FLASHBACKS

18 YEARS AGO
PRAYAGRAJ, UTTER PARDESH

Prayagraj, a city steeped in history and spirituality, lies on the banks of the sacred Ganges River. Once known as Allahabad, this ancient city has been a beacon of faith and devotion for millions of people across the world. Prayagraj is a place where the past and present converge, where the sacred and the mundane blend seamlessly, and where the air is alive with the whispers of the divine.

As one approaches the heart of Prayagraj, the Sangam, the confluence of the Ganges, Yamuna, and Saraswati rivers, comes into view. The Ganges, flowing swaggeringly from its source in Gangotri, Uttarakhand, brings with it the memories of the majestic Himalayas and the sacred energies of the divine. Its crystal-clear waters, swollen with the snowmelt of the mountains, merge with the Yamuna, which flows gently from its source in Yamunotri via Delhi, also in Uttarakhand. Together, they create a majestic flow that is both awe-inspiring and humbling. The Saraswati, though invisible, is said to flow beneath the surface, adding to the spiritual significance of the Sangam.

The confluence of these three rivers is a sight to behold, a place of breathtaking beauty and tranquility that seems to reverberate with the whispers of the divine. The three rivers, each with its own unique character and charm, merge into a single, majestic flow, creating a spectacle that is both awe-inspiring and humbling. The Sangam is a reminder of the power and majesty of nature, a symbol of the unity and diversity of India, and a testament to the enduring power of faith and devotion.

As the sun rises over the Sangam, the atmosphere becomes even more serene and peaceful. The sky is painted with hues of pink and orange, and the air is filled with the sweet scent of incense and the gentle lapping of the rivers against the shore. The ghats, the steps leading down to the river, come alive with the sound of gentle chanting and the soft tinkling of bells.

It is here, at the Sangam, that the morning and evening aarti takes place, a ritual that is both mesmerizing and deeply moving. The priests, clad in their traditional attire, begin to assemble on the ghats, carrying elaborate arrangements of diyas, flowers, and other offerings. The devotees, men and women from all walks of life, gather around, their faces filled with devotion and reverence.

As the aarti begins, the priests light the diyas, and the flames dance in the morning breeze, casting a warm glow over the gathering. The chanting grows louder, and the priests begin to move in unison, their hands clasped together in prayer. The sound of the conch shells and the beating of the drums adds to the mesmerizing atmosphere, creating a sense of reverence and devotion.

The devotees, eager to seek the blessings of the sacred rivers, begin to take a dip in the water, their faces filled with joy and gratitude. The bath, or snan, is a sacred ritual, a symbol of purification and renewal. As they emerge from the water, they are filled with a sense of calmness and tranquility, their hearts filled with the love and devotion of the divine.

As the aarti progresses, the priests offer prayers to the three rivers, invoking their blessings and seeking their purification. The diyas are offered to the rivers, and the flames seem to merge with the water, creating a sense of oneness with the divine. The gathering erupts into a joyful chant of Har Har Gange! Har Har Yamune! Har Har Saraswati! as the devotees seek the blessings of the sacred rivers.

The aarti at the Sangam is a truly transcendent experience, a moment of deep connection with the divine and with nature. It is a reminder of the importance of faith and devotion, of the need to connect with something greater than ourselves, and of the beauty and majesty of the natural world. As the ritual comes to a close, the priests disperse, and the gathering begins to disperse, carrying with them the peace and tranquility of the sacred moment.

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Amidst the tranquil ambiance of the Sangam, where the soft glow of diyas and the gentle lapping of the rivers against the shore created a soothing melody, a small figure sat huddled on the steps, a poignant contrast to the peaceful surroundings. A boy, no more than four or five years old, wore a thin half-sleeves white t-shirt and a half-pant, his small body shivering in the chilly winter air. His head was buried in his crossed hands, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees as if trying to conserve what little warmth he had. The cool night air seemed to seep into his very bones, causing his tiny frame to tremble involuntarily.

As the devotees and priests went about their rituals, the little boy sat quietly, lost in his own thoughts, his eyes hidden from the world. The faint glow of the diyas cast a warm light on the surrounding area, but he seemed to be sitting in a pocket of darkness, as if the light was deliberately avoiding him. The sound of the aarti and the gentle lapping of the rivers against the shore created a sense of calm, but the little boy remained untouched by it, his small body racked with shivers, his heart heavy with an unspoken sorrow.

