The gurukul itself was a marvel of ancient architecture, blending seamlessly with the surrounding wilderness. The main hall, where teachings were imparted, stood tall with its sturdy wooden pillars, carved with intricate designs depicting various legends of valor and righteousness.

 Around the main hall were the living quarters, simple and austere, meant to instill in the students a sense of discipline and detachment from worldly comforts.

These dwellings were made of wood and straw, providing shelter to the princes and their fellow students as they embarked on their rigorous daily routines, starting before dawn with prayers and physical conditioning, followed by lessons in archery, swordsmanship, and the handling of various other weapons.

A sprawling, open field surrounded by towering trees, their leaves whispering secrets from ages past. The morning mist still clung to the ground, giving the landscape a dreamlike quality.

In the heart of this serene setting, Guru Adithya son of Acharya Venkat, who was also a master of the martial arts, stood with an air of quiet strength. His gaze was piercing yet compassionate.

Before him, two young students, Devashree and Pratap, stood ready, each holding a wooden practice sword.

They were a study in contrast - Pratap exuded restless, innocent energy, and his sister possessed a calm focus.

"Swordsmanship is not merely about strength or speed. It is about understanding the rhythm of your heart and syncing it with the flow of the world around you." Guru Adithya, firmly, with underlying warmth, said to them.

Guru Adithya stepped forward, his own wooden sword in hand, its surface worn from years of use but held with reverence.

He continued, "First, we focus on stance. A strong foundation is crucial. You must be like the earth - solid, yet aware of the life that thrives upon it."

He demonstrated a basic stance - feet shoulder-width apart, one foot slightly forward, body aligned but ready to move.

Both his shishyas mimicked him, adjusting their positions as he walked around them, offering gentle corrections.

" Good. Now, the grip. Hold your sword not as a tool, but as an extension of your soul. It should feel natural, an extension of your will."

As the students adjusted their grips, Guru Adithya moved on to demonstrate a series of basic sword movements - a block, a strike, and a parry.

His movements were fluid, a dance between him and the unseen opponent.

"Notice the balance between movement and stillness. Your actions should be deliberate, and your mind clear. Anticipate, but never fear."

Pratap attacked first, his movements eager but unrefined.

Guru Adithya blocked his effortlessly, guiding Pratap's sword away with a fluid motion.

Devashree followed, her strikes more measured, seeking to find the rhythm spoken of earlier. Her right hand stretched forward gripping the sword, brows scrunched in concentration.

Guru Adithya gestured to Pratap, "Your strength is your spirit, Pratap. But let it not run wild. Control is the key."

Turning to Devashree, "And you, possess a natural flow. Remember, though, that the sword also needs your direction, your decision."

The lesson progressed with the students engaging in a controlled spar under Guru Adithya 's watchful eye. The sound of wood clashing, the movement of feet on the earth, and the steady breathing of the shishyas fill the air.

Guru Adithya paused the exercise," Now, observe. Swordsmanship is not just about defeating an opponent. It is about mastering oneself."

He demonstrated a complex series of movements, each flowing into the next with grace and power. The students watched, mesmerized by the display of skill that transcended mere combat to become something almost meditative.

"Your journey with the sword is personal. It will teach you about your strengths, your fears, and your potential. Embrace it with respect, and it will guide you to your true self."

As the lesson concluded, the siblings bowed to Guru Adithya, gratitude, and respect in their eyes. They stand side by side, no longer just students but fellow travelers on the sword's path.

" Remember, the path of the sword is endless. Today's lessons are but the first steps. Walk it with honor, courage, and humility."

" Ji Gurudev!" Came the steadfast voice of his new students.

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Their training had finished quite early that day. Pratap had gone to choose his sword and bow from the weaponry.
It was difficult for him, he was only three after all.

Devashree had convinced an older student to teach her further about the art of swordsmanship. She had seen jesth guru bhai Prayan practicing in the training grounds earlier and begged him for some pointers.

Thus here they were in the vast, open courtyard, bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun.

In the center stood Prayan, a seasoned warrior with a presence both commanding and serene. Across from him was Devashree.

"Devashree, swordsmanship is not just about wielding a weapon. It's about mastering yourself." Prayan said it with patience evident in his voice.

"Your sword is an extension of your arm, your spirit. Every part of the sword has its purpose. The blade is for striking, the edge is for cutting, and the hilt is for protection. But remember, the true strength of a swordsman lies not in his sword, but in his mind."

