A Tale Of Great Circumstances

Part 1

CHAPTER 1: The Tag-Along Student

ONCE upon a time, an unfeeling boy fell in love with a girl and her heart was an enigma he wanted to spend his whole life deciphering. That boy’s name was Eklavya and he hadn’t yet met the girl he would fall in love with. Not yet. 

Eklavya had spent his whole life—all sixteen years of it—as the oddball of Kolhagao, a teeny-tiny village amongst the Ojaswi Range, north of the country of Desh. It just so happened that one fine morning, visitors came a-visiting and they took a firm interest in the boy. 

This is how it happened: One of the village elders had complained of a rageous headache and had promptly collapsed. Orders were sent to fetch “that Eklavya-boy” who took his own time arriving at the scene. The visitors who were healers known throughout the country were apparently unknown in this isolated village. They offered to help but were thoroughly ignored.

“You are our guests,” the villagers said, “so please rest, kind travellers.”

“We are healers,” the visitors protested. “We can help!”

“Please rest, kind travellers,” the villagers repeated.

“Let me help him,” one of the visitors, a woman with hair unfathomably dark, said.

“We can help him together,” the other visitor said firmly, a man with eyes the colour of leaves in spring. 

“What is it?” Eklavya said, ambling down the muddy road. A birdsong floated in the air. The boy’s attention was immediately fixated on the bird, a speckled sparrow. A loud moo rumbled from nearby. Eklavya swiveled around to find the source of the sound. If the village of Kolhagao had any knowledge of goldfish, they would have said the boy had the attention span of one. Alas, they didn’t know of any such fish—gold, silver or bronze—so “oddball” had to suffice.

“He collapsed without warning, after complaining about a headache,” one of the villagers said. 

“Help him, Eklavya,” another said. 

And so, the boy knelt beside the elderly man who had collapsed in the middle of the road, his head right next to a pile of cow dung. Lucky miss, Eklavya thought and then gave no more thought to it. He placed his hands on either side of the man’s face and closed his eyes. The visitors who were actually healers watched in awe. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of the boy’s face. Then the elderly man moaned and his eyelids flickered open.

The jaws of the visiting healers dropped wide enough to count every single one of their teeth. 

“I can count every single one of their teeth,” a little girl whispered to her mother. 

The healers requested the boy to take them to his humble abode. Eklavya shrugged. He walked ahead and the healers followed. He led them astray several times for he had far more interesting things to do than go back home. But the healers were patient and took the opportunity to make detailed observations of Eklavya.

“What an indifferent boy,” the woman told the man. 

“What a gifted boy,” the man told the woman. She gave him a strange look but said no more.

A good deal of time later, Eklavya’s feet padded homeward to a little hut where the healers could finally meet his parents. 

“I’m Aisha,” the woman said, “and this is my husband, Mohan.”

His parents were honoured to serve such famed healers although they admitted they had never heard of the two visitors before. 

“We would like to see more of your son’s ability,” Aisha said.

“He has a lot of potential,” Mohan said, “in wielding his prana.”

“We are Prana Dharaks too,” Aisha told the baffled parents. “And our abilities are similar to those of your son’s.”

Eklavya watched the scene unfold with disinterest. His older brother jabbed him in the ribs. His older sister combed her long hair with her long fingers. And his parents nodded quietly when the Prana Dharaks asked to see more of Eklavya’s gift.

And that’s precisely what happened over the next few weeks or so. Eklavya was under scrutiny. Whatever fate had planned for him that day, Aisha or Mohan, one or the other, would be someplace nearby watching him. By the end of those few weeks, Aisha and Mohan had come to a definite conclusion about Eklavya.

“An indifferent boy,” Aisha told Mohan.

“A gifted boy,” Mohan told Aisha. 

“Quieten your thoughts, will you?”

“Ah, so you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

“A potential student,” Aisha said.

“A potential student,” Mohan agreed.

“A potential student?” Eklavya’s parents demanded when the Prana Dharaks/healers made the proposal. 