The scene was one of stark contrast, where the peaceful and mesmerizing commotion of the Sangam seemed to be in direct opposition to the little boy's obvious distress. It was as if he was a small, forgotten island in a sea of tranquility, a poignant reminder that even in the most peaceful of surroundings, there can be pockets of pain and sorrow that remain unseen and unspoken.

As the night wore on, the little boy's shivers grew more violent, and his teeth began to chatter. He was clearly cold and hungry, and his eyes seemed to be sunken with exhaustion. But despite his obvious distress, he remained sitting on the steps, as if he had nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to.

The question was, what was a small boy like him doing all alone on the ghats at this time of night? And what was the story behind his tears, his shivers, and his obvious despair?

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On the rooftop of the ghats, amidst the throng of devotees, a little boy around six years old, dressed in a bright red kurta and pyajama, bounced with excite His eyes shone with wonder. Holding his parents' hands, one on either side, he gazed out at the Sangam, his face alight with joy. "Mummy, mummy! I want to put the diyas in the river! And lots and lots of flowers too!" he exclaimed, his voice bubbling over with enthusiasm.

As he rattled off the names of flowers, his face scrunched up in concentration, "Marigold, Rose, China rose, Lily, Tulip, Lotus, and... and... and all of them! Hehe." He suddenly faltered, unable to recall the next one. With a giggle, he ran his fingers through his neatly combed hair, mussing it up, and his father chuckled, gently smoothing out the tangled locks with a warm smile. Meanwhile, his mother listened with a tender gaze, her eyes drinking in the sweet innocence of her child's words.

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As soon as he had finished offering the diya and flowers to the Sangam, the little boy burst into a joyful frenzy, jumping up and down on the stairs with his hands raised triumphantly above his head. "Ye! Now I'm going to the fair! I'll eat all the yummy foods and ride on every single ride! Ye, I'm so happy!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the ghats.

His mother chased after him, laughing and scolding in equal measure. "Beta, slow down! Don't run! You'll slip and fall! Come here, beta, hold my hand!" she called out, trying to catch up to her energetic little boy.

The little boy's eyes sparkled with mischief as he darted between the devotees, his bright red kurta and pyajama a blur as he zigzagged through the crowd. His mother's warnings only seemed to add to his excitement, and he laughed and shouted even louder, his joy infectious and irresistible.

As he stepped away from the crowds, he made his way to the lonely ghat where the other boy sat, gazing out at the diyas floating on the river. With a heart full of kindness, he approached the boy, his footsteps slow and gentle. He stood beside him and then, with a tender touch, placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

The boy looked up, his eyes red and puffy from crying, and the little boy's face filled with concern. "What happened?" he asked softly. "Why are you crying? Where are your parents?" His voice was full of empathy, and he spoke from the heart, saying exactly what he thought would comfort the other boy.

"Don't cry," he added, his words a gentle balm to the other boy's sorrow. "Everything will be fine." The little boy's words were a reflection of his own innocent and hopeful heart, and he spoke them with conviction, as if he truly believed that everything would indeed be alright.

The boy who had been crying looked upon at the little boy, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. Then, wiping away his tears, he stood up and gazed at the other boy with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. "Who are you?" he asked, his baby voice hoarse from continuous crying and eyes still red. "My mom... told me... not to talk... to trainers. What if you ki-kinnap me?" The little boy put his concern innocently, struggling with hard words like strangers and kidnap.

The other boy's eyes widened in horror, and he clapped a hand over his mouth on hearing such a bad word from that small child. "Haaaa... I am not any kidnapper, I promise!" he exclaimed, his voice trembling with sincerity. "I am Siddharth, but you can call me Sid. But if you are younger than me you will have to call me Bhaiya, okay? What is your name? And how old are you? I am 6 years old!"

The boy hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether to trust this stranger. But then, he caught sight of Siddharth's wide, toothy grin, and his own face began to crack a smile. "Hehe... your teeth are missing! I still have my all thirty-two teeth," he teased, opening his own mouth wide to show off his not really thirty-two teeth.

