DAWN approached behind the mountains. The morning light broke through the cracks and the stars seemed to vanish as each second passed. The chirping of birds and the calls of serows alternated between them, and as if heeding each other’s calls they circled each other; the birds flying in circles overhead and the serows galloping on the open plains. The tunes of the monkeys came to join them and soon a procession of animals—as like when the group first made their way into the valley—was now in full sight of their view.
There was a high jubilance and it seemed almost as if festivities were to roll out any minute. But for the group it was far from it. Save for Aiṛth and Dhīṇahi, they had not slept the night before, and they were set to collapse any moment. Vādruhaḥ, however, would not let them. The time had come for them to train and each of them shuddered in preparation for what was to come.
The sage approached Tūmbṃār who gave a rather loud yawn. After the boy finished smacking his lips, Vādruhaḥ took out from his robes what looked to be a small metal coin. There was a hole in its middle and it was quite worn. Tūmbṃār’s eyes grew wide and his apprehension toward that coin festered ever greater as his teacher took out more from under his robes. A total of five coins the sage held in his hand, tossing them each into the air. The others were caught off-guard but understood there was more behind this than he displayed. Vādruhaḥ then strung the coins around a thin piece of rope and positioned them around Tūmbṃār’s neck.
The boy shook and said, “Must we really do this again! I don’t think I can handle five of these. One alone was painful enough as it is.”
Vādruhaḥ smiled and his face became gentle. He seemed now like any regular old man. “You need not worry over this, child. But if you are so inclined, perhaps you can view this as part of your punishment for having disobeyed me.”
Those words did not make him feel any more relaxed and only further heightened his growing tension. The sage slowly settled the end of the rope around the boy’s neck, lifting his fingers from the thread one at a time. When all his fingers were drawn back, the rope settled, the coins jingled, and the boy’s feet cracked the ground beneath as the dust flew from the soles. Tūmbṃār grasped against the coins with both his hands, trying to lift them. He motioned forward and with each step, his foot smashed into the ground. The others gulped at this display. Tūmbṃār slowly motioned the coins till they were set upon his back. He hunched forward and brought his hands behind to hold the coins. And after a few breaths he dashed off into the distance, crying all the while.
Turning to the others, Vādruhaḥ said, “As you can see, you will each have to make ten laps around the village, each of you carrying a single coin. I gave Tūmbṃār five, for he has done this exercise before. The last time he did this, he had to carry three. I assumed five would not be too much for him to bear, but alas! it seems he has yet to grow in strength.”
“If you don’t mind me asking,” said Sanyhaḥmān, “how much do these coins weigh?”
Vādruhaḥ laughed and said, “They weigh nothing at all! However, there is an incantation I cast upon them to pull them to the ground. It should feel almost like carrying several boulders on your back.”
He held his mouth agape while Nakthaḥm sighed. “Such physical training would be quite easy were I to use my original body, but I suppose you would not let me, would you?”
The sage shook his head. “It is not as if you could not call that power of yours through this body, but it would very much be to your advantage to train it as you are now.”
“And what of me?” asked Aiṛth. “Surely you do not expect me to be fighting?”
“Would you then rather like to stay in the sidelines while everyone else protects you?” She remained silent. “If you wish not to be a burden then you should participate as well. The only person I put as an exception is the girl among you.”
He looked to Dhīṇahi who pouted. She too wanted a coin.
Vādruhaḥ laughed and patted her saying, “I have many other things to teach you. You can practice with them later supposing you can wait.”
And her eyes beamed with delight as she ran over to the sage’s side.
“Well it would seem she has abandoned us,” said Iḷēhaḥ, sighing. “I think this to be rather typical for your regimen, Feyūnhaḥ, given what you put me and Tūmbṃār through.”
The princess shook her head as she gulped. “I am quite harsh when it comes to training, but this is at another level entirely. Even I think I would collapse holding just one of those coins.”
“Then I suppose we are all doomed!” said the maiden in despair.