“Precisely,” Aisha said. “He has a lot of potential.”

“His powers are great,” Mohan added, “and there’s only more greatness in store for him.”

“Of course, greatness is not the priority.” Aisha glared at Mohan who raised an eyebrow. “He could help a lot of people.”

“We will let Eklavya decide,” the parents said.

And Eklavya was given a choice. 

“We are leaving tomorrow,” Mohan said.

“You can become our prashiksharthi, Eklavya, and come with us,” Aisha said, “and we will teach you everything you need to know and more.”

“Or you can stay here with us,” his mother said, running her fingers through Eklavya’s wavy short hair. “You can stay home.”

Eklavya gazed into the distance with such intensity that the others gathered in the small hut turned to squint into the distance too although they couldn’t understand just what was so interesting. 

“I know I can’t eat salt,” Eklavya said (for if you were a Prana Dharak and consumed an excessive amount of salt, the result was something akin to an allergic reaction), “but there is far more I don’t know.” Oblivious to his parents’ melancholic expressions, Eklavya agreed to be the healers’ prashiksharthi.

Saying goodbye the next morning was difficult—for Eklavya’s parents, not for Eklavya himself or his siblings. 

“Oh my little, little boy,” his mother cooed even though Eklavya wasn’t that little.

“Good lad,” his father said gruffly, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Bye,” Eklavya said and turned his back on them as easily as night turns into day.

“You will address us as ‘Guru’,” Aisha told the not-so-little, little boy. 

Eklavya shrugged. 

Thus began the start of a rather cold and distant relationship, occasionally punctuated by moments of warmth. It wasn’t that the gurus didn’t try. But a two-sided relationship can only be formed when both parties are open to forming a relationship. Unfortunately, Eklavya didn’t care much. 

Either way, as the trio travelled around the country of Desh, visiting the different raj-kshetras, Eklavya learnt how to wield his prana and channel it for more advanced healing. He learnt to read and write the language of Desh. 

After two years of this, the two gurus, Aisha and Mohan, desired a change of scene.

“Eklavya,” Aisha said.

“Yes, Guru?”

“We need a change of scene,” Aisha replied. Mohan stood beside Aisha and placed an arm around her shoulders. They exchanged a tender glance while Eklavya grimaced. 

“Up north, past the Ojaswi Range and a little past after that, is a wonderful country,” Mohan said.

“We would like you to come with us.” Aisha pushed Mohan’s arm off her shoulder and gripped Eklavya’s hands in her own. “But it is your choice.”

Eklavya shrugged. “I’ll come,” he said nonchalantly.

And so they set off.

CHAPTER 2: A New Land

IT was a long and arduous journey featuring lots of walking, riding on bullock carts, and walking once more. The one highlight was when Mohan pointed out a dragon’s cave. “That’s the cave of the great dragon Druk,” he said pointing with his index finger. Eklavya looked then shrugged.

Bitter cold winds turned to shady forests, shady forests turned to barren deserts, barren deserts turned to rolling green fields, and finally, they came upon a neatly quaint town. Eklavya was very close to regretting the grand tour of the Ojaswi Range and the trade route through Corkesia. Extremely close. But he shrugged it off and followed his gurus. 

“Welcome to the town of Woebury of North Esterton,” Aisha said, smiling gently at the boy.

Eklavya dipped his head in acknowledgement, his countenance listless. “What happened to South Esterton?”

Mohan laughed. “That’s a very good question,” he said but didn’t answer. 

Eklavya and his gurus settled down in a shabby little wattle and daub cottage with a thatched roof. The first month was spent solely on making the three rooms presentable. The gurus were keen on setting up a medical practice. A sign was hung outside the cottage with the words:

“HERBAL CURES AND MEDICINES”

And beneath that:

“Finest healers of Desh”.

“It will be like nothing anyone has ever seen before,” Mohan said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. The three of them were lifting cheap cupboards and closets into the hearth room. 

