give you what you need.
So when you fall, let the ground remind you of your weakness. When you rise, let the wind whisper that you are still alive. When beasts chase you, learn courage. When silence surrounds you, learn stillness. And one day, little Arnab, when you have endured enough of its lessons… you won't need to ask anyone how to reach me. Your path will already be there, carved beneath your own feet."
Her voice cracked, fading into the starlit air. "Promise me, don't just try to be stronger than others. Be stronger with the world itself. That is the way."
Arnab's eyes grew heavy, and though he wanted to hold her hand, the stars swallowed her before he could reach. He fell asleep with those words etched deep inside him, as if the night sky itself had written them on his heart.
But suddenly a sound wake him up. Arnab leaned forward on the bamboo pole, his small hands clenching. "Mom, that deer ran away. He escaped the tiger."
His mother's blurred face tilted, her voice both soft and firm. "Boy, you only saw the deer and the tiger. But you didn't see the whole picture. Look again."
Confused, Arnab turned back toward the river. At first, he only saw the empty bank where the deer had been. Then a sound split the stillness, the sharp, panicked cry of an animal in pain. He squinted, and his breath caught. In the shadows, not far from the water, a pack of wolves had dragged the same deer down. Its hooves struck the ground, but the circle closed, and its cries faded into silence.
Arnab gasped, his chest tightening. "No… no, I thought it escaped."
His mother's voice grew gentler, almost fading with the wind. "That is my last teaching for you, little Arnab. Don't be so occupied with one thing that you miss the whole scene. Life is larger than what you first see. Sometimes, the truth hides just beyond the corner of your eyes. See it bigger. Feel it bigger. The world is not only what is in front of you, but everything around it. Remember this… or else you'll always be fooled by half the story."
Her words broke inside him like thunder rolling away. He reached for her but she was already fading, dissolving into the brightness of the stars. He cried, his small shoulders shaking, staring at the sky where one dim star flickered, weak and trembling, as though it too was about to disappear.
He whispered hoarsely, "So… she went away."
A warm hand touched his back. Granny's voice broke the dream, pulling him back to the evening. "So, she went away…" she repeated softly. He pressed his eyes shut, but the tears still came, burning down his cheeks.
From outside, a sudden shout carried into the room. "Granny! Granny, I came back!"
It was Mala, her voice hurried, almost laughing. "Your thing worked! Those soldiers got fined, but that woman didn't! Uncles are coming. They told us to prepare tonic and medicine. Did his training end?"
Granny lifted her voice calmly. "Go wash yourself, girl. Blow the conch and come with me."
Not long after, Mala entered, her hair damp, her face glowing with mischief and sweat. She slipped inside quietly and sat behind Arnab, watching his hunched shoulders. Her voice softened. "My cute brother, what happened? Did mother's memory come again?"
He only nodded, unable to speak. His eyes still clung to the window, where the last light of the sky was dying.
Mala put a bowl in his hand. "Don't worry. You'll go there one day. Take this medicine first."
He looked down into the liquid. His reflection swam there, broken by ripples, a small boy's face covered in scratches, his body scarred and swollen from training. For a moment, he wondered who he really was.
His voice was low. "Why do you take care of me? An unknown boy?"
Mala tilted her head. "Because Granny found you. Isn't that enough?" She grinned. "But if you want to know more, beat me in a fight and I'll tell you a story."
His eyes lit faintly, a mixture of exhaustion and curiosity. "If I win… can I stay here forever? Live here full time?"
Mala smirked, rising to her feet as if to leave. "That depends…"
But before she could finish, she suddenly spun and lashed a kick at him. Instinct moved his tired arms — he blocked it, his hand striking her shin, the bowl in his other hand trembling but not spilling.
Mala laughed, loud and sharp. "Granny! he was trying to run away without paying price."
Arnab lowered his hand, trembling with the sudden rush of defiance. His eyes moved to Granny. "What are you going to do if I try to leave?"
The old woman, standing in the doorway, watched him quietly for a long while. Her eyes were neither angry nor soft, but steady, like the earth itself. Finally, she asked, "Are you going to stay, little boy… or will you leave?"
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