Smoke from the temple fire still hung in the air the next morning, its charred perfume mingling with the scent of cow dung and wet earth. The villagers whispered of omens. Of ghosts. Of punishment from the gods. No one suspected a boy had kindled the chaos with nothing but words and desperation.
But Arjun knew.
He sat beside the hearth, scroll in hand, its ancient cloth cover trembling in his soot-streaked fingers. It felt heavier than it looked. A serpent inked across the binding stared at him with ageless eyes, and the title burned like coal:
Chanakya Niti.
Each letter seemed to writhe, shifting with the sunlight.
He hadn't opened it yet.
His mother still slept—fitfully. She murmured things he didn't understand. Names long dead. Warnings long forgotten.
Outside, the village was waking to rebuild what had burned. But Arjun didn't care. He had a book—and a question:
Who was the man who had given it to him?
---
He took the scroll to the banyan tree at the edge of Dharigaon—the only place untouched by the fire or gossip. As he unrolled the first page, the parchment crackled like old bones.
There was no introduction.
Only words:
> "A wise man speaks less, but hears all. Fools speak more, but understand nothing."
Arjun frowned.
That was it?
He had risked everything, lied to dangerous boys, and stared down fire to get… riddles?
He flipped the page.
> "Even poison, in small doses, can become medicine. Even honey, in excess, becomes poison."
Another cryptic line.
He slammed the scroll shut.
"Useless," he muttered.
"Then throw it away."
The voice came from above.
Arjun jumped. A figure sat on the thick branch of the banyan tree—barefoot, dressed in coarse robes, sipping something from a clay pot. His beard was wild. His eyes glinted.
It was him.
The old man who gave him the scroll.
"You followed me?" Arjun asked.
"I never left," the man said, then dropped from the branch with the grace of a cat.
He stood a head taller than Arjun. His hands were stained with ink and burn marks. His right eye was clouded, the left sharp and alert.
"You lied to protect something you loved," he said. "Most lie to protect their ego. Or wealth. Or comfort. You? You lied for fire. That makes you dangerous."
Arjun held out the scroll. "Take it back."
"No. That's yours now."
"I don't understand it."
The man smiled. "Neither did I when I was your age. But I learned. The world made me learn. And now…"
He leaned in.
"I will teach you."
---
Mentor Introduced: Vishrath
Name: Acharya Vishrath
Origin: Unknown—rumors say he once advised kings, others say he murdered one.
Personality: Obscure, cunning, pragmatic. Believes truth is just a tool.
Philosophy: The world is a game of power and deception, and only those who learn to manipulate survive.
---
They sat by the roots of the banyan tree. Vishrath made Arjun read aloud each line. Then, he tested him.
"What does it mean to speak less and hear more?"
"It means… observe before acting?"
Vishrath slapped the back of his head.
"It means power. You learn what others don't want you to hear. You stay silent and let them expose themselves. The tongue is a trap."
Arjun nodded.
"Next one," Vishrath said. "The poison and honey."
Arjun hesitated. Then:
"Too much of anything is bad. Even good things can kill."
Vishrath's eye gleamed. "Better. Now learn to say that without sounding like a child."
---
Later That Day
Word spread that the temple fire had awakened a sleeping spirit. The village priest announced a cleansing ritual—and every family was required to give an offering.
Arjun had nothing to offer. No rice. No animals. No coins.
But Vishrath had an idea.
"We will offer fear."
---
They crafted a mask from bark, ash, and red dye. A grotesque demon face, eyes bulging, tongue dripping with blood.
Arjun wore it.
Vishrath gave him a script to memorize. Then, at midnight, when the ritual began, Arjun burst from the shadows, howling in the demon's tongue, shouting warnings of wrath from beyond the grave.
Women screamed. Elders fainted. The priest wet himself.
When Arjun removed the mask, people fell to their knees.
He spoke calmly.
"The spirit will forgive. But it demands an envoy. A voice in this village. Someone who listens. Someone who obeys."
They elected him.
Arjun, at age fourteen, became the youngest council voice in Dharigaon.
---
Vishrath stood on the edge of the crowd, smiling.
"Lesson two," he said. "Control belief, and you control behavior."
"But it was a lie," Arjun said.
"A useful one. And if it brings peace, is it still a lie?"
Arjun didn't answer.
But that night, he slept in a real bed for the first time in years. The priest gave him rice. A girl gave him a flower.
And Vishrath? He gave him his next lesson:
> "To defeat lions, become a shadow. To command shadows, become a god."
---
End of Chapter 2