Aisha wasn’t as optimistic. “Plenty of people have used herbs and prana to heal what ails them.”

“It’s not called prana here, Aisha, my love,” Mohan replied. He dusted the cupboard and motioned to Eklavya to pass the carefully wrapped herbs. “They call it ‘magic.’”

“What a terribly inelegant word.”

“An inelegant word indeed.”

“What do you think, Eklavya?”

Eklavya didn’t answer. His eyes were snapped on a shadow creeping its way against the wall. “I think we have a rat in the house.”

Life took on a new routine. Eklavya woke before dawn to watch the sunrise. He would climb onto the roof of his neighbour’s house. They were rather wealthy and had a fine roof to sit on, perfect to watch the sunrise. Eklavya noted with some pride that the splitting of the sky at dawn into a myriad colours wasn’t as beautiful here in North Esteron as it was in Desh. The rest of the morning was spent handing this and that to the gurus as they treated patients. The afternoon was spent studying. The gurus, in addition to teaching Eklavya the art of wielding his prana, also taught him the tongue of North Esterton, a funky little language called Esterish. 

Business was slow at first but rapidly gained popularity. A chance visit by a nobleman of the court was the true reason for this sudden boom. Here is how it happened:

Eklavya had been tasked with tearing strips of cloth. Aisha and Mohan, the gurus, were arguing amicably over who would handle the next customer to walk through the door when the bells in the doorway chimed merrily. A large, bulky man with a moustache pointing ten past ten strode in. Despite the unwavering heat, he wore a long coat with a silver brooch clasped at his neck. 

“Good morning!” Mohan said, stepping up to the man. 

“How may we be of service?” Aisha asked.

Eklavya paused his tearing. Through the small window, he could make out shadows flitting outside their abode. He stood and was about to make his way to the door when— 

“Don’t worry about them,” the man grumbled as he eyed the shelves full of little bottles and wrapped packages. “My personal escort.”

Eklavya nodded as if what he had just heard made sense whereas his thoughts had already moved onto other more interesting thoughts that befall youth.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” Mohan asked. He gestured for the stranger to sit on the chair in front of the table. Aisha immediately claimed the seat opposite (much to Mohan’s chagrin) and carefully unfurled a scrap of paper. She dipped a quill in the ink bottle and looked expectantly at the man.

The man cleared his throat. 

“Let’s start with your name, shall we?” Aisha said before he could speak.

“Flutulant,” the man said, “but I shall be addressed as Lord Flutulant.”

“Very well, Lord Flutulant, what ails you?”

“My belly feels swollen and I seem to be”—the Lord lowered his voice—”passing a lot of unpleasant sounds.”

“Ah, flatulence,” Aisha said, lowering her voice to match the Lord’s. “A simple remedy for that, good sir.” She stood and collected a small package from the cupboard. “This should cure it. Please do let us know if we can be of any more help.” The local currency was exchanged, farewells were bid, and the next thing the trio knew was word had spread. Fast. 

And so, business was good. 

What wasn’t so good was the acculturation. Both his gurus were fluent in the language. This wasn’t their first time in North Esterton and so, they had far more experience with the people here. Eklavya couldn’t bring himself to speak a word of Esterish. Broken words formed broken sentences. One couldn’t get far with broken instruments. 

He listened to the endless chatter during his wanderings. The cobblestoned roads felt strange against the soles of his sandals. He watched from the side as men and women dressed in tunics and stockings and coats and cloaks flocked by. The men were far taller and fairer. And for the first time, Eklavya felt a touch of resentment. He stood out as starkly as a raven in a flock of geese. He didn’t follow his gurus’ lead in imitating North Esterton’s (lack of) fashion sense. He stuck to his dhoti and vest. 

Stuck to it until the skies above turned bitter and pleasant sunlight turned to biting winds and flurries of snow. Only then did Eklavya gladly bundle beneath all the uncomfortable clothing. 

And so it went.

