When the rain stopped, Megha felt a lightness she hadn't experienced since childhood. The world appeared sharper, the colors of the Parijat trees more vivid. She knelt in the damp sand, her royal mask completely gone, leaving only a woman seeking the truth. She folded her hands, her voice small and sincere. "I still do not know who you are," she whispered. "But you have seen through me in a way no teacher ever has. You have purified me. Please, tell me your name, and let me be your disciple. Let me learn about the world from you."
Aryavardhan took the bow back, his touch lingering on the weapon. "That water was the weight of your own arrogance, Devika," he said, and for the first time, his voice held a trace of distant, bittersweet affection. "It has washed you clean, so you can finally see clearly. You are a magnificent warrior—perhaps the finest I have seen."
He paused, looking out over the crashing waves. "But I cannot be your Guru. Our paths are meant to cross, but not as master and student." With a flick of his wrist, he turned toward the west. In a blur of golden light that made Megha blink, the massive bow simply vanished from his hand, dissolving into the air as if it had been made of mist.
He began to walk away, his silhouette growing smaller against the sunset. Megha scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding. She didn’t want the weapon now; she wanted the man’s wisdom. "Please!" she called out, running through the surf after him, her voice echoing off the trees. "At least give me a name to hold onto! Who are you?"
Sudarshan stood still, the air around him thickening with the gravity of his confession. He didn't look at Megha as a man looks at a woman, but as a mountain looks at a passing breeze. "My duty is the only skin I wear," he said, his voice deep and resonant like a temple bell. "My goal is the very foundation upon which I stand. My name is Sudarshan, President of this land. Now you have the truth, Devika. I urge you—leave this place. This solitude is not meant for you."
Megha did not flinch. The "water of pride" had indeed washed her clean; she felt no insult from his dismissal, only a calm, driving clarity. She looked at him—this man who had turned his entire existence into a monument of service—and felt a spark of something she couldn't yet name.
"I am going home today, Sudarshan," she said, her voice soft but resonating across the sand. She paused at the water’s edge, a playful, knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "But do not get too used to the silence. I’ll be back tomorrow."
With a shimmer of light, she vanished, leaving only the sound of the waves. Sudarshan stood alone in the fading light. He let out a long, slow breath, then sat back down in his samadhi, closing his eyes to seek the familiar, quiet comfort of Shriram’s name. But for the first time in years, the silence felt a little less empty.
