THREE-Departure

Morning dawned upon the Gurukul, and its sacred grounds echoed with a tranquillity that seemed to belie the recent turmoil. Arya, having survived the Rakshasa attack, woke up to a new day. However, the events of the past lingered in his mind like shadows cast by the dawn.

In the hushed realm of dreams, Arya found himself entwined in an enigmatic tapestry of whispers. Two voices, one male and the other female, echoed through the ethereal corridors of his unconscious mind. The male voice, strained with urgency, pleaded for the woman to flee, its timbre laden with desperation. The woman, in turn, offered soothing reassurances, consoling an unseen presence with words of solace. A surreal tension gripped the dream, an unseen drama unfolding in the nebulous spaces of Arya's slumbering thoughts. As the voices wrestled with an unseen peril, shadowy figures materialized on the fringes of the dream, their forms flickering like elusive spectres. The air grew heavy with an unspoken menace, and just as the enigmatic figures closed in, Arya was abruptly jolted awake, the echoes of distress lingering in the recesses of his waking consciousness.

Arya tried as hard as he might, but could not remember the dream. He just had the unpleasant aftertaste of the dream stuck in his mind. Trying to forget all that, he decided to start with his morning routine of practising martial arts and reading scriptures.

The Gurukul was healing. The cottages used for storage of equipment were being repaired, and the students' and guru's quarters were being rebuilt. The air resonated with the familiar melodious chanting of Vedic hymns. Arya still hadn't recovered from the shock of losing his Guruji. 

This Gurukul was the only family he had ever known. He still had not understood why he had to perform the last rites of even the rakshasas that had killed his Guru. He had obeyed because of Gurudev.

He had thought about it for a long time in sleepless nights. He was ready to be the pillar, he was ready to be the man embodying the spirit of the Gurukul, but Gurudev had suddenly told him to leave this place. To leave his family to go out and explore. He unknowingly clutched the Rudraksha pendant that he now wore around his neck. 

Did he really want to find out about his hometown? Wasn't he content being in the Gurukul? He was, he really was but ever since he was told about the existence of a hometown, he had been curious. Sometimes, the curiosity had even overshadowed his grief. 

That morning, after a communal breakfast, Arya returned to his quarters, he began to pack a knapsack, he put in his clothes, some scripture for reading which he had copied on some parchment, a small copper box containing pain relief balm, some bandages and another copper container with a salve. He carefully secured the rudraksha pendant around his neck. The pendant, now an emblem of his quest, seemed to pulse with an energy that resonated with Arya's purpose. 

His next stop was the armoury. It was one of his favourite features of the Gurukul. He was simply fascinated by the weapons and the philosophy behind wielding them. 

"Weapons are not just tools of destruction, but also symbols of power, strength, and protection. They are a gift from the gods, and therefore considered to be sacred." This is what Gurudev had told him. It was an excerpt from the Bhagavad Gita. It had left a huge impact on Arya's developing brain. 

As we made to enter the armoury, however, what he saw inside made him miss his footing a bit and stumble. It was Gurudev. He was standing in the armoury looking at the various weapons, swords kept on bundles of cloth, spears stored in bins, and bows of various shapes and sizes and in varying states of disrepair. Buckets of arrows were arranged neatly to a side of the room. Maces lay flat in a corner. The whole room smelled like metal and oil.

"Pranam Gurudev," Arya greeted him touching his feet.

"Yashasvi bhava," Gurudev said. "I was waiting for you."

"You were?" Arya replied with a puzzled look. 

"Yes. I wanted to bestow upon you some weapons that may help you on your journey." Gurudev said with a serene smile his long white beard shining silver in the sunlight that came through the armoury window. 

"Thank you, Gurudev." Arya joined his hands together in a gesture of respectful salutation.

Gurudev's aged hands reached out to the weapons arranged meticulously in the armoury. He drew out a package from the back of the armoury. It was dusty and covered in plain red cloth. He carefully removed the contents of the package, a sword and shield, their appearances deceptively plain among the array of weapons. 

After a pause, Gurudev broke the silence, "Arya, these are no ordinary weapons," he spoke with a measured tone emphasizing his words. "This is a pair – a sword and shield, inseparable in purpose. They are not just tools; they are an extension of the warrior's spirit. As you graduate from the Gurukul, it is your right to carry these into the world."

He continued, "This pair has a unique bond with its wielder. As long as you draw breath, they will not lose their effectiveness. It is a tradition of the Gurukul to grant our graduating students the means to defend themselves – not just physically, but also symbolically. The sword represents the strength to face challenges, and the shield embodies protection, a reminder of the sacred duty to defend what is just and right."

Gurudev's eyes held a profound gaze, emphasizing the gravity of the moment. "May these weapons serve you well on your journey, Arya. May they become an extension of your will, your virtue, and your commitment to righteousness."

Arya went down on one knee holding his arms facing upwards in front of him. He collected the sword and shield, which the Gurudev had replaced in the package carefully. 

"I will carry the lessons of this place with me till the day I die," Arya spoke with a grateful voice. His eyes were now watery, this had sealed his fate. He had to leave the Gurukul. It was finally sinking in. 

He got to his feet. Carefully removing the sword and shield from the cloth that was wrapped around it. He held the sword in his dominant right hand and the shield in his left. A sudden warmth engulfed him, he felt like he had just immersed himself in a hot bath. A faint glow emanated from the sword and the shield. The shield which was slightly too big for Arya had adjusted in size and the sword's balance had also been readjusted to fit Arya. It was like a bespoke pair of sword and shield. 

"Arya, remember this," Gurudev spoke with a kind smile, "Wherever you go, whatever trials you face, you can always call this place your home."

Gurudev left the armoury leaving Arya behind whose face was hidden in a shadow. He was crying. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He had had the worst week in his life but now he was ready. He was content with Gurudev's instructions and his resolve. He was entering the real world outside. 

The news of his departure from the Gurukul was met with mixed emotions. Friends, fellow students, and Gurus gathered to bid him farewell. The friends hugged and bade goodbye. He was showered with blessings from his Gurus, "Yashasvi bhava, Dirghayushi bhava, Ayushman bhava." They were blessing him for a successful and long life. With a sense of gratitude and nostalgia, Arya bowed to the Gurukul that had been his sanctuary for a decade.

As he ventured beyond the known realms, Arya carried the weight of the pendant and the wisdom of the Gurukul. The journey had just begun, and with each step, the echoes of history whispered secrets, urging him to unravel the mysteries that awaited in the ancient lands of Bharat.