CHAPTER 3: Glances and Ashes

IT was a lazy afternoon full of sunshine and the like. A drowsy spirit floated through the town of Woebury, filling the townsfolk with a strong urge to sleep. Eklavya was not one of those people. He spent the afternoon exploring the town rather than the pile of hay he called his bed, keeping to the shadows of buildings and the occasional tree. Eklavya kicked a rock along the road. It rattled off a few inches before coming to a standstill. Eklavya kicked the rock along the road. It rattled off a few inches before coming to a standstill. Eklavya kicked—

You get the idea.

Finally, Eklavya got bored with the pesky little rock and abandoned it in the centre of the road where a horse hitched to a carriage would narrowly avoid tripping over it in the evening. Eklavya turned left into an alley, then right, then walked forward. All the while, his eyes darted around, a sort of gymnastics of their own accord. And this was how Eklavya stumbled upon the neat little brick building with arched glass windows. There was a sign in front, written in Esterish, but Eklavya couldn’t read it. Not yet at least. 

The flowerbeds in front of the building were neatly tended to but Eklavya paid no heed. He strode straight ahead and glanced through the closest window. And his breath caught in his throat. A red-haired girl was sitting at a table, totally engrossed in a book. There were two others with her but Eklavya’s eyes were fixated on her and her alone. There was a large stack of books, parchment and scrolls on the table in front of her. 

Once, she glanced upwards and Eklavya immediately ducked down, his heart pounding faster and faster. He counted to exactly twenty-one before straightening again. The girl had gone back to her book. Eklavya couldn’t understand why he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She wasn’t much to look at. Of course, he couldn’t make out a lot of her finer details through the (rather dirty) window. There was just something about her. Eklavya would have stayed that way all afternoon if it hadn’t been for a woman to come shrieking out of the building. He couldn’t understand all that she said—something along the lines of, “Staring through window...stranger…”—but Eklavya got the gist of it. He scurried home. 

But that didn’t stop him from returning the next day. And the day after. And the day after that. Eklavya couldn’t understand this strange feeling inside of him. He had never felt anything so strong before or, for that matter, anything at all. He was the indifferent boy. His gurus always chided him for that. So what was this strange feeling?

The neat brick building wasn’t the only place Eklavya caught sight of the red-haired girl. She spent her mornings running around the town of Woebury, always in a rush to do something or other. Once, when he accompanied Mohan to buy some necessities, he saw the red-haired girl scribbling notes on a sheet of paper, then running past the dozens of townsfolk towards the woods which bordered Woebury.

The best part, Eklavya felt, was she had been barefoot the whole time. The next afternoon, he rambled around Woebury without his sandals on. The cobblestoned roads were awfully hot but he felt a special connection to the girl and that was enough. 

CHAPTER 4: The Godfrey Sisters

THE red-haired girl, as Eklavya so aptly thought of her, had a name: Ansa Godfrey. Ansa had two older sisters and one didn’t talk of a Godfrey sister without mentioning the other two. Daughters of a nobleman, the three had been brought up in a sheltered and strict household in which education was of the utmost importance. Well, education and marriage were essentially hand-in-hand. 

The eldest was Evelina, the most beautiful and desired of the three. She had a curtain of hair the colour of the night sky. It gleamed ever so prettily in the sunlight that men and women alike had to look away. The second eldest was Selkie, brunette with porcelain skin and the largest eyes framed with the longest eyelashes imaginable. Then there was Ansa, her hair and soul both ablaze, her face darkened by the sun and her eyes livid with life. All three were brought up to be well-mannered and civil ladies, and for the most part, their parents had been successful. 

Ansa could be well-mannered and civil when she wanted to. Unfortunately, that wasn’t most of the time. She much preferred frolicking through the woods or concocting strange potions or reading in the town library as she was doing now with her sisters.

Evelina sighed.

“You ought to stop sighing, Eve,” Selkie said in her gentle voice. “See now you’ve made me lose track of the sentence I was reading and look at how small this text is.”

“I can’t help it,” Evelina replied. She swept her glorious hair aside. “Our little sister can’t seem to stop moving her feet so. You’ve kicked me thrice now Ansa.”