Vādruhaḥ approached each of them and dropped a coin in their palms. Each of them plummeted to the ground with both their hands seemingly staked to the surface. Dhīṇahi looked on with amazement, clapping while the others strained as much as they could to lift themselves.
Vādruhaḥ shook his head in disappointment. “You have a long ways to go before you can match even Tūmbṃār.”
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Five days had passed and the others were just barely able to keep pace in their runs. They were still far in distance from where Tūmbṃār was and it seemed that would be the case for a while longer. The sun seemed to pass by quickly overhead as they ran around the village. And the villagers would all laugh to themselves over what looked to be a nonsensical regimen and the apparent weakness of the trainees.
They were sweating from head to toe and their runs over the course of the morning would turn to trots as they slowed down. It came as a surprise, however, that Aiṛth was able to keep pace albeit a little slower. Her perseverance began to show through and she took the sage’s words more seriously than the others. Perhaps a little too seriously. Tūmbṃār meanwhile dreading his position held firm in his mind to get answers from Vādruhaḥ. If he could defeat him in whatever match was to be set forth to him, then he had no doubt the sage would at last relent. His determination still did little to combating the tension in his arms. The coins were still heavy and they seemed to grow heavier with every passing day.
When the morning passed and their runs finished, they began meditating with Vādruhaḥ. He took them into a forest not far from the valley and reaching an opening they came to a halt. Before them was a series of massive waterfalls, circling in the distance over a grand lake. The sage walked upon the water and the others tried to do in likewise only to fail. They each had to swim to his position on the other side.
They were relieved that the other side was shallow—and that they did not have to carry the coins but now they understood what the sage wanted of them. They were to meditate below the falling rapids seated upon some stones. Tūmbṃār, Sanyhaḥmān, Nakthaḥm and Feyūnhaḥ handled this rather well. But Iḷēhaḥ and Aiṛth, upon touching the rapids, were swept away. It almost seemed as if they would drown but after many attempt across many days, they too were able to seat themselves under the rapids. Now came the difficult part of actually meditating, which seemed nigh impossible.
They kept themselves seated in the lotus position with their hands cupped about their navels. The rush of the water unnerved as much as it soaked them, and drops would often make their way through their nostrils and cause them to cough. To avoid it they slowed their breathing, but only enough so that they would not faint.
Out of all of them, Tūmbṃār maintained the highest focus with not so much as a twitch. His body was still and silent under the waterfall as like a statue. Vādruhaḥ directed their attention toward his arms where they could see what was almost a thin coating around his skin. The water was being forced away! As if a shield was cast about him, the water fell around and the space about his self and the water expanded until it covered his entire body. The water no more disturbed him and seemed thoroughly relaxed.
“Do as he is doing,” said Vādruhaḥ. “When your focus is maintained your body will adjust accordingly so as to keep it as such. Let the body do its work as you drive your attention inward. And the water shall no more bother you.”
Dhīṇahi stood beside the sage gazing at the others in wonder. They did as the sage their teacher had said and drove their attention inward. And no sooner had they done that that the water began to reflect from them. The air circulating as a sharp thin layer shielded them from the rapids and their bodies became relaxed. They did not yet know what the purpose of this exercise was but they certainly could feel their troubles washing away like the water about them and let their minds elevate.
They kept to their still positions until the sage clapped his hands. All at once their eyes opened, and the first sight their eyes caught was the setting sun. Distracted by the rays their concentration broke and they each were swept from their positions by the rapids. The sage laughed as each of them struggled to swim to shore.
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With twilight set within the sky, they made their way back to the valley, wringing their clothes about the way. Now once more on the grass plains, their final session of the day began: sparring with Vādruhaḥ. Unlike with Athruyam they were permitted to fight all at once without restriction against the sage. They formed an enclosed ring keeping themselves locked to the sage’s movements. Slowly circling about, they waited for an opening. They could not afford to attack while his guard was strong.
