The road to Ambikapur wound through hills soaked in monsoon green. Trees dripped steadily, and the scent of wet earth filled the air. Aarav sat quietly in the wooden cart, staring out as villages passed by—some thriving, others worn thin with poverty.
It took two days.
By the afternoon of the third, the cart creaked into the gates of the zamindar's estate. Thick stone walls, archways, guards in cotton tunics, and a sprawling courtyard. It wasn't a palace—but it had presence. Power.
The lion emblem of the zamindar was etched into the stone above the gate: strength, vigilance, command.
Aarav's arrival caused whispers.
"A peasant boy?"
"The one who healed a village?"
"Why is he barefoot?"
He ignored it all.
A steward met him near the main hall. "The zamindar will see you shortly. Clean yourself at the pump, and don't speak unless spoken to."
Aarav nodded. He washed, tied his dhoti tighter, and dried his hands slowly.
Then, the great doors opened.
---
Inside, the hall of hearing was cool and dim. Oil lamps flickered in the corners. Thick red carpets muffled footsteps.
At the far end sat Zamindar Raghunath Dev—not young, but not old. His beard was peppered gray, his turban tall and crisp. Rings adorned his fingers, and a sword rested across his lap—not for show.
Beside him stood Vishwanath, the scribe from before, holding a scroll and smirking faintly.
"So," said the zamindar, his voice calm but weighty. "You are the boy who digs trenches in the mud and tells grandmothers to boil water."
Aarav bowed. "Yes, my lord."
"You do not look like a healer. Or a scholar. And yet your village thrives where others cough and die."
Aarav said nothing.
The zamindar continued, "My scribe tells me you understand irrigation, sanitation, and herbal medicine. Where did you learn these things?"
Aarav took a breath. "From the land. From observing. From trial and error."
The zamindar raised an eyebrow. "Not from books?"
Aarav smiled slightly. "Sometimes, the land is the best book."
There was a pause.
Then the zamindar laughed. A short, sharp sound.
"Well said."
He stood and walked slowly toward Aarav, circling him like a lion around prey—or a potential ally.
"My kingdom is small," he said. "But I wish to strengthen it. Too many of my people die from ignorance. I tax them, they grow weaker. That cycle must break."
He turned, faced Aarav directly.
"I offer you this: serve me for one year. Set up your methods in three other villages. If your results hold… I will make you an advisor. A real one. With land."
Aarav hesitated.
"I did not do these things for reward," he said. "Only for my people."
Raghunath nodded. "And yet you must choose: remain a local miracle, or become the cause of greater change."
Aarav looked at Vishwanath, who studied him like a riddle he couldn't solve.
Then he said quietly, "I accept."
---
That evening, Aarav was given a small room in the estate's guest quarters. No guards, no chains. Trust—or a trap.
He sat on the edge of the cot, staring at the wall.
Three villages. Three chances.
Could he replicate what he did in Manikpur? Without trust? Without Kavita? Without time?
He wrote out a plan on palm-leaf scrolls, listing what he would do first:
1. Assess the water source.
2. Identify herbal resources.
3. Check cooking methods and smoke exposure.
4. Introduce composting if possible.
5. Train at least one apprentice per village.
He didn't sleep that night. Too much rode on this.
---
The next day, he was escorted by Vishwanath and two guards to the first village—Gadhpura, four miles south of Ambikapur.
Dry fields. Coughing children. Mud huts blackened with soot.
It felt like a mirror of what Manikpur had been… before.
The villagers looked at him with suspicion. Who was this barefoot boy from another village, brought here like a prince?
Aarav did not preach. He did not boast.
He sat with the children first, asking about their daily chores. Then with the women, learning how they cooked, how often water was drawn, where they stored grain.
By nightfall, he had a full picture.
He gathered the villagers and said softly, "I want to try something. Not because I'm better. But because I saw it work."
Then he showed them:
A smokeless chulha, built from three bricks and a clay dome.
A hand-dug trench that led to a water pit.
A method to dry neem leaves for mosquito control.
He offered no speeches.
Just tools.
They watched.
One woman tried the chulha. It worked.
A boy mimicked the trench. Water flowed.
By the third day, two men offered to help him build more.
By the seventh day, he had names.
Helpers. Learners.
---
Back at the zamindar's court, Vishwanath reported, "The boy works. Not like a preacher. Like a seed."
Raghunath leaned back. "Let him continue. I want to see how far this root can grow."
---