Ansa placed her book down. “I can’t believe Father is going to marry you off,” she huffed.

“It was expected,” Selkie said. 

“That makes it even worse, damn it!”

“Can you wiggle your ears?” Evelina asked. She furrowed her delicate features as she attempted to do so. “The lad in this book can and I simply can’t fathom how it’s done.”

“Is there a need for ears to be wiggled?” Selkie asked.

“There may not be an inherent need to do so,” Ansa said, “but we can always create one. I’m sure some sort of purpose can be found. A purpose can be found for anything except an arranged marriage.”

Evelina sighed.

“I told you to stop sighing, Eve!”

And the Godfrey sisters were back full circle. 

CHAPTER 5: Stick Up For Yourself, Son

EKLAVYA was overtaken with a strange urge to master the language of Esterish. His desire wasn’t fueled by any thoughts of convenience or hope of acculturation, but by a red-haired girl who caused some beast in his heart to stir and whine pitifully for attention.

The gurus were pleased with Eklavya’s newfound determination.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” Aisha told him one night when he had held a decent conversation with her for a full five minutes.

“And where there’s a way, there’s a will,” Mohan said.

“That’s not right,” Aisha replied.

Mohan nodded in agreement. “Didn’t sound right to me either.”

“I reckon you can buy supplies from the market tomorrow morning.”

“An excellent idea!” Mohan clasped Eklavya’s shoulder and proceeded to dictate a list of items that needed to be bought. Eklavya listened but not to Mohan’s words. He listened to the beast’s roar of emotion and felt it wash over him. He was so close now. 

“Will you believe it?” Mohan cried. “The boy’s not even listening!”

The corners of Eklavya’s lips merely turned slightly upwards. Aisha raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Mohan was about to make a declaration of joy but Aisha silenced him with a shake of her head. 

This was the first time either of them had seen Eklavya smile.

The market it was the next morning. Eklavya repeated the list in his head. Apples, peas, beans, ink, parchment. Apples, peas, beans, ink, parchment. Apples, peas, beans—redhead, redhead, redhead.

Eklavya’s eyes widened. Was it her? It damn well was. Eklavya straightened his back and puffed his chest out as far as it would go—which wasn’t that far really. It didn’t matter in the end for her face was flushed and her eyebrows knit together in a scowl as she banged her palms down onto the stall. It shook and apples rolled on the cobblestoned road. One stopped near Eklavya’s feet. He picked it up gingerly.

The redhead was standing next to a man who, in his youth, had been a towering young man but now had shrunk to half his height with thrice as many wrinkles. He had an apologetic look in his eyes

“Damn it, you’re cheating him!” the red-haired girl said, smoothing the front of her dress. “You’ve overcharged him.”

Behind her, two young ladies were fanning themselves with their hands, annoyed expressions on their faces. “Come on, sister,” the taller one said.

The redhead ignored her. “Give him the original price,” she said to the vendor who looked so sheepish that only real sheep would have recognised him as human than one of their own.

“Yes, yes, I understand,” he said hastily.

“Come on, Ansa,” the second lady said, the one with the brunette hair.

Ansa. That was her name. She was a rose amongst thorns, a single flower in a field of weeds, a ray of light in a forest of darkness. A champion of the weak and poor, she was—gone. The apple dropped from Eklavya’s fingers as he watched the retreating figures of the three sisters. 

Ansa.

“That is going to cost you, lad,” the vendor said gruffly. Eklavya paid no heed. The beast inside was rampant, straining against his chest, clutching his throat so that only a choking sound emerged from Eklavya’s lips.

The strangest part?

It felt right.

CHAPTER 6: Helplessly Betrothed

ANSA stole Eklavya’s eyes for a year. Metaphorically, of course. 

The gurus’ errands took longer than usual whenever Eklavya was sent out. The library—or house of books, as Eklavya knew it—was a quick detour from the marketplace. 

