Ganesh woke to the sound of bells.
Soft, hollow chimes, carried on the morning wind.
For a moment, he thought he was back at the hermitage. The memory of dawn prayers rose in him so clearly that he almost smiled.
Then he opened his eyes.
He lay beneath a rough canopy of cloth stretched between wooden poles. The ground beneath him was covered in woven mats, not forest leaves. A faint smell of herbs and smoke filled the air.
Voices murmured nearby.
He tried to sit up and immediately winced as pain flared through his ribs.
"Stay still," a calm voice said. "Your body has not finished speaking yet."
Ganesh turned his head and saw an elderly ascetic kneeling beside him. The man's hair was white and tangled, his skin weathered by sun and wind. His eyes, however, were sharp and kind.
"Where… am I?" Ganesh asked.
"With wanderers," the ascetic replied. "You were found last night beneath a tree, shivering like a fallen leaf."
Ganesh swallowed. "You brought me here?"
"Yes," the ascetic said. "The forest does not always take kindly to those who try to face it alone."
Ganesh closed his eyes briefly. "Thank you."
The group were wandering ascetics—sadhus who moved from place to place, living on alms and the gifts of the land. Their camp was simple: a few cloth shelters, a small fire, and bundles of herbs hung to dry.
They fed Ganesh thin porridge and gave him a bitter brew that eased his pain and fever. Over the next two days, he lay among them, resting as his strength slowly returned.
Unlike the traders, these ascetics did not ask many questions.
They simply tended him.
One of them, a middle-aged man with a deep scar across his cheek, sat beside him often.
"You carry wounds that are not only of the body," the ascetic said one afternoon.
Ganesh smiled faintly. "Is it that obvious?"
The man nodded. "Those who wander long enough learn to see them."
Ganesh stared at the fire. "I thought leaving meant becoming stronger. But all I've learned so far is how easily I can fall."
The ascetic chuckled softly. "That is already strength. Many never learn it at all."
On the third day, Ganesh was able to stand and walk short distances around the camp. Each step still hurt, but the fire in his chest had eased.
That evening, as they sat around the fire, one of the younger ascetics spoke of the roads ahead.
"Beyond the northern hills," he said, "the land rises into high mountains. Few go there now. The cold is fierce, and the paths are cruel."
Another nodded. "But they say a great yogi dwells somewhere among those peaks."
Ganesh's head lifted at once. "A yogi?"
"Yes," the elder who had first spoken to him said. "Some call him the Silent One. Others, the Ash-Walker. Travelers claim he lives in caves of ice, unmoved by storm or hunger."
Ganesh felt a strange stirring in his chest.
"Have any of you seen him?" he asked.
The scarred ascetic shook his head. "No. But those who claim to have met him say he looks like an ordinary ascetic… until you meet his eyes. Then it feels as if the mountain itself is watching you."
The words sent a shiver through Ganesh.
He did not know why.
Only that they felt… familiar.
That night, Ganesh dreamed again.
He stood before a towering wall of ice and stone. Wind howled around him, yet he felt no cold.
From within the mountain, a steady presence called to him.
Not with words.
With silence.
He woke before dawn, heart pounding.
Outside, the camp was still asleep. Only the embers of the fire glowed faintly.
Ganesh sat up, hugging his knees.
The mountains, he thought. Why do they keep calling me?
In the morning, he told the elder about the dream.
The ascetic listened quietly, then said, "Dreams are doors, boy. Some lead inward. Some lead beyond."
"Do you think it means anything?" Ganesh asked.
The elder smiled. "If it stays with you, it does."
Ganesh looked north, where distant hills rose like dark shadows against the sky.
"I think I need to go there," he said.
Several ascetics exchanged glances.
"The peaks are not kind," the scarred man warned. "Many who seek the yogi never return."
Ganesh nodded. "I know. But I feel as though… if I don't go, I will never stop wondering."
The elder studied him for a long moment.
"At least wait until your strength returns," he said. "The mountains will still be there."
Ganesh agreed.
Over the next days, he helped the ascetics however he could—gathering firewood, fetching water, grinding herbs. The simple work steadied him, and slowly his body grew stronger.
Yet his mind was always on the mountains.
Each night, the dreams returned.
Sometimes he saw snow swirling around a lone figure seated in meditation. Sometimes he heard only the chant:
Om Namah Shivaya.
He woke each time with the words on his lips, though he did not remember when he had learned them.
The ascetics noticed.
"You chant a powerful name," one said quietly. "It is not common among wanderers."
Ganesh frowned. "I don't know why it comes to me. It just… does."
The elder nodded slowly. "Some names are carried by the soul, not the tongue."
One afternoon, as Ganesh sat alone watching clouds drift across the sky, the scarred ascetic joined him.
"You plan to leave us soon," the man said.
Ganesh nodded. "Yes. Toward the north."
The ascetic sighed. "I thought so. There is restlessness in you that no camp can hold."
Ganesh smiled faintly. "You're not wrong."
The man looked at him seriously. "Why do you walk, boy? Truly."
Ganesh thought for a long time before answering.
"I don't know who I am anymore," he said at last. "And I think… somewhere ahead, I might find out."
The ascetic placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then walk. But remember—what you find may not be what you expect."
On the morning he left, the ascetics gathered around him.
They gave him a small bundle of dried herbs, some food, and a thicker cloth to protect against cold.
The elder touched his forehead gently. "May your steps be guided, even when you cannot see the guide."
Ganesh bowed deeply. "You saved my life. I won't forget that."
The scarred ascetic smiled. "Just live it well."
With that, Ganesh turned north.
The land rose steadily as he walked. The air grew cooler. The wind sharper.
By evening, distant peaks loomed before him, their tops hidden in cloud and snow.
Ganesh stopped and stared.
Fear fluttered in his chest.
But beneath it was something stronger.
Recognition.
"I'm coming," he whispered, though he did not know to whom.
Far beyond mortal sight, Shiva watched the boy turning his steps toward the mountains of ice.
"He has heard the whisper," the Lord murmured.
"Now let the climb test whether he can hear the silence."
Ganesh tightened his grip on his staff and began the long ascent toward the peaks.
The road behind him faded into memory.
Ahead lay cold, silence…
…and the beginning of his awakening.