Years ago… when Agnivrat and Neervrah first met."
Gurukul Days — When Fire Met Water
A Few Years Ago…
Deep inside a vast forest, there stood a spiritual Gurukul—a sanctuary where life, learning, and nature intertwined. Small cottages made of bamboo and grass dotted the grounds, tiny ponds bloomed with lotus flowers, and the air was filled with the fragrance of flowers. On one side lay the akhada, for wrestling and physical training; on the other, the sword-fighting arena. There was a flower garden, and a large area dedicated to yoga and meditation. Everywhere, the sounds of Vedic chants echoed, weaving through the rustling leaves and the gentle trickle of water.
At the center of this sacred place was the special cottage of Acharya Vishrayan, the greatest guru of the Gurukul. Though around sixty, his eyes burned with wisdom and intensity. Even the clouds seemed to acknowledge his presence, rumbling softly as rain began to fall lightly.
On the training grounds, a boy in red moved with precision, his every strike infused with purpose. This was Agnivrat—or as he was called then, Agniveer. Flames seemed to dance in his eyes, and the air around him shimmered with the heat of his presence. He swung his sword with focus so intense, it felt as if every blow could end an enemy's life.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps broke through his concentration. A boy was running toward him, chasing a mischievous little rabbit. That was Neervrah—carefree, playful, with laughter always hiding behind his eyes.
In a moment of misfortune, Neer slipped on the wet grass and collided with Agni. Both tumbled to the ground, landing in a heap. For a heartbeat, time seemed to stop. Rain fell around them like a curtain of silver droplets. Their eyes met, and for an instant, the world seemed to fade—the air shimmered with something almost mystical, a connection they couldn't yet understand.
Neer's fellow students arrived behind him.
"Neer, are you okay?" one called out.
Agniveer pushed Neer gently but firmly aside, his voice sharp.
"…Who are you? Are you blind? Can't you see we're practicing swordsmanship? You've interrupted our training. Leave immediately, or else—"
Neer, ever playful, laughed.
"Oh, calm down, mighty prince! Did you get hurt? We had no idea you were practicing. We thought someone was just showing off. Your little rabbit ran right into us—that's all. By the way, sir, may I know your name?"
Agniveer's face flushed with anger, though he tried to control it.
"My name is Agniveer. And you've interrupted my practice. Leave now, or else—"
Neer grinned, unbothered.
"Oh, come on, wait a little! Calm your anger, Prince Agni. As your name suggests, you burn with fire. Just give a little attention to my dear rabbit, or someone's temper might really scorch you."
With a laugh, Neer walked away, glancing back over his shoulder to smile at Agni. But Agni's face remained unreadable. He just watched, a storm of confusion and curiosity brewing within him. His eyes seemed to search for answers to questions he didn't even know how to ask yet. But he was only a child then, and understanding was beyond him. He returned to his sword practice, though a strange curiosity lingered in his heart.
And so began the little clashes between them—small fights, teasing exchanges, moments of anger and laughter, all under the watchful eyes of the Gurukul. Though the boys did not fully understand it, Acharya Vishrayan always knew.
The Gurukul was not just a place for physical training. Alongside care and discipline, the students received lessons in yoga, scriptures, Vedas, Upanishads, and Kshatriya dharma. They were taught courage, honor, and the responsibilities of warriors. The foundation of their education was now complete—what remained was the path of true valor.
Ten years passed within the Gurukul. The children grew, and the young warriors-in-training emerged into adulthood. Now twenty years old, Agni and Neer, along with their fellow disciples, stood on the cusp of their prime. They had mastered knowledge and skill, yet destiny awaited to test their hearts, their courage, and the invisible bond that tied fire and water together.
---
A Morning in the Training Ground
The storm had passed, leaving the earth fresh and fragrant. Sunlight filtered through the forest canopy, sparkling on the lotus-filled ponds. Agni stood in the sword arena, practicing alone. His red robes clung to him as he moved fluidly, each strike precise, yet powerful.
"Focus, Agniveer! Your mind wanders too much!" barked a fellow student, teasing him, yet impressed by his strength.
A mischievous giggle echoed from the other side of the training ground. Neer appeared, still chasing his little rabbit, which seemed to enjoy teasing both boys. With a playful leap, Neer landed near Agni again, scattering a few training dummies.
"Neer! Really, you're impossible!" Agni snapped, though there was a faint edge of amusement in his tone.
Neer bowed mockingly. "Oh mighty Agni, forgive me. It's just that your fire is so… mesmerizing. How can a humble rabbit compete?"
Agni's eyes narrowed. "You'll pay for that."
Neer's grin widened. "I like it when you say that. Shows you're warming up."
For a moment, Agni paused. Despite the irritation, he noticed the calm in Neer's eyes—the depth he hadn't seen in anyone else. Water and fire… they were opposites, yet somehow, in that moment, perfectly balanced.
As days passed, small incidents like this became routine. A collision here, a teasing remark there, playful arguments that often ended with laughter—or sometimes with a sword duel just to settle pride. They pushed each other, challenged each other, and unknowingly, a bond began forming, forged in rivalry and curiosity.
Acharya Vishrayan observed quietly, a faint smile on his lips. He knew that one day, the fire and water would meet in ways neither of them could yet imagine. And when they did, the world would tremble again.
---
Evenings in the Gurukul
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, the students would gather in the courtyard for Vedic chants. The air was filled with devotion, discipline, and the subtle laughter of youth.
Neer would often sneak glances at Agni from across the courtyard, always teasing, always playful. Agni, in turn, tried to ignore him but found that he couldn't. There was something magnetic about the boy in blue, as if their destinies were quietly weaving together while they bickered and trained side by side.
Sometimes, in the quiet of meditation, Agni would see fleeting visions—shadows of fire meeting water, flames dissolving into waves, and a strange feeling of déjà vu. Neer, too, sometimes felt it—the strange pull of someone he did not yet fully know, but could not ignore.
And so, life in the Gurukul went on: training, laughter, small conflicts, lessons in bravery and honor, and the unspoken bond growing stronger between the boy of fire and the boy of water.
They were young, inexperienced, but fate had already begun its quiet work. Ten years of growth, discipline, and destiny had passed. Now, as they stood on the edge of adulthood, the stage was set for the trials, missions, and bonds that would shape not just their lives, but the world around them.