All of a sudden the sage bent to grab some rocks and at that moment they cried and rushed to him. Nakthaḥm seared his hand with the aether, Sanyhaḥmān leaped with his staff high, Feyūnhaḥ unleashed a gust of fire and air, Iḷēhaḥ and Aiṛth released a pressurized torrent of water, and Tūmbṃār riding upon Vrihkhaḥ encased themselves in earth as they charged toward the master. With attacks coming in from all directions it seemed that there was no room for escape.
But as soon as the sage lifted the pebbles he had taken from the ground circled about himself and as like a wall, blocked against the incoming attacks. They spiraled with great speed; their intensity increasing until it was like the rush of a storm. With a flick of his fingers the air blew to all sides and the pebbles shot to each combatant. They were each hit on the shoulders and sent flying back, tumbling into the dirt.
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They party strained to lift themselves, yet they were able to slowly maneuver until they were upright. Dhīṇahi clapped in amazement and tried to cheer them on by whistling.
“I wonder now what it is we can do against the sage,” said Nakthaḥm. “Though we are only sparring, it would seem we are clearly outmatched. You would not happen to have any ideas would you Tūmbṃār? After all you have boasted many a time of landing that single hit during your last match.”
Tūmbṃār shook his head and sighed. “I’d say I was only lucky that time. He seemed distracted by something, but he’s not one to be easily unfocused especially in battle. I wouldn’t count on luck to break his guard.”
“In that case why not just unleash our powers with as much force as we can muster,” said Iḷēhaḥ. “He seems intent on baring against our attacks. I do not think any of us came here with the notion that we would fell him in our first try so let us test how much he can truly handle against us.”
“If that’s what we’re going for,” said Sanyhaḥmān, “then I suppose my staff will have to kick up dirt and grass.”
And nodding in agreement they each leaped back. They widened their circle and running about the sage they amassed the powers into their arms. Holding them forward with their palms facing front, the elements began to circle their palms. The air became turbulent, and dust and dist flew about as if a cyclone were to descend at any moment. The pace of their movements heightened and they now seemed as like the air, racing about the sage with their forms masked by the elements. And when they were ready, they issued a loud cry and unleashed the elements in a great burst of light. The coalescing elements shot to the center where Vādruhaḥ stood. Motionless and still he was unfazed by the impending strike.
Just as the elements were about to reach him lo! his arms blocked the attack and a cylindrical wall of myriad forms appeared rising high above. The powers were sapping the party’s strength, seeming to be sucked regardless of will into the vortex about the great sage. Vādruhaḥ bracing himself on his knees then gave a great cry of his own and spun in place. The elements reflected and struck the ground. The party was sent flying and they each crashed like arrows from above.
The spectacle drew the villagers from afar and while some were horrified, others whistled and cheered in amusement as if they had just finished a circus act. Dhīṇahi laughed and Vādruhaḥ shook his head.
“There is still much for you all to learn. How I pity the ignorant.”
Tūmbṃār coughed up some dirt and stuck his tongue out. The grueling training had only just begun.
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As dusk began to give way to the starlit night, Tūmbṃār was sent on an errand to fetch some goats with the local boys and their dogs. It seemed the livestock here tended to behave more like their wild counterparts and it was always a chore for the denizens of the valley to have to reign them in every evening.
The far hills that merged into the grassed valley seemed to loom ever closer to them as they chased after the grazing goats. They reminded Tūmbṃār all too well of the Hematite Mountains that encircled his own home and strangely made him feel reminiscent of the past he left behind. Perhaps he felt even a little homesick. But he quickly brushed aside such thoughts. His fate had already been cast.
One of the boys who guided Tūmbṃār along was the village chieftain’s grandson, Gravya. He was quite the serious lad for his age. Indeed he did not seem all that much older than Tūmbṃār perhaps even younger. Always did he spend his days tending to various tasks about the village taking no breaks except for eating, sleeping—and for his sake—reliving. It was not a surprise then that Gravya did not much like Tūmbṃār, though Tūmbṃār himself for his part got along well with him.
They slowly gathered all the goats, sending the dogs about in circles to shepherd the flock. There was however one lone goat that seemed to venture a distance away. It was leaping from hill to hill and each leap of its brought it farther up the slopes of the valley’s edge.
