Anand slept under the laburnum tree that night.
The ground was uneven, roots pressing against his back, but exhaustion made it manageable. The children had insisted he stay. Hariya had offered a mat. Anand declined at first — then accepted when he saw it would offend otherwise.
The night was cool.
For the first time in many days, he slept without dreaming of war.
He woke before sunrise.
The settlement was quiet — smoke not yet rising from cooking fires, birds only beginning to test the air.
He stretched, rolled his shoulders, and decided to wash at the river before the day grew hot.
The path was familiar now.
Mist hovered low over the water. The river moved gently, gold catching along its edges as dawn broke.
He was about to kneel when he heard laughter.
Sharp, competitive.
He turned.
A group of boys stood farther downstream — cleaner clothes, sacred threads across their chests, hair oiled neatly. Village boys.
He had seen them before, but only from a distance.
One bent low, flicked his wrist—
The stone skimmed across the water.
One. Two. Three. Four.
"Five!" someone shouted.
Anand's eyes widened slightly.
Skipping stones.
He had seen it in movies. On screens.
He had never actually done it.
Curiosity overrode hesitation.
He walked toward them.
The boys stiffened slightly as he approached — not fearful, but wary.
"Good morning," Anand said lightly. "How do you do that?"
They glanced at one another.
"You don't know?" one asked.
Anand shook his head. "Never tried."
The boldest among them — tall, sharp-eyed — handed him a flat stone.
"You have to throw it sideways," he said. "Low. Like this."
He demonstrated again.
Four skips.
Anand crouched, examining the stone like it was advanced machinery.
Angle. Wrist. Force.
He tried.
The stone plunged directly into the water.
The boys laughed.
Not cruelly.
Just honestly.
He tried again.
This time—
One skip.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
The boys went silent.
Anand blinked.
He tried again.
Seven.
A slow grin spread across his face.
"Huh," he muttered. "I guess I'm naturally gifted."
The boys stared at him.
Then one snorted.
Then another.
Soon they were competing again, Anand fully included now. Sleeves rolled, shoes discarded, water splashing around their ankles.
For a while, there were no lines.
Just stones and laughter.
When the sun rose higher, Anand wiped his hands on his trousers.
"There's a tree not far from here," he said. "Big yellow flowers. We play games there. You should come."
The boys' energy shifted.
Subtle.
But immediate.
The tall one spoke.
"We cannot."
Anand tilted his head. "Why not?"
The boy hesitated, as if surprised the reason was not obvious.
"That is where they live."
"Who?"
"The untouchables."
The word landed strangely.
Anand blinked.
Devavrata.
That was the boy's name — he remembered hearing someone call it.
Devavrata continued, matter-of-fact.
"It is not good for us to go there. We would be tainted."
The others nodded.
Not aggressively.
Just repeating something long taught.
Anand felt something tighten in his chest.
"Tainted?" he repeated quietly.
"Yes. Our families would be displeased."
The river continued flowing beside them.
Birds called overhead.
The normalcy of the world made the statement feel heavier.
Anand looked at Devavrata carefully.
"Did the river refuse them water this morning?"
The boy frowned slightly. "What?"
"The air," Anand continued gently. "Did it avoid entering their lungs?"
Silence.
Devavrata did not answer.
Anand crouched, picking up another stone, turning it between his fingers.
"When a child is born," he said, voice calm, "does the wind pause and ask which family they belong to before giving them breath?"
The boys shifted uncomfortably.
"The same prāṇa moves through us all," Anand said softly. "The same air fills your chest and theirs. If breath itself makes no distinction… why do we?"
Devavrata's jaw tightened slightly.
"That is how it has always been."
Anand nodded slowly.
"Yes. Many things have always been."
He skipped the stone again.
Eight times.
The water rippled outward, touching every part of the surface equally before settling.
He looked back at them.
"I sat with them yesterday," he said simply. "I am still breathing."
The boys said nothing.
Not convinced.
But not dismissing him either.
This was not rebellion.
It was confusion.
A crack.
Devavrata finally spoke.
"If my father hears that I went there, he will punish me."
Ah.
There it was.
Not hatred.
Fear.
Anand stood fully.
"I won't ask you to disobey your parents," he said quietly.
The boys relaxed slightly.
"But remember this," he added. "Air does not choose. Water does not choose. The sun does not choose."
He glanced at the river.
"We are the only ones who do."
The morning breeze moved between them.
No one had an answer.
Anand dusted off his hands.
"If you ever decide to come," he said lightly, "I'll teach you a game where leaf defeats stone."
That earned a confused look.
Good.
He walked back along the river path.
Behind him, Devavrata picked up a stone.
He threw it harder than necessary.
It skipped only once.
For the first time since arriving in this era, Anand felt unsettled.
Not by war.
Not by death.
But by something quieter.
Something woven into daily breath.
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