Cheers echoed through the Shastra Kosha like a storm had erupted inside a temple.
Disciples jumped to their feet, clapping, shouting, laughing in disbelief. Even those deep in meditation opened their eyes—how could they not? The air still trembled from the eruption of Anahata, the fourth chakra, in full bloom.
And at the center of the noise stood the boy who had done it.
Anand.
Tall. Calm. Not smug—just still, as if the roar of the room didn't quite reach him. His eyes were half-lowered, his breathing steady. No effort. No struggle. He simply was.
Ravi (nudging Pralay, wide-eyed): "I told you, man. Limelight? Gone. Wiped. That boy just rewrote the room."
But Pralay wasn't clapping. He wasn't smiling.
He was staring.
Pralay (quietly, to Yogini Maitri): "How? He just yelled the mantra of the fourth chakra and it opened.
I thought the Kundalini Shakti had to rise slowly—one by one—through each chakra level…"
Yogini Maitri turned to him, her expression unreadable—part reverence, part caution.
Yogini Maitri: "That would be true. For most of us."
She stepped forward, her gaze drifting to Anand, who remained perfectly composed amid the scattered applause.
Yogini Maitri: "His full name is Anand Yadav. And what you saw was not discipline.
It was lineage."
Pralay (confused): "Lineage?"
Yogini Maitri (softly, yet firmly): "He belongs to the Yadav clan. One of the oldest lineages in Bhoolok-Antar.
And there is a reason they are feared—even by those who carry God Stones."
The room began to settle, but Anand remained standing, his green glow fading slowly like the last breath of a forest fire.
Yogini Maitri: "The Yadavs are born with what we call Vardaan—a blessing from the gods themselves.
While we train, meditate, breathe, and climb the chakra ladder one slow step at a time…
they are born with their Kundalini Shakti awakened. All the time."
Pralay's eyes widened.
Pralay: "It… it never coils back down?"
Yogini Maitri: "No. For you, for me—for most—once the energy is used, it withdraws.
But not for a Yadav. Their Shakti is always active. Always burning.
It cannot be achieved by breath.
It cannot be forced by will.
It cannot be earned.
That is why it is called Vardaan. A divine gift."
Pralay looked from Anand's calm figure back to Yogini Maitri, questions still burning behind his eyes.
Pralay: "But if their Kundalini Shakti is already awakened… doesn't that mean they can just jump to any chakra? Skip the path entirely?"
Yogini Maitri (shaking her head gently): "No. Even with the Vardaan, they must still climb the ladder.
The chakras cannot be opened without experience. Without alignment.
What they are born with… is access. Not mastery."
She began pacing slowly, the lesson no longer just instructional—but something deeper. Cultural. Spiritual.
Yogini Maitri: "The Yadavs have constant Kundalini flow—but that energy still has to be anchored at each stage.
When one of them reaches, say, the Anahata Chakra—they can then activate it at will.
Not because they cheated. But because their channel never sleeps."
Ravi (processing): "So they still have to climb like us.
They just… don't lose the light once they've found it?"
Yogini Maitri: "Exactly. For us, the energy must be summoned again and again—through breath, stillness, and devotion.
For them, once they reach a chakra… it becomes a door that never closes."
She gestured subtly toward Anand, who now sat again in silent meditation, the green glow of his Anahata fading completely—but only visually. You could feel it, still there. Humming under his skin.
Yogini Maitri: "It is a gift. But it does not remove the burden of discipline.
And that is why many with Vardaan still fail—because they believe divinity is a replacement for diligence."
Her voice now grew softer, but heavier—like the closing line of an ancient sutra.
Yogini Maitri: "It is not. The gods open a gate. But the path must still be walked."
Ravi (whispering): "So… he's like a walking volcano that never sleeps?"
Yogini Maitri (smiling faintly): "A volcano, yes—but one with ancient memory.
His ancestors have etched their blood into battlefields where gods watched and blinked first."
A quiet awe filled the room now—not just from the spectacle, but from the weight of what it meant. Anand wasn't just powerful.
He was born beyond the rules they were all trying so hard to learn.
Pralay looked down at his hands. They still tingled faintly from his own awakening of Muladhara and Svadhisthana—a breakthrough he'd fought for, breath by breath.
And yet… it suddenly felt like he was still at the foot of a mountain that others were born halfway up.
But beneath the shock, something else stirred in him.
Not jealousy.
Resolve.
So Anand wasn't a rival of chance. He was a benchmark written in fate.
But even fate, Pralay now understood, could be earned up the spine—one step at a time.
The oil lamps burned low in the disciple quarters, casting soft golden rings across the sandstone walls. Outside, the sounds of Nalanda had quieted—no chants, no bells. Only wind.