Siddharth chuckled and shook his head in denial. "No, no, no! We're kids, so we have... um... twenty... yeah, we have twenty teeth, not thirty-two!" he corrected, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "And you still have not told me your name and age!"

The boy's face scrunched up in concentration, and then he declared, "Rudraksh! Only Rudraksh. I am 4 years old!" Little Rudraksh told his age by showing his eight fingers.

Siddharth grinned, impressed by Rudraksh's confidence. "Okay, Rudraksh, it is then! But they are eight fingers, " he said, closing the extra four fingers of Rudraksh.

As they sat together on the ghat, the night air transformed, growing warmer and more gentle. The stars began to twinkle like diamonds in the sky, casting a celestial glow over the river. The diyas, floating on the water, seemed to glow with an otherworldly light, as if infused with a soft, ethereal magic.

The flickering flames of the diyas danced across the ripples of the river, creating a mesmerizing display of light and shadow. The sound of the water lapping against the shore created a soothing melody, weaving in and out of silence. The world seemed to slow down, and the two kids sat in comfortable silence, enveloped by the enchantment of the night.

Little Siddharth extended an arm around Rudraksh's shoulder and turned his face to take the full profile of Rudraksh. "Why were you crying earlier?" he asked in his usual calm tone.

Rudraksh's face fell, and his gaze drifted away from Siddharth's, focusing on the diyas floating on the river in the distance. His voice cracked as he spoke, and his words were punctuated by sniffles. "My Mom and Dad... they are leaving... without me."

Siddharth's arm around his shoulder tightened slightly, offering a comforting presence. Rudraksh took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but his emotions got the better of him. "They said *sniffles my school *sniffles my school will di-di-disub if I go with them *sniffles. So, so, I will be *sniffles living here with *sniffles with everyone till I become big." He gestured his one hand above his head to show Siddharth the size.

As Rudraksh spoke, his body shook with sobs, and his words became increasingly difficult to understand. Siddharth held him close, offering a shoulder to cry on, and let him pour out his emotions. The sound of Rudraksh's sniffles and sobs filled the air, mingling with the gentle lapping of the river against the shore.

As they sat there, the darkness seemed to recede, and the stars shone brighter, casting a sense of wonder and possibility over the two friends. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring them together to create a moment of connection and understanding that would stay with them forever.

The tranquil night air was disrupted by the sound of two voices calling out from a distance. "Rudraksh!? Siddharth!?" The two boys turned their heads in unison, and Siddharth's face lit up with excitement as he spotted his parents while Rudraksh remained there freezing at his spot. Siddharth took off running towards them, his arms waving wildly. "Mummy! Papa! See, I found a friend!"

As Siddharth's parents followed his gaze, their eyes landed on Rudraksh, who was slowly backing away, his eyes fixed on the other person who was staring at him with a furious expression. Rudraksh's face was pale, and his eyes were welling up with tears.

The person, who appeared to be Rudraksh's guardian or family member, stormed towards him, their voice raised in anger. "Rudraksh! What is this behavior? The whole family is searching for you everywhere in Prayagraj!" Rudraksh stood frozen, his head hung in shame, as tears began to fall from his eyes onto the ghats.

Siddharth's father stepped forward, his voice calm and measured, as he intervened on Rudraksh's behalf. "Bhai sahab, please. This is no way to speak to a child. He is merely five. What kind of impact will your scolding have on him at such a young age? You should handle him with love and care, not anger and frustration."

The scene was tense, with Rudraksh's tears falling like rain onto the ghats, and Siddharth's father standing up for him against his angry guardian. The night air seemed to vibrate with emotion, as the two families stood there, locked in a moment of raw feeling.

Siddharth's mother, sensing the tension and Rudraksh's distress, stepped forward with a warm smile. Her motherly instincts took over, and she gently cradled Rudraksh in her arms, stroking his hair and back in a soothing motion. "Hello, Rudraksh," she cooed, her voice a gentle balm to his frazzled nerves.

Rudraksh, still sniffling, fidgeted with his fingers, his tears streaming down his face in silence. Siddharth's mother tenderly wiped his tears away with her thumb, her touch sending a wave of comfort through his small body. She ran a hand over his hair, her fingers tangling in his messy locks, and began to walk slowly along the steps, rocking him gently from side to side.

