The morning light gently filtered through the wooden slats of the window, casting soft golden rays across the modest room. Aarav stirred in bed, his eyes fluttering open as the quiet hum of the world outside crept into his ears. Slowly, with effort evident in his movements, he rose from his resting place. A subtle wince crossed his face as discomfort rippled through his side, hand, and leg—remnants of the battle he had endured.
He sat on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to gather himself. Nearby, on a simple wooden table, stood a copper jug brimming with water. With practiced ease, Aarav reached for a glass, dipped it into the jug, and took a sip. The cool liquid brought a fleeting sense of refreshment.
After placing the glass back gently, he stood up and made his way to the small, unremarkable bathroom. Though it lacked luxury, it served its purpose. Emerging a few minutes later, Aarav walked toward the window. He gazed at the village outside, where early risers were already beginning their day, birds soared across the sky, and the gentle murmur of life resumed.
"Maybe I can figure out what time it is from this view," he murmured to himself.
He observed the sky thoughtfully, the sun hanging low, suggesting it was somewhere around six or seven in the morning.
Just then, a familiar voice called out behind him.
"Ah, you're awake," said Raghu Singh, entering with a calm smile.
Aarav turned around, acknowledging him with a soft, "Yes."
"Good. Here, take this," Raghu said, handing him a cloth pouch.
Aarav accepted it, his curiosity piqued. "What's inside?"
"It's from a traditional healer in Karimnagar," Raghu explained. "He said that since the wounds are still fresh and haven't fully healed, you should soak this in water and apply it where it hurts the most."
Aarav nodded with gratitude and, after Raghu left the room, he opened the pouch. Inside, he discovered a natural sponge. "So, this is what it is," he mused, examining it with mild surprise.
Roughly half an hour later, Aarav stepped into the living area, his movements still tentative but determined. There, Kavya was diligently cleaning the floor.
"Beta, why don't you sit outside for a while? Let me finish this," she said kindly, without pausing in her work.
Respecting her request, Aarav stepped out onto the porch. He sat down and gazed at the serene landscape—the breeze brushing the leaves, people moving about their daily chores, and birds soaring with grace.
Time passed, and soon Kavya joined him outside, wiping her hands on the edge of her dupatta.
"I think I've stayed here long enough," Aarav said, his voice thoughtful. "Maybe it's time I left."
Kavya looked at him with surprise. "Why would you say that?"
"I feel like I'm imposing," Aarav confessed. "As though my presence here is an inconvenience."
Before she could reply, the wooden gate creaked open and Raghu returned, carrying a basket of fresh vegetables from the garden out front. The neatly fenced space was vibrant with green patches and blooming herbs.
"What's this discussion so early in the morning?" Raghu asked, stepping inside.
Kavya looked at Aarav, then back at Raghu. "He thinks he's a burden to us and wants to leave."
Raghu placed the basket down and approached Aarav with a gentle sternness. "Beta, you are like our own son. Not once have we thought of you as a burden."
Aarav hesitated, a mix of emotions evident on his face. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Raghu continued.
"Look, I know your village is still rebuilding, and yes, we've offered our help. But your body is still recovering, and more importantly, your memory hasn't returned. You wouldn't even be able to protect yourself if something happened."
Raghu's voice softened. "The healer didn't just give you herbs. He also left instructions for further treatment. Your journey doesn't have to resume today. You need time—time to heal, to understand what happened, and to remember who you truly are."
Aarav listened carefully, his guilt beginning to waver in the face of Raghu's sincerity.
"And honestly," Raghu added with a reassuring smile, "when you're strong enough—when you feel ready—we won't stop you. But for now, allow us to be your family, even if just for a little while."
A quiet pause followed, filled with the rustling of leaves and the distant sound of a bicycle bell. Aarav finally nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. "Thank you... for everything."
Kavya reached out and gently touched his arm. "You're not alone anymore, beta."