“Time to prove yourself, Tūmbṃār,” called Gravya; “chase after that lone goat and bring it back! That goat is quite special and gives us no end to our troubles. Perhaps it senses its end, but even so it can’t escape its fate.”
Those last few words confused Tūmbṃār and although he did not like being given orders, he nonetheless acquiesced and ran after the goat.
High and far he leaped with the power of the wind allowing him to scale the slopes and hills with ease. The goat seemed to be astonished at this and cried toward to boy before taking flight.
For hours the two danced about the hills and it seemed there would be little end to their race. The boys—for their part—set a makeshift perimeter about the goats at the base of the hills. They had spread some cloth and seated themselves for some tea and snacks as they watched Tūmbṃār chase after the goat. It did not take Tūmbṃār long to notice what was happening and he became vexed.
“Can’t you guys help me?” cried Tūmbṃār, exhausted from expending as much of the powers as he had. Within the time that passed, he could make little way in closing the distance between him and his wild adversary.
“It’s your job Tūmbṃār,” said Gravya. “Would you not feel some sense of shame for not even being a little help to us? After all we did provide you and your friends room and board.”
Tūmbṃār felt that they were guests here, and that there was no expectation for him and his friends to have to work while training. Nonetheless, it did irk him to be given such comforts without providing anything in return. Sighing he continued chasing after the goat.
Chucking stones, creating walls, muddying the ground, nothing seemed to have an effect. He was outclassed by this lone animal that other than its speed or perhaps evasion displayed no other unusual quality. Frustration began to set in and he started chasing after the goat on all fours. At this sight the village boys and the chieftain’s grandson burst into laughter. But the goat sensed something amiss.
It picked up pace and started climbing higher up the hills. But it was no use, Tūmbṃār had finally closed into to it, and with a rush of wind from behind he shot to the goat’s position and grabbed it with both hands. The two crashed into the side of the hills, curving toward the base, releasing a mass of dirt and dust into the air. Gravya surprised gave chase after them, leaving the village boys to tend to the flock.
“I did not think you would manage to catch it,” said Gravya pulling Tūmbṃār. “None of us to this point were able to reel him in. I suppose your training hasn’t been for nothing.”
“Hey! I wasn’t training to catch this goat, but I guess I should be glad that the others didn’t have to see this,” Tūmbṃār said laughing. In his hands was the goat, now with an expression of fear. And the boy all the while gave a great smile, glad that he was not bested by a beast.
They walked back with their catch, and tied the goat by its legs, kept a noose about its neck tied to a post with four dogs standing guard. Tūmbṃār thought this was little excessive but reflecting what he had to go through just to catch it perhaps it was for the best.
Now as night began to set, the group began to cook dinner. Within a copper pot they boiled herbs and spices. When a pleasing aroma effused from the pot, they cooked some vegetables and meat, stirring together the mixture. The night air was cool and the goats huddled for warmth before falling to a slumber. Meanwhile the boys talked amongst one another, speaking of their day to day activities and particularly Gravya’s demeanor of which he was none too pleased about. And so to shift the conversation he spoke of a rather odd tale.
“I heard there was once a man in this village who was quite fond of the goats. So much so, that he refused to eat them and lived off the meager fruits and vegetables one can find around here. There came a day however where he met one particular goat. And this goat he seemingly befriended! He treated it as if it were like his best friend and he sported with it for days on end. Then on one particular day he found that the goat was missing. When he went asking around the village what happened to it, he was distraught to learn that it was slaughtered just the day before. And not only that, but he had also dined on that specific goat as well. He was nonetheless horrified, but soon after became contemplative. As if he expected this to happen. It seemed after that event, he left the village never to return. None can say what became of him, but it seems our annual ritual of slaughtering goats now celebrates him as well.”
“Did you make that up?” asked Tūmbṃār as he sniffed the pot.
Gravya furrowed his eyebrows, “Of course I didn’t! Do you take me to be a liar?”