Pralay sat cross-legged on his mat, rubbing his palm absently, still feeling the echo of his own awakening from earlier. Across from him, Ravi Gupta lay sprawled in the exact same position as the night before—only this time, a folded scroll of chakra theory rested over his face.
Ravi (muffled through the scroll): "Today was insane."
Pralay (quietly): "He just… called the fourth chakra like it was waiting for him."
Ravi (moving the scroll aside): "You mean Anand? Yeah. That kid just straight-up flexed on the cosmos."
Pralay (half-smiling): "He didn't even try. He just was."
Ravi (sitting up): "That's a Yadav for you."
They sat in silence for a beat, both mentally replaying the events in the Shastra Kosha.
Then:
Pralay (thoughtfully): "So… this Vardaan. It's just a Yadav thing?"
Ravi (grinning): "Nah. That's where it gets interesting."
Pralay (raising a brow): "There are other clans with… gifts?"
Ravi (leaning forward): "Oh yeah. The Yadavs are just the loudest about it because their aura's always on fire. But there are others.
Take the Vatsa clan, for example—heard of them?"
Pralay: "Not really."
Ravi: "There's this girl from Vatsa—they say she's being personally mentored by Yogi Agnivesh. That doesn't happen unless you've got something very special flowing in your spine."
Pralay: "So it's not just combat lineages."
Ravi: "Exactly. Every Vardaan is different. Some are about elemental command, others about perception, mantras, even memory."
Pralay (fascinated): "And mine?"
Ravi (snorting): "You're the mystery boy. You don't even have a clan file yet. Half the Pathashala thinks you're made up."
Pralay (dryly): "Comforting."
Ravi (grinning): "But your roommate? That's a different story."
Pralay (frowning): "Wait—you know him?"
Ravi (dramatic): "There's no one in this hostel who doesn't."
Pralay (eyebrows raised): "Why?"
Ravi (laying back again): "You'll find out… when he arrives."
The morning air over Martial Pathyam was crisp, but heavy with anticipation.
Dozens of disciples stood in formation on the wide circular arena, stone-lined and smooth from centuries of combat. The stone itself shimmered faintly, imbued with protective mantra seals to contain uncontrolled energy.
At the center stood Yogi Arjun Devendra, arms behind his back, staff resting at his side like a silent judge.
Yogi Arjun Devendra: "Today, you fight with skill, not with shortcuts.
No use of God Stones. If you possess one, seal it. If it pulses, control it.
This ground does not honor divine inheritance—it honors discipline."
The silence that followed was deep. Measured. Serious.
He scanned the crowd.
Yogi Arjun Devendra: "First pairing—Ravi Gupta versus Aditya Soman. Begin."
The two boys stepped forward, bowing stiffly.
Aditya, lean and quick, wielded twin wooden blades. Ravi, less graceful but dogged, shifted into a low combat stance—familiar, clumsy, but committed.
The match was fast—Aditya pressed with relentless speed, nearly disarming Ravi twice. But Ravi endured, absorbing impact with footwork and finally landing a palm strike to the ribs that knocked the wind out of his opponent.
Ravi (panting, limping slightly): "Victory through stubbornness. Classic Gupta style."
Pralay (smiling): "Nice work."
Ravi (grinning): "Try not to die now, alright?"
Then came the real match.
Yogi Arjun Devendra (loudly): "Pralay versus Anand Yadav. Prepare."
The entire courtyard leaned forward.
Pralay stepped into the ring slowly, hands flexing at his sides.
Across from him, Anand walked calmly, already barefoot, his presence like a still lake hiding deeper waters.
The match hadn't started, but the tension had.
Yogi Arjun Devendra: "Begin."
Pralay didn't wait.
He launched forward, low and fast, initiating the fight before Anand could center his breath or chant a mantra.
Elbow strike—left sweep—shoulder feint.
Anand blocked, dodged—then shifted his weight.
Anand (softly): "VAM."
An orange glow surged at his navel. The second chakra, Svadhisthana, activated.
His movement became fluid, reactive. He ducked Pralay's elbow, pivoted, and countered with a spinning leg sweep that nearly took Pralay off his feet.
Pralay (gritting his teeth): "LAM!"
A deep red aura exploded from his root—Muladhara activated. His stance stabilized mid-fall. He slammed his heel down, absorbed the sweep, and rebounded with a rising knee.
The crowd gasped.
They clashed again—fist, foot, block, parry.
But Anand's flow kept him ahead, until a sharp strike from Pralay's palm grazed his cheek—a cut.
The courtyard held its breath.
Anand (calmly): "YAM."
Anahata—Fourth Chakra—opened.
The cut on his cheek sealed instantly, healed by the heart's flow. His chest glowed green.
Then, with almost no pause, he raised his right hand and chanted:
Anand: "RAM."
A brilliant golden aura burst from his solar plexus.