Prayan stepped forward, demonstrating a basic stance. His movements  was fluid, a dance of precision and grace.

"First, your stance. Balance is key. You must be firm yet ready to move. Like a tree with deep roots, swaying with the wind but never breaking."

Devashree mimicked the stance, visibly struggling to find her balance.

Prayan corrected her posture with gentle, guiding hands.

"Good. Now, the grip. Hold your sword not too tight, not too loose. Like you would hold a bird. Firm enough to keep it from flying away, gentle enough not to harm it."

Devashree adjusted her grip, a look of concentration on her face.

Prayan swung his sword.

"The swing. It's not about strength. It's about speed, precision, and timing. Imagine your sword cutting through the air, reaching your opponent before they even realize it.

Devashree swung, her movement hesitant at first, but with each repetition, she grew more confident and more fluid.

"Now, the dance. Swordsmanship is a dance between two warriors. You must anticipate your opponent's moves, respond, and counter. Always be aware of your surroundings."

They began a controlled spar, Prayan leading, Devashree following. The clack of wooden swords echoed through the courtyard, a rhythmic beat that speaks of ancient traditions.

"Remember, the true essence of swordsmanship lies in harmony. Harmony between mind, body, and spirit. Only then can you transcend the physical and touch the divine."

Devashree breathed heavily and lowerd her sword, a look of awe and newfound respect in her eyes.

" Your journey has just begun, Rajkumari. The path is long and arduous, but I see the heart of a true swordsman in you. Keep honing your skills, and more importantly, your spirit."

Devashree bows deeply to Prayan gratitude and determination shining in her eyes. She thanked him deeply and extended her best wishes to him as he was leaving the ashram for a few days on an expedition for Gurudev.

After Prayan left for his preparations, Devashree practiced alone, her movements echoing jesth Gurubhai Prayan's and Gurudev's teachings.

Each swing, each step, is a step closer to mastery, a step closer to the long journey of understanding the profound bond between the swordsman and his sword.

Finally, after a long and arduous session, she sat down huffing under the shade of a neem tree. She folded her legs and closed her eyes.

After some time, Pratap, who had finally chosen his preliminary weapons, made an entrance, with a wooden sword high in the air, and his face showcasing a proud look.

His tiny feet came to a halt seeing his sister sitting with her legs crossed, eyes closed, and hands resting on her knees, palms up.

Her face is serene, a slight smile playing on her lips, utterly lost in meditation.

The 3-year-old with a mop of untidy hair and sparkling eyes, watched her with a mixture of curiosity and impatience.

He was holding a light training sword, eager to dive into some playtime.

After observing his sister for a moment, he decided to try and get her attention.

"Hey! Look what I've got! Let's play!" He waved the wooden sword excitedly, but his sister did not pay him any heed.

Growing impatient, he inched closer, waving the sword more vigorously. "Slash, slash! Behold this warrior, I am going to slay you!"

Devashree, still in her meditative state, finally cracked one eye open, a gentle smile widening as she saw her brother's antics.

"I'm on a different journey right now, but I promise we'll play as soon as I'm back," Devashree told him with a gentle smile. She loved it when he would showcase his mischievous traits, just like her. Oh how she missed the gardens and corridors of the palace where she was free to carry out any schemes of hers. She sighed and tried focusing on her breathing again.

Little Pratap was trying to understand what his sister had said. She was talking about a journey but was sitting still in one place. He shook his head and with his pupils expanding ready to pop out, he came to a devastating conclusion.

His sister had gone crazy!

He figured she must be missing the family but that was no reason to talk such non-sensical things. There ewas no need to miss family when he was there. Or maybe she hit her head with the sword and was now experiencing hallucinations.

"Jiji, jiji you are not on a journey anywhere, open your eyes." He held her shoulders and shook her to and fro.

"Pratap, it is not a physical journey but rather a spiritual one "

Pratap tilted his head, looking puzzled.

"Can I go on the journey too?"

"Of course, but it's a quiet journey. You just sit and breathe, like this."

She demonstrated, taking a deep breath in and out.

Pratap, not fully grasping but willing to try anything to be included, sat down clumsily beside her, mimicking her posture.

After a few seconds of silence, he whispered, "Is this right?"

His sister, suppressing a giggle, "Yes, just like that. Now, let's be still together."

