~ "One meal. One kitchen boy. One forgotten taste."
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After the chaos of chasing and catching, with bruised limbs and wheezing lungs, the energy in the Rang Manch slowly began to settle. The once electrified arena now shimmered under the mellow brilliance of the sun, casting long golden shadows across the flagstones. One by one, the shishyas—still murmuring in low tones about the unexpected announcement—began dispersing, returning to their dormitory halls with renewed awe for Ved Arya.
Meanwhile, Ved and Devansh, still recovering from their impromptu game of pakdam-pakdai, strolled through the Gurukul's winding sandstone paths. The air was calmer now, filled with the rhythmic chirping of birds nesting in ancient banyan trees and the distant gong of a dhyaan bell.
Devansh limped slightly, rubbing his sore shoulder joint and grumbling, "You beat me too hard. It felt like you were ready to rip me apart today."
He winced dramatically. "Who beats their brother like this?"
Ved chuckled, flicking a pebble ahead with his foot. "Oh? So now you're going to teach me about brotherhood?" He slowed down, turning to walk backward and face Devansh with a teasing smirk. "What about you, huh? The betrayal you handed me on a silver plate? Tell me then—what punishment befits the traitor who sells out his brother?"
Devansh averted his gaze, cheeks tinged with guilt, choosing instead to admire a random patch of grass on the ground. "Why bring that up again?" he muttered under his breath.
Ved raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so now you're speechless?"
His tone was mock-offended. "Look at him, silent like a yogi[1] in penance. When it came to snatching my research and offering it to the acharyas behind my back, your tongue didn't stutter then, did it?"
"I did it because I knew you'd never step up." Devansh retorted, voice quiet but sincere. "You would've hidden forever. You belong on that platform, Ved—not in the shadows."
Ved stopped walking. For a moment, he looked at Devansh—really looked. That same stubborn fool who used to sneak laddoos[2] at night and scribble runes upside down was now the reason he stood beneath the noon sun as Vedshree.
He sighed. "You're lucky I didn't burn your bedsheets in retaliation."
"Wait—you didn't?" Devansh asked, half-joking, half-worried.
Ved didn't answer. He only smiled—a slow, dangerous smile.
Before Devansh could further panic, a mouthwatering aroma wafted in the air, carried by the warm breeze. A sharp tinge of ghee[3], gud[4], and something… slightly charred.
Both of them sniffed simultaneously. "Kheer[5]?" Devansh guessed. "Or... burnt kheer?"
"Smells like something went wrong." Ved murmured, eyes narrowing. Without another word, they both hurried toward the Gurukul Rasoeeghar Bhavan[6], tucked behind the Shaastra Bhavan.
As they reached the back entrance, they heard a commotion inside. The head chef, a man with a round belly and an even rounder voice, was visibly distressed. He towered over a young kitchen boy who looked no older than twelve, trembling as the chef berated him.
"What am I supposed to do now?" the chef thundered. "Do you understand what you've done? Today wasn't just any meal! This was for them! The Acharyas! The Kulapati himself!"
The boy mumbled an apology, his voice choked with tears. "I— I tried to put the fire out... but it... it burned too fast..."
The head chef grabbed his head in frustration, pacing wildly. "Burnt the dessert. The dessert! The one thing that was supposed to be perfect!"
Ved and Devansh exchanged glances. Without hesitation, they pushed open the back door.
The chef turned at the sound of footsteps. "No! Children, no! Don't come in! There's nothing for you—nothing edible, at least! Give us a moment—"
But the panic made him more flustered. In his rush to block them from seeing the chaos, he knocked over a pot of half-made saag[7], splattering it across the floor. He squatted instantly, his apron bunched around his knees, cradling his head like a man who'd lost a battle.
Ved stepped forward gently and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Rasoiya-ji[8]. We're not here to ask for food." Ved said calmly. "We're here to help you."
The head chef blinked up at him, confused.
Devansh added with a shrug, "Trust me, he can cook better than most people you've trained. He once made me a delicious light meal with healing herbs that fixed my cough and made me cry out of joy."
"That was an accident." Ved muttered.
"Still tasted divine." Devansh said with a grin.
