~ "He didn't ask for a title. But destiny — and a very chatty traitor — gave him one anyway."
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The great hall of Vidyānanda Gurukula bathed in the mellow brilliance of early noon light streaming through its intricate skylights, casting golden-hued patterns across the stone floor of the Rang Manch — the sacred ceremonial platform where destinies were often rewritten. On this day, the air felt heavier, charged not only with ceremonial incense but with an energy that made every shishya's skin tingle and their breath still.
Kulapati Vedananda — guardian of the Gurukul's traditions, draped in white and ochre, his forehead marked with sandalwood and kumkum — stood as the truth-bearer of its legacy. His eyes, wise and sharp like a mountain eagle, fell upon the young man standing alone on the ceremonial platform — Ved Arya, the boy who vanished for three years and returned cloaked in mystery.
"Ved." He said, his voice solemn yet warm. "Go. Greet your Gurus."
The command echoed with quiet authority. At once, murmurs among the students died down, replaced by a hush so profound it seemed the wind itself paused to listen.
Standing beside Kulapati, Acharya Dhanvantri — Acharya of Ayurveda Vidya, guardian of healing and life's flow — exhaled softly. His lined face was lit not with surprise, but reverence.
"…The legend has returned to me." he whispered, almost to himself.
In that moment, even the air around Ved shimmered slightly — as if something unseen bowed to his presence.
Two sacred flames. One soul.
The mantle had chosen.
Ved Arya, once a nameless shishya — now returned as something more. The boy who had disappeared had not simply returned; he had been forged in silence and now stood transformed.
Midday light crowned his shoulders with radiance — as if the heavens themselves offered their silent salute. A hushed reverence settled over the courtyard. Even the birds perched atop the Gurukul roofs had grown still.
The crowd of shishyas — boys from across the realms trained in the nine sacred disciplines — stood in rapt awe. Their murmurs melted into reverence, like a prayer echoing through the centuries.
Without hesitation, Ved stepped down from the platform, his footsteps calm but resonating like thunder in the hearts of those who watched. He walked across the stone floor and stopped before the two Acharyas standing on either side of the Kulapati.
"Please guide me in the future, Guru." he said, his voice steady, but soft with humility. His voice echoed like a solemn prayer beneath the noon sky.
Before him stood:
Acharya Dhanvantri — the Acharya of Ayurveda Vidya.
Acharya Mahakaal Astrajnani — the formidable Guru of Shaastra and Dhaunurveda, whose very presence radiated martial calm.
Ved bowed low, deeply, sincerely.
As his head remained bowed, Kulapati Vedananda's voice rang out once more, now with the weight of a declaration.
"From today onwards," he announced to the gathered disciples, "you are officially a member of the Panch Tatva — the fifth member. From this moment, you shall bear the title: Vedshree."
The silence broke.
A thousand thoughts ricocheted through Ved's mind.
"What? Me?" Ved blurted, pointing to himself, eyes wide with disbelief.
Kulapati raised a questioning brow. "Do you express disapproval, Ved?"
Ved took a deep breath. The sun bore down upon him, but a different heat churned within — confusion, resistance.
"I haven't contributed to any activities in the Gurukul. There might be others more capable for this position." he replied quickly, a clear tone of denial in his voice.
A chuckle rumbled from Acharya Mahakaal Astrajnani, though his eyes remained sharp. "Devansh, haven't you told him about this?"
All eyes — including Ved's — turned to the culprit who suddenly found his spot under the sun far too bright.
Devansh Sen froze like a rabbit before a lion. His mouth twitched nervously. "Ahm… aahmm… hehehe…"
He felt a cold chill under the hot scorching sun.
"Looks like you haven't," Kulapati muttered, stepping toward Ved. "Listen, Ved. We've seen your formulae and theories. They are elegant, refined, and far beyond what most of our top shishyas could produce."
Ved's eyes narrowed. "But… how do you know they're mine?"
"Because your friend or your sworn brother..." Acharya Dhanvantri smiled gently, "has been quietly bringing your work to our attention for months. Every time you solved one of his questions, gave him an alternative, offered him a better explanation — he brought it to us."
Ved blinked — memory flickering like lightning. The night Devansh had struggled with Shaastra problems, the moment Ved had helped him out of casual kindness, never imagining…
The countless evenings where Devansh came running with a doubt or dilemma, and Ved helped, thinking it was merely to aid a friend. His expressions turned from shock to dangerous calm.
He turned his head slowly. His gaze fixed on Devansh. And it turned deadly. It was enough to make the taller boy gulp.
Devansh nervous glances danced between Kulapati and the increasingly murderous expression on Ved's face.
"Oh!" Ved said, smiling sweetly — a smile sharp enough to curdle milk. "He has. How nice of him."
Devansh instinctively stepped back, body already prepared to bolt.
"If you run," Ved warned, his tone deadly, eyes glowing with fire. "not a single drop of your blood will be found on this world."
"STAY. RIGHT. THERE."
The courtyard tensed.
But before the inevitable storm could break, Ved slowly exhaled and turned back toward the platform.
Then, with a deep nod, he accepted the title bestowed upon him.
He became Vedshree — the fifth member of the Panch Tatva.
Meanwhile, from the crowd of assembled shishyas, hushed murmurs rose again like whispers of the wind:
"We thought the title and position would go to Yogesh Chandra…" one shishya whispered.
"He earned so many merits and completed more works than anyone." another murmured. "It was almost certain—"
"Sshh! Keep your voice down."