Manipura—Third Chakra—active.
He pressed both hands together, forming a triangle of energy between his fingers—and then released it.
A focused energy blast shot across the arena like a solar cannon, slamming into Pralay's chest.
Pralay hit the far edge of the ring, skidding across the stone. Dust rose.
The crowd gasped.
He didn't move at first.
Then—
A red pulse.
Low. Rhythmic.
The ring on his finger glowed—deep crimson, pulsing like a war drum.
The stone had awakened.
Ravi (alarmed): "Pralay—your ring!"
The red aura began coiling up his arm. His fingers twitched. His chest rose sharply as a roar of breath surged from him.
From the energy, a flaming sword began to manifest—red metal, wrapped in script, blazing from the hilt to the tip.
Yogi Arjun Devendra (stepping forward, voice like thunder): "Enough."
In an instant, he was between them—his staff pressed against Pralay's wrist, dissipating the summoned blade mid-form. The God Stone aura snapped back like a flame extinguished by mantra wind.
Yogi Arjun Devendra (sternly): "You were warned. No divine aids. Not today."
He turned to the crowd.
Yogi Arjun Devendra: "Combat is not just motion. It is control.
Anand Yadav wins."
The courtyard murmured. Some clapped. Some looked at Pralay with new fear—and some with awe.
Pralay, still breathing hard, nodded once and stepped back, eyes on his ring.
It no longer pulsed.
But it remembered.
The training session had concluded, and most of the disciples now sat on the stone benches flanking the arena, towels around their necks, water gourds in hand. A few sparring circles continued quietly in the background, but most eyes were still on Pralay, who sat at the far edge of the ring, silent.
Ravi Gupta approached, wiping sweat from his brow, still limping slightly from his own match.
Ravi: "What was that, man? You almost went full 'end-the-world' mode out there."
Pralay (still catching his breath): "I don't know. I… wasn't thinking. I just—
All I could think of was how to beat him. And the only thing that came to mind… was the ring."
Ravi (raising an eyebrow): "Then why didn't you just leave the ring in the room?"
Pralay (shaking his head): "No. I don't trust that.
What if someone steals it?"
Ravi (chuckling): "You're walking around with one of the most powerful weapons known to Aryavarta… and you don't even know the basics, do you?"
Pralay (blinking): "What do you mean?"
Ravi (leaning in, grinning): "Once a God Stone accepts someone as its bearer, that bond is etched.
Even if someone steals the stone and tucks it away in some cursed cave…
If you call its name, it will come to you. No matter where it is.
Even if it's at the other end of the world."
Pralay (shocked): "It… comes to the bearer?"
Ravi (nodding): "Yup.
Unless you willingly hand it over, it won't listen to anyone else.
And since the stones are indestructible, stealing one is basically just decorating yourself with a cursed jewel."
He laughed, tossing a pebble across the courtyard.
Ravi (grinning): "So unless someone plans to wear it as a necklace… your ring's pretty useless to anyone else."
Pralay (wide-eyed): "How do you know all this…?"
The grin faded from Ravi's face.
Just slightly.
His eyes dropped. The pebble he had tossed rolled in a crooked circle.
Ravi (quietly): "My father…
He used to have one."
Pralay (serious now): "Used to?"
Before Ravi could answer, a voice boomed across the training yard.
Yogi Arjun Devendra: "Last match of the day—
Naimisha versus Maruti Vanar. Step forward."
A stir rolled through the disciples. All eyes turned.
Naimisha walked forward first, calm and elegant in motion, her braid swaying behind her like a banner of poise. Her eyes stayed ahead—focused, precise.
Then came a voice from the crowd:
Voice (shouting, laughing): "Finally! My turn!"
Everyone turned.
From the back row, a disciple rose—towering, muscular, bronzed from sun, with medium-length brown hair bouncing wildly as he stretched his arms wide.
He wore a half-buttoned red shirt, sleeves rolled up, revealing biceps like carved wood, and a deep chest that strained with strength.
Loose brown quarter pants swayed around thick legs that moved like coils ready to spring.
But what drew every eye next…
Was the long tail wrapped around his waist.
It twitched as he jumped forward—unraveling like a banner uncoiling before battle.
Maruti Vanar.
Smiling.
Grinning.
Glowing.
Ravi (half-whispering, almost impressed): "Uh-oh. The Vanar's unleashed."
Maruti rolled his neck with a loud crack, then raised both arms toward the arena.
Maruti (grinning): "Alright, Disciple Naimisha. Let's make this fun."
Naimisha (coolly): "You'll be breathless in two moves."
Maruti (grinning wider): "I've been born breathless."
The crowd leaned in. Even Pralay's tired gaze snapped to focus.
The match hadn't begun.
But already…It felt like thunder waiting to dance.
[End of Chapter]