The head chef stood slowly, brushing off his hands. "And what do you know about cooking?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest. "This is an art, not like reciting shlokas or waving sticks pretending they're swords."
Ved tilted his head. "But what is food, if not a shastra of its own? You calculate the balance. Combine energies. Match rasa[9] with intent. Every recipe has a structure, like a sutra. Every ingredient has its guna[10], just like herbs in Ayurveda."
The chef's eyes narrowed slightly, interested despite himself.
Ved continued, "If Acharya Dhanvantri can treat doshas[11] with herbs, then I can treat this Rasoee's wounds with flavor."
Devansh whispered, "That was poetic. You've been practicing speeches lately, haven't you?"
Ved glanced at him angrily—Devansh fell silent.
The chef chuckled mockingly. "Fine. Let's see if that celestial brain of yours can make something edible in less than an hour."
Ved rolled up his sleeves. "Challenge accepted."
Within minutes, the kitchen was alive again.
Devansh chopped dates into slivers and set the raisins to soak, their shriveled forms slowly plumping with warmth. The little kitchen boy—still sniffling—was assigned to stir a heavy pot of milk, not allowed a single blink, lest it burn. His small hands gripped the ladle with purpose as the milk bubbled and thickened, slowly transforming into soft, grainy mawa under his careful watch.
Meanwhile, Ved darted between shelves like a seasoned culinary warrior, his movements swift and precise—measures and proportions dancing through his mind to his hands like a divine equation.
Cardamom was crushed with jaggery, and saffron threads were steeped in warm milk. Grated apples—sweet, juicy, and seasonal—were added with a quiet reverence, followed by a dash of crushed almonds and the freshly made mawa[12].
"Seb ki Kheer[13]?" the little kitchen boy asked, wide-eyed, still stirring.
"Sweet. Nourishing. Cools the body and soul." Ved replied as he poured the velvety mixture into a large clay pot to cook.
The aroma filled the Rasoeeghar—warm, rich, and nostalgic.
By the time the bells tolled the fifth prahar[14] of the day (Sāyamkāla[15]), the new dessert was ready. The little kitchen boy stared at the result, then at Ved, and said:
"This… this might actually work?"
"You didn't know it's amazing." Devansh smirked, reaching for the nearest pot to taste.
But Ved slapped his hand away.
"We still need to cook a meal. It is just the start." He said.
They cooked an entire light, satvik[16] meal for all and served it on beautifully arranged leaves.
The head chef sat arrogantly on the ground in the Bhog Bhavan[17], thinking:
> They believe they can cook a meal or two, like reciting shlokas[18] or playing with swords. And what does that boy say...?
If Acharya Dhanvantri can cure doshas with Ayurveda, then I'll treat Rasoee's wounds with rasa... Something like that...
All the shishyas were stunned to see Rasoiya-ji in the Bhog Bhavan, and a quiet muttering spread among them:
"Why is our Gurukul's Rasoiya not in Rasoeeghar but here in the Bhog Bhavan?"
"Is there something going on that we don't know?"
"Can we go and ask him?"
"Why didn't he make the meal today?"
As the head chef's nose lifted with ego and arrogance, the shishyas began approaching him for answers—when suddenly, the door of the Rasoeeghar opened and a delicious aroma filled the Bhog Bhavan.
Not only the shishyas and the head chef, but even the Kulapati and Acharyas were drawn towards the scent that drifted in like a silken whisper of nostalgia and delight.
The aroma was unlike anything they'd smelled in recent times—warm notes of khade masala and mellow sweetness.
Devansh entered, carrying the steamed jeera rice[19] with tempered moong dal tadka[20], aloo-tamatar sabzi[21], a simple salad of cucumber, tomato and radish, crunchy papad[22], puffed pooris[23], and of course, the star of the day—Apple Kheer, nestled in different earthen pots like golden moons waiting to be tasted.
The little kitchen boy peeked out from behind Devansh, beaming with quiet pride, carrying the large patta thal[24] leaf for the satvik meal.
The Bhog Bhavan fell silent.
The head chef's nostrils flared. He sniffed once, then again. His eyes widened as recognition dawned.
He hadn't said it out loud—not yet—but something had shifted.
This wasn't just food.
This was the fragrance of a dish he had long forgotten—or to be more accurate... missed.