"Don't look back. He's still here."
Among them, standing near the edge of the courtyard, was a tall young man — no more than sixteen or seventeen. He possessed a presence far beyond his age. Jade-black eyes glimmered under the early noon light, and his raven-dark hair, tied behind, gave him a regal yet severe demeanor. His posture, upright with broad shoulders, was that of one born for command.
Yogesh Chandra.
He stood motionless, his arms crossed behind him. His gaze lingered on the platform — not surprised, but deeply amused, almost mocking.
His eyes shifted to Ved — and darkened. No words were spoken. But the unspoken challenge simmered in the heat.
The boy who'd stolen the title that should've been his.
> This will be interesting. He thought, lips curling slightly. > Let's see how long you hold that crown, Vedshree.
Then, with a final glance, Yogesh turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing like war drums against stone.
As he disappeared into the corridors, a subtle warmth returned to the air, and the gathered shishyas exhaled — relieved, wary, unsure of what the future might now bring.
The Acharyas and Kulapati began their exit from the sacred space, flanked by attendants and senior disciples.
But one matter remained unresolved.
Ved's eyes gleamed — not just with retribution, but with betrayal veiled in humor — slowly turned toward his so-called brother.
Devansh, still frozen, knew the storm had arrived.
He looked like he might faint, but his survival instinct took over — he bolted across the platform.
"STOP RIGHT THERE, YOU TRAITOR!" Ved roared, the echo thundering across the Rang Manch. "You TRAITOR! A mouse parading as a tiger!"
The entire Gurukul watched as a full-blown chase broke out on the ceremonial stage.
"FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN, NOT A MOUSE!" Ved shouted, sprinting after him. "Come back here, O brilliant messenger of stolen wisdom!"
"WHERE ARE YOU RUNNING OFF TO? FIGHT LIKE A TIGER! WHY RUN LIKE A SCARED MOUSE, YOU BIG MOUSE!"
Their chase looked like a scene from Pakdam Pakdai, the ancient childhood game — but with a very real threat behind the furious feet pounding the stones. The most chaotic game of pakdam pakdai ever witnessed by Gurukul history began.
Devansh ran with all his might, dashing between pillars, tripping over shishyas, leaping over stone steps.
Ved chased after him with the intensity of a possessed warrior.
The midday sun bore down as laughter and gasps rippled through the courtyard. Even some of the senior shishyas paused to watch the drama unfold. It was a chase of vengeance, but also of deep friendship — tangled in chaos and warmth.
At last, Devansh's foot snagged on the edge of a ceremonial pot, and he tumbled to the ground with a yelp.
Ved pounced, pinning him with his knee and delivering several precise smacks that echoed like soft thunder — wrestling him to the ground in a mock-fight that had the shishyas cheering and laughing.
"You're DEAD, Devansh!" Ved shouted between mock-punches. "Next time you drag me into some grand fate, at least this is a warning for you!"
"Ow! Mercy!" Devansh cried. "You got the title! Isn't that enough?!"
"No. I want revenge and milk sweets. You owe me both!"
As Kulapati Vedananda walked to the Gurukul corridors, he listened Devansh's cry, and shook his head with a smile. The Acharyas beside him chuckled softly.
"Some flames," Acharya Nakshatraketu — Acharya of Antariksha Gyaan & Brahma-Raah Nirdeshak, said, "don't need kindling. They simply return — when the world needs them."
Back on the platform...
"Next time," Ved muttered, his expression half-annoyed, half-amused, "ask before making me the hero."
Devansh groaned from the floor.
"Noted… little Acharya…"
But behind laughter, a shadow had already turned its back — and the flame of resentment had quietly been lit.
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The sun dipped low, casting long golden streaks across the stone pathways as the shishyas trickled out of the Rang Manch, some chatting, others yawning, the echoes of the earlier ceremony still lingering in the air. After a spirited chase that left Devansh with several dramatic bruises and Ved smirking in mock vengeance, the two wandered leisurely through the Gurukul, the scent of forest grass and sandalwood drifting on the warm early evening breeze.
"You beat me like I was a punching dummy." Devansh groaned, massaging his shoulder. "I swear my joints are crying."
"You think betrayal comes cheap?" Ved said, eyes narrowing. "How else should I treat the guy who sold me out like a bag of rice?"
Devansh chuckled nervously and turned his face away, muttering, "Was all that drama really necessary?"
But Ved grinned and gave a side-elbow to him. "Don't worry, brother. You're still alive. That's proof of my mercy."
Their banter led them to the Gurukul's expansive kitchen halls, where a lazy plume of smoke twisted into the sky. The scent of cardamom, ghee, and something slightly charred hit their nostrils.
"Uh-oh." Devansh said.
They sprinted to the kitchen, only to find a frazzled young apprentice being scolded by the head chef, who looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown.
"You let it burn? That was for the Acharyas! They only eat a handful of times each year! You've ruined the entire offering!"
The young apprentice's eyes brimmed with tears. The head chef buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed in despair.
Just then, the back kitchen doors creaked open. Ved and Devansh stepped in — dusty, bruised, and barefoot.
The head chef looked up in alarm. "Ah! No, no—food will be ready soon, please wait—"
But Ved raised a hand gently and said, "We're not here to eat, Chef. We're here to help."
The chef stared. "Help? What do you know about cooking? This isn't chanting sutras or swinging swords — this is art!"