The afternoon sun hung low over the Bharadwaj Academy's herb garden.
Ansh knelt in the soil, the wooden weeding tool in his hand feeling heavier than it should.
Why am I even doing this alone? he thought. It's just grass… I could be training, or napping… or eating.
His jaw tightened. It's all because of that stupid monkey. If I find it again, I'll tie it to a tree. No—tie its tail to the tree.
He jabbed at a stubborn patch of weeds, grumbling under his breath.
Gripping a green stalk, he yanked hard. There was a sharp crack.
His stomach dropped.
It wasn't grass. It was a young herb tree — one of the rarest in the academy.
Panic surged through him. "Oh no… no, no, no!"
He shoved the sapling back into the soil, pressing the dirt down frantically. In his haste, his elbow struck another plant, snapping its delicate stem.
"This isn't happening… it's fine… it's fine…" he muttered, trying to hold the broken stem upright with trembling fingers.
A shadow fell over him.
"You call this taking care of the academy's prized herbs?"
Ansh froze. Standing above him was Vice Principal Rajyugas — tall, broad-shouldered, and with eyes sharp enough to pierce stone. But those eyes… they weren't just angry. They glistened, as if holding back something deeper.
"You can't even do one simple task correctly," Rajyugas said, his voice low but heavy.
Ansh bowed his head.
"Tell me, Ansh — do you even deserve to be in this academy?"
"I… I'm sorry, sir," Ansh whispered.
"You are the lowest-graded disciple in your year," Rajyugas continued. "You can neither identify herbs nor win a duel. And now, instead of helping your friends in this assignment, you've become a burden to them."
Shame burned in Ansh's chest.
"If you can't become the kind of person whose presence helps others, then you should leave this academy."
The words hit like stones. Ansh didn't fully understand, but the weight of them pressed hard.
"I said I'm sorry!" His voice cracked, eyes stinging.
Then, in a sudden burst of frustration, he grabbed a fistful of sand and flung it toward Rajyugas.
"Leave me alone!" he shouted, before bolting from the garden and vanishing down the path.
---
Rajyugas stood there, brushing sand from his face, when a calm voice came from behind him.
"You were too harsh, Rajyugas."
He turned. Behind him stood Principal Veerendra, hands clasped behind his back. His tone was gentle, but his eyes carried quiet reproach.
"I know why you're being strict," Veerendra said softly, "but he is only seven years old."
Rajyugas' gaze was steady. "He doesn't have the luxury of being a child. He should be ready for what is coming."
"I understand your intent," Veerendra replied, "but Master would not want him to be sad."
"Master would not want him to be in danger, unable to protect himself," Rajyugas countered.
Veerendra's voice cooled. "He will grow in time. And to protect him, we are enough. I hope this kind of incident will not happen again… otherwise, next time, I won't stop myself from intervening."
Rajyugas' fists clenched. "Do what you must. I will still do what it takes to prepare him for the challenges ahead."
Veerendra gave the faintest nod before vanishing into thin air. Rajyugas remained, staring at the broken herb tree. I'll make sure you're ready, boy, he thought. Even if you hate me for it.
---
Later that evening, Ansh sat on the academy's mountain ledge, knees pulled to his chest, staring at the fading orange sky. In the valley below, the village bustled — mothers calling their children home.
A gentle voice startled him. "Thinking about something, Ansh?"
He turned to see Principal Veerendra approaching.
"Nothing," Ansh muttered. "Just… watching the sunset."
Veerendra lowered himself onto the stone ledge beside Ansh, the mountain breeze ruffling his robes.
"Ansh," he said quietly, "do you know… there was once a man who decided to become a yogi. He began living simply, spending his days in bhajan and kirtan, following the words of Shri Krishna."
He glanced at the horizon as he spoke. "One day, a regular villager asked him, 'Yogiji, you look so happy. But you still live in the same village, eat the same food, drink the same water… So why are you suddenly so joyful, when I am not?'"
Veerendra smiled faintly. "The yogi replied, 'I do all the same things as before. Nothing around me has changed. But I… I have changed.'"
Ansh frowned slightly, his small brows knitting together. "I… don't understand."
Veerendra looked at him, his voice patient. "It means, Ansh, sometimes the world doesn't need to change for your life to feel different. Sometimes, you are the one who must change… here." He tapped a finger gently against Ansh's chest.
Ansh stared at the ground, turning the words over in his mind, still not sure whether they made sense — but somehow, they stayed with him.
Veerendra smiled faintly. "My mother was asking about you."
Ansh blinked. "Aunty Meera?" His eyes brightened.
"Yes," Veerendra said. "She wants you to visit her."
Ansh's expression softened. "Alright… I'll go."
"But," Veerendra added lightly, "I told her you'll be busy for the next week. You'll be attending a special lecture about herb trees."
Ansh's eyes went wide. "No—listen to me! It wasn't my fault! The tr
ee was already weak, I swear!"
Veerendra's smile only deepened. "You'd better be present tomorrow."