Ansa Ansa Ansa.

Her name was the mantra his brain chanted. His every thought was consumed by what she was up to. What was she thinking of as she read that book? Why was the book able to captivate her attention while Eklavya couldn’t? Eklavya hadn’t thought it possible to be jealous of a book yet here he was in that very situation.

Over the course of the year, one by one, the older sisters were married off, six months apart, until only Ansa was left, sitting at a table meant for three. The weddings had been the talk of the town. The streets of Woebury brimmed with entertainment. Horses prancing about, flowers decorating the street, music and sour drinks penetrating every mind until one was scarcely capable of thinking straight.

And then came the day with the announcement.

“Hear ye, hear ye!” A man shouted in the middle of the town square. Onlookers peered curiously at him as he hastily gestured for some men to lay down a podium. He stepped onto the platform gingerly. The man wore a fancy plumed feather in his cap which Eklavya didn’t think matched his red garb. His voice was shrill as it reverberated around the town square. “Lord Godfrey is looking for a suitable, erm, suitor for his youngest daughter, Ansa Godfrey.”

He proceeded to detail how bachelors would need to arrange to meet the parents as well as the fiery girl herself. Eklavya’s stomach twinged in anticipation. Could this be it? Was this a chance to meet the girl in person? To talk to her?

By the following week, the walls and poles around Woebury were plastered with posters of Ansa’s marriage proposal. On a trip to the marketplace, Eklavya caught sight of the girl tearing down one of those posters, a furious scowl on her face, and rip it into a million minuscule pieces.

Eklavya peered at a poster closest to him. He ripped it down and carried the parchment with him back home, careful to keep it hidden from his gurus’ prying eyes. It wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot, would it?

CHAPTER 7: Satisfied

THE line was massive. 

Of course it was.

Marriages of rich, young ladies were not usually a public affair. They were meant to be organised behind locked doors with other wealthy families. Deals were meant to brokered and romance forced upon youth. 

This had to be Ansa’s doing. Eklavya could see no other explanation. He had walked five times to and from the road to the Godfrey’s mansion before finally forcing his feet to trudge down the cobblestone path. The mansion was enormous, made of towering marble and glass. The gardens were neatly manicured and decorated with exotic flowers and trees. All that was overshadowed by the massive line. 

Seeing the line, Eklavya turned on his heel and slumped back home. There had been handsome young men, balding old ones, a handful of attractive women—Eklavya was no competition for the likes of them. 

He returned the next day with renewed resolve before dawn. In this way, Eklavya found himself to be near the front of the line. When he was just outside the mansion door, the guards eyed him up and down. 

Eklavya stared resolutely at them. The doors finally opened and a girl, a few years older than Eklavya—and taller too—stepped out with a heavy-set frown on her countenance. “Good luck with that one,” she hissed to Eklavya before marching off. The boy swallowed hard and rolled his shoulders back. 

“You’re next, boy,” one of the guards said pushing him forward. Eklavya nearly tripped over his own feet as he stepped into the carpeted hall. 

A servant beckoned to him. “This way, sir,” she said. 

Eklavya scratched his left ear as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Sir. He could get used to that. Indeed, he could. Eklavya followed the servant down a well-lit hallway. The walls were lined with portraits of fierce-looking women and timid men. Eklavya was so entranced by the realism of their eyes that he didn’t notice the boy striding towards him until he was shoved aside. Eklavya staggered sideways and shot an annoyed look at the boy which went unseen. Shrugging, he hurried after the servant who held a door open for him.

Eklavya inhaled sharply and stepped through the door. There was a chandelier above a fine wooden dining table in the middle of the room. The walls were painted with delicate patterns of vines and the view from the windows was astonishing. But Eklavya’s breath only caught when he saw her.

She paced the room, arms taut behind her back, face tilted downwards boring holes into the floor.

“Good morning.”

Eklavya snapped to attention. He turned to look at the stout man and his wife sitting at the table. Lord Godfrey had hair as red as hers and a temper to match. Lady Godfrey had sharp eyes which seemed to keenly dissect Eklavya’s every atom.