As the two men continued their debate, Siddharth's mother seemed to tune them out, focusing instead on the fragile child in her arms. She spoke softly to Rudraksh, her words a gentle whisper in his ear. "It's okay, beta. No body will scold you, hmm. Do you like diyas? see, there are a lot in the river." She pointed her finger at the glowing river and then tickled Rudraksh's tiny stomach to make him giggle.

The man, Rudraksh's guardian, seemed to deflate, his anger dissipating as he watched Siddharth's mother comforting the child. He took a deep breath, his expression softening, and began to explain the situation to Siddharth's father. "I know, bhai sahab, I should handle him with calmness. But he has been behaving very rudely these days, and our whole family is worried sick. They have to leave tomorrow morning, but instead of preparing, they are searching everywhere for him."

As the men spoke, Siddharth's mother continued to walk along the steps, her arms wrapped tightly around Rudraksh, her presence a beacon of comfort and reassurance in the midst of chaos.

Siddharth's mother gazed at Rudraksh with a warm smile, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Do you know what your name means, beta?" she asked, tapping his chin gently with her finger.

Rudraksh nodded his head, his eyes fixed on the mangalsutra around her neck. He began to play with the black pearls, his small fingers wrapping around them as if they were a toy.

Siddharth's mother chuckled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "What does it mean, then?" she asked, her voice encouraging.

Rudraksh looked up at her for a split second, his eyes locking onto hers before darting back to the mangalsutra. "Third eye of Lord Shiva," he said clearly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Siddharth's mother's smile grew wider, her eyes shining with delight. "That's right, beta!" she exclaimed, her voice full of pride. "You have a very special name, one that's associated with great power and wisdom."

She was busy interacting with the small child when two men approached her, smiling to themselves. Siddharth's father smiled and made the introductions. "Apoorva, meet Mr. Dev Maurya, Rudraksh's uncle." Siddharth's father said, gently pinching Rudraksh's cheek, making the little boy shy that he buried his face in Apoorva's neck, making her laugh.

Apoorva smiled warmly and joined her hands together in greeting, adjusting Rudraksh in her arms. "Namaste."

Dev returned the greeting and showed his gratitude towards her, smiling and joining his hands together. "Thank you for taking care of Rudraksh, Bhabhi ji. I apologize if he misbehaved in any way."

Apoorva shook her head in denial, caressing Rudraksh's drowsy form. Her eyesshoneg with warmth. "Ah, no, no, he is a dear. We are really happy to have met him."

The group stood there for a moment, smiling at each other, as the tension and worry of the night began to dissipate. The sound of the river flowing in the background and the twinkling lights of the diyas created a sense of peace and tranquility, wrapping the group in a warm and comforting atmosphere.

Dev's face lit up with a warm smile as he extended his arms, beckoning Rudraksh to come to him. Without hesitation, Rudraksh slipped out of Apoorva's arms and jumped into Dev's, wrapping his own arms tightly around his uncle's neck.

The group shared a collective "awww" moment, their faces mirroring the warmth and love that radiated from the tender exchange. Apoorva's eyes sparkled with delight, and Siddharth's father smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Siddharth? Where is Siddharth?" Apoorva asked her husband, darting her gaze here and there in search of her son. A smile made its way towards their faces when their gazes landed on the sleeping figure of their son in the corner of the stairs wrapped in shawl. His father hurriedly went to him and swiped in his arms.

The diyas on the river seemed to twinkle in approval, casting a magical glow over the group. The sound of the river flowing in the background created a soothing melody, underscoring the sense of peace and contentment that filled the air. In that moment, everything felt right with the world.

END OF FLASHBACKS

A/N: NAMASTE EVERYONE!!
How are you people doing today?
I wish the best for you guys!

So, tell me! What do you think of our Dev Nagari, Prayagraj? I've tried my best to put my emotions through words and make you visit our spiritual city in this part. I hope you'll enjoy it!

And as always, do you like this part? What was the scene you think you enjoyed the most? Do tell me in the comment box! Byy, by, see you in the next part! Love you all!