The little kitchen boy offered the first pattal thal to the Kulapati with both hands, bowing deeply.
"Prepared with devotion. Served with humility." Devansh said softly.
Kulapati Vedananda looked up, the faintest smile playing at the corners of his wise lips. He took a measured spoonful of the kheer, tasted it, and paused.
A long pause.
Then… he exhaled through his nose with satisfaction.
"Cooling. Balanced. Sweet, but not overpowering. Like vaidya[25] to cure troubled doshas." he remarked.
Whispers erupted again among the shishyas. Devansh beamed and gestured to the opened gate of Rasoeeghar, as if to say: "Told you—it's amazing."
The head chef remained frozen on his mat—a mixture of disbelief, awe, and the ache of something he hadn't smelled and tasted in years.
One of the younger shishyas, bold and curious, turned toward him and asked innocently, "Rasoiya-ji… why didn't you cook today?"
The chef didn't answer immediately. He stood calmly and walked into Rasoeeghar.
He approached Ved, who was still engrossed in making fresh puffed pooris and papads.
He lowered his head.
"I shouldn't have behaved like that. You are like my elder. Please… don't do that again."
Ved paused, then looked up and humbly replied:
"What are you doing? You are like my elder. Please don't do that again."
"The posture... the phrase... the tone... the smell... are you—"
The chef's words stuck in his throat as the Kulapati entered the room.
"Oh! So today's little main chef is our returning shishya, Vedshree," the Kulapati exclaimed, his gaze falling on Ved—whose appearance was slightly disheveled.
"Shishya Vedshree greets Kulapati and Acharyas," Ved said with a proper bow, even though his face was lightly dusted with flour, and his clothes bore small wet spots of ghee and water.
The head chef looked at him in surprise. He had heard tales of the mysterious prodigy of the Gurukul—of his return—but he never expected the much-talked-about little star to willingly step into the kitchen and help the staff like this.
Noticing Ved's flour-smeared face and damp clothes, the Kulapati asked, "Why are you in the Rasoeeghar instead of the Rasoiya?"
Then his eyes turned, ever so slightly, toward the head chef—his tone shifting subtly.
The head chef grew nervous. In that moment, the memories of his own arrogance came rushing back—the mocking laughter, the disbelief that Ved could cook, the challenge he threw casually. His throat tightened, preparing for rebuke or dismissal.
But none came as Ved explained.
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[1] yogi: A spiritual seeker or practitioner of yoga.
[2] laddoos: Round Indian sweets made from flour, ghee, and sugar.
[3] ghee: Clarified butter used in Indian cooking and rituals.
[4] gud: Unrefined cane sugar, also known as jaggery.
[5] kheer: A sweet rice pudding made with milk, sugar, and dry fruits.
[6] rasoeeghar bhavan: The main kitchen building of the Gurukul.
[7] saag: A dish made with leafy green vegetables, often spiced.
[8] rasoiya(-ji): A respectful term for cook or chef.
[9] rasa: The essence, flavor, or emotional mood in food or art.
[10] guna: The inherent quality or attribute of a substance or being.
[11] doshas: The three Ayurvedic energies—Vata, Pitta, and Kapha—governing health.
[12] mawa: Thickened milk solids used in Indian sweets.
[13] seb ki kheer: A dessert made with milk and grated apples.
[14] prahar: A traditional Indian unit of time, roughly three hours.
[15] sāyamkāla: The evening period; twilight or dusk.
[16] satvik: Pure, balanced, and nourishing — ideal in yogic diets.
[17] bhog bhavan: The sacred dining or offering hall in an ashram or Gurukul.
[18] shlokas: Verses or hymns, often from sacred Sanskrit texts.
[19] steamed jeera rice: Fragrant rice steamed with cumin seeds.
[20] moong dal tadka: Yellow lentils tempered with ghee and spices.
[21] aloo-tamatar sabzi: A spiced potato and tomato curry.
[22] papad: Thin, crisp spiced wafers served as an accompaniment.
[23] pooris: Deep-fried puffy Indian flatbreads.
[24] patta thal: A traditional plate made from stitched banana leaves.
[25] vaidya: An Ayurvedic healer or traditional Indian physician.