The morning sun rose higher, casting a warm glow on the trio. Though questions about Aarav's past still lingered in the air, for now, he had found a place where he was welcomed—not as a stranger, but as someone who mattered.
---
Over the next few hours, the day unfolded with a comforting rhythm. Kavya prepared breakfast—simple but nourishing. The aroma of fresh parathas and spiced lentils wafted through the home.
Aarav helped set the table, moving slower than usual, but with purpose. Kavya noticed his efforts and smiled to herself. As they all sat down, Raghu passed him a bowl.
"Eat well. Your body needs strength."
The meal was eaten in companionable silence, the kind that only exists when people begin to understand each other beyond words.
Later, Aarav stepped out again, this time walking cautiously around the garden. The flowers were blooming—a sign of life, of continuity. He paused near a young neem tree, fingers brushing against its leaves.
Behind him, Raghu walked over, hands behind his back. "You know, this tree was planted when our son turned ten."
"You have a son?" Aarav asked.
Raghu nodded slowly, a distant look in his eyes. "He's been away for a long time. Studying. But he hasn't visited in years."
"You miss him," Aarav said softly.
"Every day," Raghu replied, then turned to Aarav with a gentle smile. "Perhaps life brought you here for a reason."
Aarav lowered his gaze, the mystery of his own story still shrouding his thoughts. But deep within, a seed of warmth had been sown.
He wasn't just recovering his health. He was rediscovering something far more important—connection, purpose, and the beginnings of belonging.
As the day wore on, conversations flowed more freely. Aarav began to share fragmented memories—flashes of faces, brief moments, and emotions he couldn't place. Kavya listened patiently, offering tea and gentle reassurance.
"Sometimes memories return when the heart is ready, not just the mind," she said.
The desert stretched far and wide, its golden sands shimmering under the scorching afternoon sun. Wind swept across the barren land, shifting dunes like waves in an ocean of heat. From the distance, two shadows emerged—one tall and sturdy, the other small and restless.
A camel trudged forward with slow, deliberate steps, its shadow swaying with the rhythm of its gait. Beside it walked a boy, no older than fifteen, his eyes flickering with urgency as they scanned the vastness ahead.
"Move faster, Jagira!" the boy snapped, his voice sharp with frustration. "If we don't get there before sunset, the crowd will pick every last wildflower. We can't afford to be late!"
Jagira, the camel, responded with a dismissive grunt, refusing to change his pace. The boy, used to such indifference, kept walking.
"You do know we have to pay the site fee before sundown, right?" he added, more to himself than the camel. "If we don't, the villagers will grab everything. I'm not getting caught out like last time."
Still, the camel didn't budge. His stubbornness only fueled the boy's irritation.
"Oh, I see how it is," the boy muttered. "You probably love strutting around like some royal pet. You've become nothing more than a pampered servant! We both know I'm the one doing all the work."
Jagira's step faltered ever so slightly, but he made no reply. The boy rolled his eyes.
"Fine. I'll stop talking. But if you don't pick up the pace, we're both in trouble."
The boy's name was Dev Mehta, the third child in a once-wealthy family now drowning in debt. At fifteen, Dev carried responsibilities far beyond his age. His sharp wit and street smarts gave him the edge to navigate life's rough paths, and his easy smile could soften even the sternest villagers.
With loose, curly hair brushing his shoulders and piercing blue eyes, Dev had an effortless charm that didn't go unnoticed. Neighborhood women often teased him, calling him "cute" or joking about fighting over him when he grew older.
"Will you be my husband?" girls from sixteen to thirty would ask with playful laughter.
The Mehta family had once received marriage proposals by the dozen, some even from affluent families. But charm couldn't pay bills. Ever since Dev's father had been injured in a mining accident, the boy had become the backbone of the family. Their debts to the local moneylender, Seth, loomed large, with interest piling up like sand dunes after a storm.
As Dev and Jagira pressed on through the desert, a rock caught Dev's foot, sending him stumbling forward.
