The bus honked. It was time to leave. But Upasna did not move—not an inch. It was as if she wanted to stop time.

Aman’s vision stayed blurry, his eyes shut and his world went black. And when the bus started rolling out of Kashmere Gate bus station with a jerk, Upasna waved goodbye to her sleeping son, whom she hadn’t let out of her sight for eighteen years.

They would never meet again.

3

Idhika

Not too far from New Delhi, near the northern tip of Uttarakhand, in the lap of the Dronagiri woods, lay the valley of Vanyasa. It was divided into three parts: jungle, lake and land. The ancient jungle, known as Aranyala, sprawled across the western part of it and ended at the shores of Pandayam Tal, the lake.

Idhika sat on the thwart of the boat, imagining her father seated across from her. It had been many years since she’d talked to him. Rishi Ajan had been revered for his extensive research on Vanyasa’s scriptures. That was until he stole the one thing considered most valuable in the valley.

Idhika pulled the paddle out of the water as the boat floated towards the shore. She recalled what he had told her about the lake, sitting in this very boat.

‘Pandayam Tal, you see, is unique, bacche,’ her father had said. ‘Its bottom harbours springs.’

‘How deep is it?’

‘That’s a secret.’

‘A “secret”? One too many, Father.’ Idhika still didn’t know why she was called the ‘Child of the Valley’, the only soul born within the Seven Hills that guarded Vanyasa. Her father had never explained. ‘Pray, tell me!’

‘Many nights before I reveal that, bacche. For now, enquire about the lake.’

‘Fine . . . Do demons dwell in its depths?’

‘Monsters? None.’ Rishi Ajan laughed.

‘And if I drank the water?’ she asked.

‘From Pandayam Tal? Why drink the lake water when you have neer, water from the springs?’ he said and handed her the kamandalu, waterpot. ‘These springs from where we get our water are magic—full of minerals gathered after a journey over slopes, under rocks and free-falls, touching nothing but wind, sun and earth. Remember, bacche, the valley owes its health to this neer.’

It had been over thirteen years since that chat with her father. She both missed him and despised him. Banished from the valley, he’d written to her many times, but she’d chosen not to respond, and couldn’t even think of visiting him.

The boat came to a halt in front of trees with high tops. She stepped out, flung the rope that fell from the sculling notch over her shoulder and moored the boat to the edge of the lake where the forest, Aranyala, started.

Gurukul is only a few nights away, she reminded herself, determined to succeed today. Idhika wanted to be ready before the other Souls of Samsara arrived from the plains.

The sun was setting and, with it, her mood. Sunset in Vanyasa meant Suryast, the holy hour. It used to be Idhika’s favourite part of the day, when her father taught her meditation. But now, the memory was too painful.