They sat in silence, the sister meditatively, the brother trying his best to stay still, though fidgeting every few seconds.

Despite his impatience and her focus, there was bond of love and understanding between them that filled the garden with warmth.

After a few moments, Devashree opened her eyes, turned to her brother, and said, "Thank you for joining me my little darling. Now, let's go on an adventure to collect the most beautiful flowers for the Sandhya puja.

"Pratap's face lit up with joy as he jumped to his feet, ready to lead the way into a world of imagination and play, his sister following with a smile, appreciating the simple chanchal nature of her brother.

After all, he was still a child. What kind of elder sister would she be if she did not indulge her little brother?

As Devashree and Pratap ventured out into the lush gardens surrounding their home, the air was filled with the sweet fragrance of jasmine and the chirping of birds, creating a perfect playground for the siblings. They wandered through the myriad pathways, each turn bringing a new burst of color from blooming flowers and bustling life.

Pratap, with his usual enthusiasm, darted from one flower to another, his laughter echoing throughout the garden. Devashree followed at a gentler pace, her eyes fondly watching her brother's exuberance. She guided him toward the clusters of marigolds and dahlias, their vibrant colors a feast for the eyes, perfect for their evening puja.

"Look, Jiji, this one's as yellow as the sun!" Pratap exclaimed, holding up a marigold with delight. His joy was infectious, and Devashree couldn't help but join in his excitement, helping him collect the best blossoms.

As they gathered flowers, Devashree taught Pratap how to choose the right ones, explaining the significance of each in their rituals. 

"Marigolds symbolize the sun, bringing light and energy into our lives, while dahlias represent dignity and elegance, reminding us to carry ourselves with grace," she explained softly, tying the lessons of their culture with the simplicity of nature.

Pratap listened intently, his young mind soaking in the stories and symbolism. Every so often, he would repeat the meanings back to her, his interpretations filled with childlike wonder and sometimes humorous misunderstandings, which made Devashree laugh and correct him gently.

Once they had enough flowers, they sat by the lotus pond, arranging their collection into small bouquets to offer during the Sandhya puja. The sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the water, making the lotus flowers seem to light up from within.

"This is my favorite part of the day," Devashree confessed as they worked. "When everything slows down, and we can see the beauty of the world around us."

Pratap, who had been busily tying a bouquet, looked up at his sister. "I like it too, Jiji. It's peaceful," he said, his voice a rare whisper of calm.

As they finished their preparations, Devashree wrapped an arm around her brother, drawing him close. "You did a wonderful job today," she praised him, kissing the top of his head.

Pratap beamed, proud of his contribution. "Can we do this every day?" he asked hopefully.

"Every day," Devashree promised, squeezing his hand

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Krishna, with his skin as dark as the monsoon clouds and eyes sparkling like stars, was sitting beside his Nand Baba, whose face was adorned with the gentlest of smiles.

The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of gold and orange, and the air was filled with the sweet fragrance of blooming jasmine.

 "Baba, why do the cows love me so much?"

Nand Baba, chuckling softly, replied, "My dear Krishna, it is because your heart is as pure as Yamuna's waters, and your love for them is as boundless as the sky. You sing to them, you dance with them, and you treat them as your friends. How can they not love you back?"

Krishna beamed with joy and then picked a ripe mango from the basket beside him, and said, "Baba, I think I understand. Just like I love this mango not only because it is sweet, but also because it comes from our own tree, the cows love me because I care for them like family."

Nand Baba nodded, his eyes filled with pride and love for his little one. "Exactly, my child. Love is not about what we get in return; it's about how much we give and how purely we give it. Your love is unconditional, and that's why everyone in Vrindavan is drawn to you, not just the cows."

"Baba, how can I make sure I never lose this love?"

Nand Baba took Krishna's tiny hands into his own, warmth spreading through their fingers, and said, "Always remember, Krishna, to keep your heart open and your intentions pure. Let kindness be your strength, and always stand by the truth. Love, given freely and without expectation, will always find its way back to you."

As the night crept upon them, with stars beginning to twinkle in the vast, indigo sky, Krishna leaned against Nand Baba, feeling a profound sense of peace and love.

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A/n

And onto the sword practice....

What else do you want to see them learn? Do tell.

Or I will fast forward the Gurukul phase.

What did you think of the chapter? What was your favorite part?

Also if you enjoyed it do consider voting because it helps other readers to discover this story.❤️✨