She rose until she left the forest behind and flew past the lake towards the huts. The sun had begun to dip, but Idhika the bulbul did not tire, circling the sky endlessly.

Orange turned to brown as the last light in the sky died behind the mountain, Sarp-poonch. And as soon as Suryast began, it was as if the valley below ceased to exist. Not one hut or tree was visible—the land hid behind a curtain, safe from the eyes of outsiders.

Just like that, it disappears, Idhika thought, flying over her home for the first time. The huts had concealed themselves in shadows and the trees within the dark slopes of the mountains. But Idhika could hear the strains of the collective vibrations rising from the huts below—the same vibrations from the meditation that enabled Suryast. They hit her in waves, one at a time.

Finally, silence took over, apart from the calls of blue whistling thrushes and the comforting hush of the wind.

Then, as Suryast ended, the dusk retreated—the trees straightened their backs and the mountain wind gave way to flickering oil lamps, reigniting life in the valley. The din picked up, and residents emerged from their huts. Moths gathered around lanterns for warmth and light. Pandayam Tal, however, remained dark, save for the one lamp in the boat-hut at its far-east corner.

In a momentary lapse of concentration, Idhika’s vision went pitch black. The coloured spectrum and broad vision of the bulbul were no more. The bird fell from the sky as if without life, zigzagging at the will of the wind.

Idhika was pushed back into her physical body. She gingerly opened her own two eyes. Her legs collapsed when she tried to stand up. It took her a few stretches to shake off the stiffness in her feet. She watched the bulbul fly away into the distance. Thank Indra, he’s alive.

She rowed back across Pandayam Tal and then walked the Chakkar that lined the lake’s banks and ringed the entire valley, connecting its different sections. Her insides pumped with confidence—everything around her seemed brighter than usual. Although this was only her third successful attempt at Atmayog and she had much to learn, she knew she was finally ready for Gurukul.

Her eyes never left the reflection of the stars.

4

Aditya

Aman drifted in and out of sleep throughout that day. The first time he woke up, for just a few seconds, he realized he was still on the bus. It was dark outside, with only pinpricks of village lights as they zoomed past. Has it been an entire day?

The second time he woke up was for a full minute, the longest minute of his life. Between his pounding head and blurry vision, he recalled his mother waving goodbye at the bus stand. He turned around to inspect the bus. Maybe she’s sitting in a different seat. That was when he saw that all the other passengers had left—it was just him and the driver.