Their Gurukul teacher had changed in the two months that had gone by. After Mata Kritika, the students had been introduced to their Chatvari, fourth, Sadhu. A powerfully built man who carried a mace, he was teaching them the importance of physical strength and finessing their yogic exercises.

That morning, Aman was in his hut, preparing for the final lesson of Gurukul. He let smoke fill his lungs and barely flinched when a burning piece of green slipped out of his chillum and fell on his sculpted chest, creating a tiny crater in his skin.

‘One just cannot go on the Mahayatra without Atmayog!’ The Chatvari Sadhu’s words had been bothering him. The Mahayatra was to start in a day. And time was running out for him to learn it. Failing to do so would land him neer-less in the Dronagiri woods or worse, past the Varunasmati. With that in mind, he walked up to the matka in his spartan cottage and washed his face, bracing himself for his final attempt at the ancient art.

A short while later, below the cloudless sky and the upper canopies of the divine tree that blocked out the beaming sun, Aman sat beside Fayza with the other Souls. There was much relief in the inner shade of the Kalpavriksha, the only place where Atmayog could be learnt.

The Chatvari Sadhu sat near the podium. Not too far away were Idhika and Ujal, who were now inseparable but nothing more than friends. It was clear as day that Idhika, too, reciprocated Ujal’s feelings, but she refused to act on it and let him get any closer, physically or emotionally. Despite being the exception when it came to celibacy, she had chosen abstinence. The valley respected the Eka’s decision.

‘Any luck, Fayza?’ Idhika asked her, looking distressed. Idhika, Fayza, Ujal and Prithvi had spent the last month using their newfound skill of Atmayog to keep a watch on the men hiding in the caves of Sarp-poonch, with Aman relegated to the task of keeping guard. ‘The only way to prove that Sanaka is lying to the valley is to find the reserves of Madhu. The Preserver in the cave doesn’t seem to have any clue about its location, but he’s been trying to find it. And there’s something else. Something I saw when I went there as a fly. A letter that he’s written . . . but I’ll reveal its contents later, away from prying ears in Maidaan.’

‘How will finding Madhu help us?’ Ujal said, playing with the head of an arrow in his quiver.

‘We can bring it up when the Sabha and Samiti convene tomorrow to bid us goodbye for the journey,’ said Idhika. ‘If we can prove to all those who are there that there is sufficient Madhu, then we need not travel north. If we can’t prove it, all eleven of us might not return like many before. Like Mother two decades ago . . .’

‘. . . the teacher is calling Aman.’ Fayza stopped braiding her knee-length hair and pointed towards the Chatvari Sadhu. ‘Help him, guys! It’s his last attempt. Any final words of advice? Ujal?’