The ashram of Guru Prana was bustling with activity, as it always was, with the rhythmic chants of students, constant sounds of clashes from practice range and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.

Yet, for Pranali, life had grown quieter, lonelier. She sat under the ancient peepal tree, her small hands weaving together wildflowers into garlands. Her fingers moved deftly, but her heart was heavy. She remembered the times when Agamya sat beside her helping.

Months had passed after that fateful day when her father had in anger cursed him. He left with his brother, Ranadhrist after that.

Her own brother, Viresh had left soon after too. He had earlier gotten into an argument regarding Rajkumar Abhayam with their father. Pranali had heard bits of the conversation. Viresh had asked for the knowledge of Brahmastra from their father and Guru Prana had stated that he still wasn't prepared for it.

Angrily, Viresh had gone in search of his grandfather, Maharishi Vapushman. And the eldest Kaushavas, Ranakrit had chosen to accompany him. Since then the ashram had been eerily quiet. The Kaushavas kept their head down and did what was told. Rajkumar Nirmay and Sarvaay had cooled down a little getting scared by Guru Prana's curse. And concentrated more on their studies nowadays. Rajkumar Abhayam continued his practice more vigorously than before, not wanting to disappoint his Guru who believed in him so much. Rajkumar Prabal seemed upset about the incidents too. Rajkumar Dharmesth was the only one, unaffected by the events. Appearing as calm and collected as ever.

Agamya’s absence had created a void Pranali could not fill. Every corner of the ashram reminded her of him, the spot by the riverbank where they would sit together, his laughter ringing out as he taught her to skip stones,
the training grounds where she watched him practice archery with unwavering determination,
the forest area where he helped her in collecting herbs sometimes,
the back window of the kitchen through which she slipped him foods or supplies unnoticed whenever one of the Kaushavas were punished.

He was everywhere, but nowhere!

Agamya was more than just a companion to her. He was her voice in a world where she had none.

Pranali looked toward the gates of the ashram, her eyes lingering as if hoping that at any moment, Agamya would appear, his confident stride carrying him back to where he belonged. But the gates remained closed, and the only sound was the chirping of birds and the occasional shout of a trainee.

In her silence, Pranali had found ways to keep his memory alive. She had taken to visiting his favorite spots in the ashram, tending to the small garden he had planted for her near the meditation hall. The flowers there seemed to bloom brighter, as if they, too, missed his presence.

At night, when the ashram grew still, she would sit by the fire, her mind replaying memories of their shared moments. She remembered the way he would encourage her to express herself, teaching her to communicate with gestures and drawing in the sand. She remembered how Agamya would closely watch her every gesture patiently to understand her better.

But along with the memories came a deep sense of sorrow. She thought of the shrap (curse) her own father had given him, the weight of uncertainty that now loomed over his path. Agamya had left with a burden too heavy for someone so young, and Pranali could not shake the guilt that she had been unable to ease it.

She wondered if he was angry. Did he hate her father for it? Did he also hate her too? He must be angry at both her Pitashree and her. That's why, he didn't even bother to meet her once before leaving.

Her only solace was hope, a fragile but persistent hope that one day, Agamya would return. Pranali’s hope was not just for herself but for Agamya, too. She prayed silently to the gods every evening, her small hands folded in earnest supplication.

"May he be safe," her heart whispered. "May he find strength. And may he return to us, whole and unbroken."

Under the peepal tree, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting golden light over the ashram, Pranali tied the last flower to her garland. She held it close, her silent prayer woven into every petal. One day, she thought. One day, he will return. And until that day, she would wait, her unwavering hope shining brighter than any flame.

I carry words I cannot say,
A silent heart in disarray.

Would he love me if I had a voice,
Or am I forever a burden, not a choice?

~~~Pranali