The auto-rickshaw glided to a gentle halt outside their Panvel apartment, just as the last rays of sunset spilled across the sky in vivid streaks of orange and purple. Rudra stepped out, shifting the weight of his battered backpack, and brushed off the fine dust that still lingered on his shoes from days spent trekking winding trails and losing himself in thought. His eyes held a quiet gravity, a contemplative hush that suggested stories yet to be told.
He stood for a moment at the threshold, breathing in the scent of earth and rain still lingering from the monsoon. The building, with its peeling paint and the familiar creak of the iron gate, felt both like a sanctuary and a relic of childhood. The air was thick with the promise of homecoming, yet edged with the unknown—an uneasy sense that he was returning changed, and that change would ripple through the world he'd left behind.
Before he could lift his hand to knock, the door flew open. His mother stood framed in the doorway, arms wrapped tightly around herself, worry etched deep into her forehead. Her eyes shimmered with relief, yet her voice trembled with reproach as she said, "You didn't call."
For a heartbeat, they said nothing, the space between them dense with all the words left unsaid. Only the distant hum of traffic and the click of a ceiling fan somewhere inside dared to interrupt.
"I messaged," Rudra replied softly, struggling to meet her gaze as a pang of guilt twisted in his chest.
He shifted his backpack again, searching for a way to ease her worry, wishing his absence could be explained away with a simple word.
"Once. In three days," she countered, her concern deepening into something raw and fearful. Rudra saw the flicker of anxiety in her eyes, as if his absence had stretched into a chasm—pulling at the threads of their bond, threatening to unravel something fragile between them.
He opened his mouth to apologize, but the words tangled up in his throat.
Before Rudra could respond, she stepped forward and gathered him into a fierce embrace, her warmth a stark contrast to the coolness settling in the night air. "I was really worried," she whispered into his shoulder, her breath shaky, a tremor betraying the depth of her fear.
For a moment, Rudra let himself be held, surrendering to the safety of her arms. The world beyond the doorway faded, replaced by the pulse of her heartbeat and the soft, familiar scent of sandalwood.
Rudra managed a small smile on her shoulder, letting the heaviness of her love wrap around him like a cocoon. "I'm grown up now," he murmured, his voice gentle. Yet inside, uncertainty flickered—was he truly as grown as he claimed?
He felt the ache of wanting to reassure her, to be the son she could trust not to vanish into the wilds of the world.
"That's exactly why I worry more," she replied, pulling back to study his face. Her fingers sifted through his now longer hair, searching for traces of the boy she once knew. Nostalgia welled up between them, silent and powerful, holding them for a moment suspended in time.
She smiled, bittersweet and proud, her thumb briefly caressing his cheek.
"You look different," she observed quietly, pride and fear flickering across her face in equal measure.
He met her gaze, sensing the question that lingered behind her words.
"I feel different," he admitted, his eyes drifting to the edge of twilight where shadows tangled in the trees, as if holding secrets only the night could hear.
For a moment, their shared silence was heavy with memory—their lives woven together by invisible threads of past and present.
Outside, the night lay still and expectant; a gentle breeze stirred the neem leaves, whispering stories from years gone by. The balcony light flickered, throwing long, uncertain shadows that danced across the cool tile—echoes of laughter and warmth that clung to the memory of their family, together.
Somewhere, a distant dog barked, and Rudra's mother, with one last squeeze, let him go. She disappeared into the kitchen, the clink of her bangles a comforting rhythm, as if to remind him that some things—like her love—never changed.
Rudra sank into the aged cane chair, folding his legs in a lotus pose, a gesture of calm grounded in familiar comfort. The mug of warm turmeric milk cradled in his hands felt soothing, the spice mingling with the earthy aroma of the night air. His grandfather settled beside him on the woven mat, an elder with strength that belied his age, his posture dignified and his eyes brimming with a mix of calm understanding and labyrinthine wisdom.
"So," the old man began, breaking the silence gently, his tone as smooth as the comfort of home, "how was the trek?"
Rudra's face brightened, expanding into a broad smile that cradled a wealth of memories. "Beautiful," he began, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "Misty mornings, trails leading us over ridges that felt like they went on forever, swathed in clouds that rolled beneath like a soft sea. Malini was ever-present, snapping photos like she was desperately trying to capture every fleeting moment. Aarav acted like a director, always behind the lens, framing every shot like a storyteller ready to share our adventure. And then there's Niya… she just listened, absorbing the essence of the jungle into her soul, standing like a quiet sentinel amongst us."