"Ah, great. Just what I needed," Dev groaned, brushing off the dust. "Is there a stone convention out here or what?"
He shot the camel a glare. "A little warning next time?"
Jagira, unfazed, simply blinked and resumed walking. Dev sighed and trudged on.
Eventually, they reached the edge of the village market, where a chaotic crowd had gathered. Shouts filled the air as traders haggled, villagers bargained, and people scrambled to collect the prized desert wildflowers.
Dev surveyed the scene and frowned. "Well, that's a lot of people. We're late."
Jagira snorted softly, seemingly in agreement. The line to the flower site was long, and the best blooms were already being taken.
Scanning the crowd, Dev spotted a familiar figure laughing heartily. "Bapuji!" he called out, waving.
The village elder turned, eyes twinkling. "Ah, Dev! Finally arrived, have you? It's not a festival, my boy. The Rajya Sena blocked the roads—investigating something odd that happened nearby. Everyone's here trying to grab what they can before the soldiers shut it down."
Dev raised an eyebrow. "Odd how?"
Bapuji leaned in, lowering his voice. "Rumors. Some say something... supernatural. Though I doubt it. Folk tales, you know how people are."
Dev squinted, scanning the horizon. "So... ghost stories, basically?"
Bapuji chuckled. "Or just dramatic gossip. Either way, it's chaos."
Just then, a young man approached—thin, sunburned, and dressed in worn-out clothes. Dev immediately recognized Tataiya, a laborer who earned just enough to survive.
"Tataiya! What's the commotion?" Dev asked.
The man scratched his head. "Oh, not much. I told the soldiers where the wildflowers bloom. They gave me a few coins for the info."
Dev's jaw dropped. "Wait—are you bribing soldiers now?"
Tataiya grinned. "Not bribing, Dev. Just...informing. They were grateful."
"How much did they give you?"
Tataiya proudly opened a small pouch. "Twenty futti kaudi , three damri… and the best part—"
"Wait, wait," Dev interrupted. "What's futti kaudi? And damri?"
Author's Note:
In the local coin system used in this story:
- 1 Futti Kaudi = 1 coin
- 1 Damri = 5 Futti Kaudi
- 1 Dhela= 5 Damri
So when Tataiya says he earned a mix of these coins, he actually made a decent amount by local standards!
Dev rubbed his temples. "I need a nap. First wildflowers, now medieval coins. What next, flying camels?"
Tataiya just laughed, jingling his pouch of ancient riches. The desert sun continued to blaze, the market buzzed louder, and Dev Mehta—armed with wit, a stubborn camel, and an unexpected lesson in currency—prepared for yet another chaotic day.
Why is Dev so determined to reach the wildflower site before sunset, and what does this urgency reveal about his responsibilities and personal values?
Could the 'unusual incident' in the desert be more than just rumor? How might it tie into the unfolding mystery and Dev's journey ahead?
Next chapter hint:
On the other side, several soldiers were stationed, preventing anyone from entering the area. The scene was unsettling—there, buried deep in the earth, lay a strange and horrifying discovery. A patch of land, four feet deep and ten meters wide, had been dug up, revealing dark streaks of blood scattered across the soil.
The forensic team had already set up, meticulously documenting every inch of the site. The air was tense with the weight of the unknown. Naik Vijay Singh, a seasoned officer, stood with unwavering authority, alongside Dand Nayak, his trusted subordinate. Both men were vigilant, their sharp eyes scanning the scene for anything that might reveal the truth behind the gruesome event.
"Collect everything. Take it to the lab for analysis," Naik Vijay commanded, his voice stern and precise. His team moved quickly, working in sync as they carefully gathered the evidence.
The previous night's report still lingered in his mind. Someone had tipped them off about the site, but who? And why had they been so specific in their details?
As the forensic team continued their work, one thought weighed heavily on Naik Vijay's mind: What was buried here, and who—or what—was responsible for this violence?