Tūmbṃār shrugged and turned his attention back to the pot. The others laughed while the chieftain’s grandson shook his head in disappointment.
“Well I should at the very least warn you not to become attached to the goat.”
Tūmbṃār looked to him with confusion and asked, “And why exactly would I be?”
“Because you’re going to be chasing after that goat till the end of this week,” he said with a grin.
With his mouth agape in astonishment, he looked back between the goat and Gravya, and shouted, “Why do I have to chase him again?”
“We’re going to leave him to roam in the morning,” he said with a sigh. “But if you caught him once, you shouldn’t have any trouble doing it again.”
“I should be the one sighing,” said Tūmbṃār sighing thereafter. “Why do you have to let him roam free?”
“Well animals taste better when they’re left roaming don’t they?” Gravya said with a smirk.
“I suppose, but shouldn’t he at least be kept on a leash?”
“And would you be his keeper all day till the end of a fifth-week? You have to train don’t you?”
Tūmbṃār could not refute that and resigned to his fate as the goat’s evening ward.
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The group’s training for the following days continued with the same intensity as it had before with Vādruhaḥ giving them barely any room for rest. When the final sparring session ended with another of the group’s defeat, Tūmbṃār would run off for the hills where the village boys gathered to herd the sheep. There he stretched and when the goat he was to look after shifted its gaze, he immediately gave chase.
Day after day he spent those evening hours in a frenzy attempting to secure the lone goat. It did not take him long to realize, however, that the only reason he was able to catch it was that it either ran out of stamina or was simply letting him catch it. This annoyed him. He wished he had the speed to end the chase at the very beginning. It seemed as if his training did not end until after he caught it.
Yet with only a few days passed, he slowly grew fond of the goat. In fact in that time, he did not so much dread having to chase it after the end of the his training sessions.
At the end of the fourth day, it took him less than an hour to end the chase. The quickest since undertaking this task. After securing a leash he spent much of the evening roaming the valley with it. He had not become this close to an animal since leaving his village.
The group was understandably concerned at this seeming to think that Tūmbṃār did not yet know what was to happen to that goat. He understand well enough and spent time hatching a plan for the goat’s escape.
As Tūmbṃār and the goat walked about the valley he looked at the surrounding hills. He saw the range of descended foothills toward the western end, not far from the ascending forest he and the others took to reach the waterfalls. Approaching it, he noticed a path that moved into a woodland. The two entered and spent some time walking the beaten path.
Many of the small critters that dotted the path scurried into the bushes yet kept watch as the two passed by. The tall trees shed some of their leaves and they scattered about in increasing frequency. When they reached the other side there before them was a long path that stretched into the distance across a vast array of rolling hills. Indeed it was not all too different from the path he and his friends first took when first entering into the valley.
It was no sooner seeing the open sight before him, that he thought to release the goat and have it run off into the distance. Though they hardly said a thing to one another it was not if they could not understand each other.
He said to the goat, “Won’t you run from here? I know sooner or later you’ll most likely be butchered by the village. Gravya himself suggested as much.” The goat bleated. Tūmbṃār sat beside it and said, “Are you really okay with dying?”
The goat remained silent at that question. Nonetheless Tūmbṃār could see its decision was made.
The sun gradually set beyond the horizon and when its light was no longer visible he made back with the goat across the beaten path. On the way back he saw Gravya sitting by one of the trees. A colony of rodents had set residence atop his shoulders and head. When he saw this he burst into laughter.
Gravya stood and the rodents dispersed. Looking to Tūmbṃār and then the goat he said, “I neglected to inquire further into your background. I didn’t think you would be able to talk to animals. But it seems you have made your peace with it have you not?”
He nodded his head and handed the rope to Gravya. “Perhaps the man I spoke of in my story was of similar disposition to you.”
The chieftain’s grandson walked away with the goat and left Tūmbṃār behind. Tūmbṃār looked about himself and after a while of standing idle, he made his way back toward the village. He steeled himself to what was to come and reminded himself of why it was he came this way. He needed answers.