“Hello,” Eklavya replied, wincing slightly at the waver in his voice.

“What is your name?” The Lady asked.

“Eklavya.”

The Godfreys frowned. “Are you from around here?” Lord Godfrey asked gruffly.

Eklavya stepped forward. “I’m from Desh.”

Ansa stopped in her tracks and looked at him for the first time. “Desh?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never been.”

Eklavya shrugged.

She stared at him curiously. “What do you do here?”

“What do you mean?”

“What are your hobbies, passions, aspirations?”

“This is ridiculous, Ansa,” Lady Godfrey said. 

Ansa ignored her mother. “So, what are they?”

Eklavya opened his mouth to answer. Then closed it. “I don’t…” he trailed off. He didn’t dabble in that kind of thing. He had always just done what everyone had told him to do. It didn’t make much of a difference to him.

Ansa nodded expectantly at him. 

“I’m a prashiksharthi.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, I have gurus—”

“Which are…?”

“Well, they’re my teachers. And I spend most of my time learning things.”

“So you’re an apprentice?”

“Maybe?” Eklavya’s stomach flipped and flopped this way and that.

“What kind of things do you learn?”

“Mainly how to use my prana to heal.”

“Prana? Is that something from Desh?”

Eklavya scratched his ear. “Not exactly. It’s something everyone has inside but only a few can use it to do special things.”

Ansa lifted a brow. “‘Special things?’”

“I can heal people.”

“Can you now?” In one swift movement, Ansa grabbed a fork from the table.

“Ansa, don’t—”

But the girl ignored her father and dug the fork into her hand. Little droplets of blood dotted her palm. It wasn’t that grave an injury but a tingle ran down Eklavya’s spine all the same. She held her hand out. “Do your prana thing.”

Eklavya obliged. He gently cupped her hand with his own and felt some of his energy pass into her. Warmth flooded his cheeks as he stole glances of her when she wasn’t looking. He held her hand for a fraction of a second longer than needed before reluctantly forcing them to his sides.

Ansa observed her hand. “Damn!” She said. She looked up at him. “You’re a wizard, Eklavya.”

Eklavya smiled. It was funny how easy it was to do that with her.

“So what do you do with your powers?”

Eklavya’s smile dropped. “What do I do?”

“Do you heal the poor? Do you concoct antidotes and the like?”

Eklavya shook his head. He just did as his gurus told him to do and that do, not very willingly.

“Do you like reading?”

He didn’t answer.

Ansa’s eyes widened. “Can you read?” she asked softly.

“Of course I can,” Eklavya said quickly. “Just not very well. Not like you. You’re always reading.”

“Not always,” Ansa said defensively. “And how would you even know that?” She smoothed the front of her dress. “What do you do for fun, then? Or to challenge yourself? Do you have any interesting hobbies?”

Eklavya shrugged. He hadn’t thought of these things before. Why did ‘hobbies’ matter all of a sudden?

Silence descended upon the room. Finally, Ansa said, “I’m sorry, Eklavya. You have a gift for healing yet haven’t pursued it. You don’t seem to do anything and you don’t read.” She looked almost disappointed as she continued. “I’m afraid I couldn’t marry you. Not unless you had all those things.”

Eklavya’s heart seemed to weigh a tonne. It sat heavily in his chest. “I...understand,” he said softly.

“Have a nice day.”

How can I without you? Eklavya thought bitterly. A momentary surge of anger swept through him. Who was she to determine his worth? He made his way out of the mansion, following a servant out the door.

“Good luck with that one,” he said to the next woman in line.

It was only after he was halfway home that he turned her comments over in his head, carefully inspecting and polishing each letter until the words gleamed. 

She was right.

He hated to admit it but she was right. He hadn’t done anything to improve himself. Dejected and forlorn, Eklavya resigned himself to the chores of the day, a grim line of determination etched on his forehead. Not for long, he thought. Just you wait.