The Vow Before the Mist
✨ Soul Verse
Ek shabd hota. Ek paan hote.
Ek ghoda hota. Ek jeevan suru jhale.
(One word. One leaf. One horse. One awakening begins.)
***
The mist enveloped the fort like a lingering memory, thick
and enigmatic. Veeraj stood at the edge of the rampart, the wind tugging
playfully at his robes. Below, the ancient jungle pulsed with life, vibrant
green and full of secrets, as if it were listening to his every thought.
Beneath his feet, the stone was marked by a faint spiral, not merely a product
of erosion and time, but a प्राणचक्र (Prānchakra), a soul spiral, a symbol
of life’s eternal cycle.
He didn’t quite understand why he had felt the urge to come
here alone; he only knew that some invisible force had beckoned him here.
Malhar arrived breathless, his sword resting loosely at his
side. “You shouldn’t be here,” he warned, glancing over his shoulder as if
expecting their father's shadow to loom behind him. “Your father is asking for
you.”
“Let him wait,” Veeraj replied, his voice steady yet
distant. “There’s something older than politics at play here.”
Malhar's brow furrowed as he studied Veeraj. “You sound like
Swami Rudraprakash, brooding and contemplative.”
A smile crept across Veeraj’s lips. “Maybe I’m finally
learning to listen.”
He knelt beside the spiral, placing a folded leaf upon the
stone. It wasn’t a ritual offering but rather an act of remembrance. “I don’t
understand what this is,” he confessed, his fingers brushing the spiral’s
surface, “but it feels like a promise.”
“A vow?” Malhar inquired, trying to grasp the weight of his
friend’s words.
“Yes,” Veeraj affirmed, “but not mine. At least not yet.”
As if stirred by their conversation, the wind shifted
gently. From the mist, a black horse emerged, its presence silent yet
commanding. It stood there, watching intently, a white flame-shaped mark banded
across its brow. Veeraj froze, entranced.
“Do you see him?” he whispered, heart racing.
Malhar nodded slowly. “He’s been following you for a while.”
Veeraj's fingers danced across the spiral again, feeling a
faint pulse beneath his touch. “If silence is ever broken, I will return…” he
uttered, the words flowing naturally, as though they were always meant to be
spoken.
“What did you say?” Malhar asked, stepping back, the gravity
of the moment washing over him.
“I don’t know,” Veeraj replied, bewildered. “It just came to
me.”
From the fort wall, Meera observed quietly. Her eyes were
keen, sharp with insight, and her smile soft but knowing. Though she didn’t
speak, her silence echoed with unspoken understanding.
That night, as the shadows deepened and the world settled
into stillness, Veeraj sat with his journal, a sense of urgency pushing the ink
across the page. He did not write a poem; he wrote a hum, a प्राणगाथा (Prāṇagāthā), or soul verse.
He was unaware, in that moment of creation, that the vow he
had whispered was ancient, older than his name, older than the very foundations
of the kingdom. It was a vow that had been murmured once before, on a ledge
shrouded in mist, by a soul that had promised to return. The echoes of the past
were calling, and Veeraj was destined to answer.
“Through the mist, a shadow stirred, hoofbeats echoing,
carrying the weight of a vow yet to be remembered.”
***
PS.Hi Readers
Hope you are liking the chapters from my already published novel. If you give me your feedback & your likes, i will definitely continue sharing the future chapters.
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