The child blinked open his eyes, confusion washing over his features as he surveyed the crowd that had gathered around him.
"Mom? Dad? What's happening? Why are you all looking at me like that?" he asked, his voice shaky yet curious. In an instant of relief, his parents scooped him into their arms, their tears of joy mingling with laughter as they whispered, "Nothing, my son. We're just so thankful you're okay." Their voices trembled with emotion, grateful for the miracle that had just unfolded before their eyes.
Witnessing this extraordinary moment, the boy's father turned toward the young man, his hands pressed together in a gesture of gratitude. "What did you do?" the father implored, eyes wide with astonishment. "What magic resides in this drink that has given my child a second chance?"
With a humble shake of his head, the young man answered softly, "It's nothing more than a refreshing drink." But the father, fueled by relief and a burgeoning curiosity, urged him to share his secret, wanting desperately to express his appreciation. The crowd, too, chimed in, asking the young boy about his intriguing concoction and why he had opened a shop in the first place when it appeared to be a place meant for the affluent.
Straightening his posture, the young man cleared his throat. Raising his voice so all could hear, he proclaimed in a tone both commanding and vibrant, "O people of Malwa! Gather around and listen closely… for what I bring to you is not just a beverage, but a miracle heralded from the ages!"
He continued, unfolding a tale that sparked ignited the imagination of those present. "Long ago, while meditating beneath the serene embrace of the Vindhya mountains, I encountered an old sage, his visage encased in a warm, saffron glow. In a dream, he revealed himself as part of an ancient order known as the Keepers of Vital Essence. He told me, 'Your land is rich with brave warriors who tire and farmers who struggle beneath the relentless sun. Here, take this elixir to revive the dreams of Malwa.'
And thus, from that moment of divine inspiration, 'Pavitra Jwala' — The Sacred Spark—was born.
This elixir, made with the vibrant citrus essence of distant hills, sweetened with a rare syrup derived from sugarcane, and infused with crushed herbs gathered at dawn, does more than just quench thirst. It cools the fire that rages in your belly and ignites the very spirit of your soul.
"What can this marvel do?" He flashed a grin. "Ask the guards of the palace, who now never succumb to sleep on duty. Ask the royal dancers, who spin and twirl without weariness. Or even question Maharaj Bhoj Dev himself, the king who savored this very drink during the last durbar, declaring, 'Let this nectar flow throughout my kingdom. May every traveler sell it in every corner!'"
"But heed my warning! This is no ordinary sharbat. It is neither purely sweet nor simply tart—it dances, it sings upon the tongue, awakening the very spirit within you. One sip clears your mind of doubt. Three sips make your blood race with vitality. And five sips? You won't know fatigue until the moon itself forgets the stars."
He concluded with fervor, "I offer this not as a merchant, but as a devoted servant to the vitality of Malwa. One copper coin for every commoner, while those nobles who wish to embrace the vigor at their feasts can enjoy a full jug."
"Come, taste the future enfolded in wisdom from the ancients. Let Pavitra Jwala consume your fatigue!"
Whispers erupted like a tidal wave among the crowd, as curious faces exchanged glances of wonderment and collective intrigue. "Is this true? What is that drink" people started whispering amongst themselves. The young man, still riding on the high of the moment, began walking back toward his shop. Meanwhile, a few enchanted onlookers made the decision to follow, their excitement palpable in the air.
Suddenly, the boy emerged again, this time accompanied by two companions, each struggling to carry massive clay pots that towered over their upper bodies. They set them down on two low tables outside the shop. From within, they returned wielding an array of smaller, hand-sized pots. The young man set to work, pouring the mesmerizing liquid from the larger pots into the smaller ones using a wooden spatula, each movement fluid and purposeful.
As he handed out the cups to the eager spectators, there was an air of reluctance among them; after all, this was something completely new. But as they took their first sips of the enchanting drink, their expressions transformed into a kaleidoscope of awe and astonishment. The relief, the joy, the sparkle in their eyes was a powerful testament to the magic encapsulated in each drop of the sacred concoction.
A lean farmer, dark from the sun and sweat, stepped forward. He took the cup hesitantly, sniffed it, eyebrows raised. Around him, murmurs bubbled.
He took a sip.
First, his eyes widened. He blinked rapidly, almost in disbelief. His lips parted, as if to speak — but nothing came. Then his shoulders loosened, his chest rose with a long, satisfied breath, and a small, involuntary "Ahhh!" escaped him.
His body relaxed. He licked his lips, tilted the cup back again, and this time took a long, greedy gulp.
Next came the potter — skeptical, arms crossed. But as he took his sip, his posture changed. His brows rose, he leaned forward slightly, and for a moment, he stood frozen — stunned. Then he grinned. "By Mahadev, what is this magic?" he exclaimed, wiping his mustache.
Children squealed at the tangy-sweet shock, their feet hopping in delight, some sticking out their tongues in surprise before reaching eagerly for more. Old women lifted their veils, eyes crinkling in both suspicion and curiosity — but after one sip, they nodded approvingly, whispering blessings and asking for recipes.
As people started crowding the shop, the passing by noble noticed the crowd and ordered his servant to inquire about it.