His grandfather nodded with a twinkle in his eyes, encouraging Rudra to unveil more of his experiences. "And you?"
Rudra took a breath, contemplation weaving into his gaze as he looked beyond the walls of their apartment toward the silhouette of trees outside. "I felt like the jungle was watching me," he mused, his spirit soaring into a more philosophical realm. "Not just the trees; everything felt alive. The ground seemed to hum beneath my feet, the wind sang secrets to the leaves—each step was like tracing ancient paths of memory."
The old man remained quiet, sipping his tea, inviting more of Rudra's thoughts to fill the empty spaces. "On the second morning," Rudra continued, a flicker of excitement breaking through, "the mist was thick, wrapping around everything like an ethereal shroud. I woke up before dawn, when the world was still cloaked in shadows. I wandered into the trees…and that's when I saw him."
His grandfather turned slightly, his breath catching at the implication of the approaching revelation. "Who did you see?"
"The horse!" Rudra's voice rose in exhilaration, memories flooding him. "He was magnificent—a striking black coat, a white flame marking on his forehead, just like in my dreams."
Instead of surprise, the old man's eyes softened, reflecting the depth of understanding that flowed between generations. "Meghraj," Rudra asserted, a nod punctuating his spoken name. "He stood still, didn't run away. Instead, he approached me with such grace, pressing his head gently against my shoulder, as though he recognized me from some far-off place lost in time."
The jungle outside rustled faintly, as if enraptured by Rudra's story, blissfully resonant with echoes of ages past. "I called his name. He blinked at me with those deep, knowing eyes and then nudged my sketch pouch with his nose. Inside, I had half-drawn a fort—a depiction of my dreams. He looked at it as if it sparked meaningful memories within his own heart, then turned and trotted back into the depths of the jungle."
"Did you follow him?" His grandfather asked, leaning forward, intrigue etching every line of his face.
"Yes!" Rudra's enthusiasm surged. "He beckoned me into a clearing. There, in the center, was a large stone—something ancient and solid. When I stepped onto it, visions overwhelmed me—flashes of a battlefield, smoke swirling around fragmented lives, a vow whispered amidst the chaos, and a girl watching from the fort wall, a ghostly figure framing a moment void of time."
His grandfather closed his eyes briefly, as if to meditate on the weight of the revelation. "You've stepped into the soul map," he said softly, elucidating what Rudra could scarcely comprehend.
"What does that mean?" Rudra's voice was edged with a curiosity tinged in awe.
"It's the memory beneath memory," his grandfather explained, his tone infusing a sense of reverence. "That legacy connects you to your ancestors. It's part of you that never forgets, even when the world tries to erase. It's not just personal; it's a lineage of your spirit, a thread that ties you to those who walked before you."
Rudra looked down at his wrist, emotions flickering within him—fear, excitement, and a deep-rooted yearning to understand. "I feel like I've lived before. Like there are pieces of my soul locked away, waiting to be unveiled."
His grandfather placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, warming him against the uncertainty of the night. "You're not wrong. However, it's crucial not to chase the past relentlessly. Instead, learn to let it walk beside you, softly guiding you rather than overwhelming you."
Their conversation drifted into contemplative silence, allowing the weight of their exchange to settle around them like a cherished blanket on a cool evening. The wind continued to stir gently outside, and a distant owl called into the night, welcoming solemn solitude, as if nature itself ruminated on the wisdom shared.
"Do you think I'll remember everything?" Rudra finally asked, torn between hope and trepidation.
"Not all at once," his grandfather advised, his voice laced with patience. "But trust that the jungle will whisper to you at its own pace. When it does, listen closely. Some lessons can only be uncovered with time—stories that require patience to unfold."
As the night deepened, painting the world outside in shades of velvet darkness, Rudra absorbed the weight of his grandfather's wisdom, pondering the untold tales awaiting him. The fractures of his past entwined with whispers of an understanding still to be realized.
✨ Soul Verse
Ek ghoda hota.
Ek paan hote.
Ek swapna hote.
Ek jagruti hoti.
(One horse. One leaf. One dream. One awakening.)