Amay followed the dog without counting steps.
The cave swallowed distance. Its walls widened gradually, the ceiling lifting higher as though stone itself were loosening its hold. The torch in his hand grew unnecessary; a muted glow seemed to breathe from somewhere ahead.
What unsettled him was not the darkness.
It was the constancy of the dog.
It did not pause.
Not for water.
Not for rest.
Not even to turn back and check whether he still followed.
It moved with quiet certainty, as if hunger and fatigue were conditions of another realm.
Time inside the cave dissolved. Minutes did not accumulate; they thinned.
The air shifted.
The damp scent of soil softened into something lighter — faintly floral, almost warm.
Then he saw it.
Light.
Not reflected, not artificial.
Sunlight.
It spilled through the far end of the cave in golden strands, illuminating drifting particles of dust. A breeze flowed inward, cool yet gentle, carrying with it the scent of grass and something faintly sweet.
Amay slowed.
The cave opened into a vast landscape.
Beyond the threshold stretched an impossible expanse — mustard fields trembling under a sky so blue it seemed untouched by pollution or memory. Tall trees lined the horizon, their leaves whispering in a language he did not recognize but instinctively understood as peace.
A waterfall murmured somewhere to the right. Birds cooed and chirped in overlapping rhythms. The sun stood high above, radiant yet without heat.
He stepped closer to the edge.
The air brushed his skin without cold or warmth.
There was no discomfort here.
Only a deep, enveloping pleasantness — like the first breath after grief loosens its grip.
Amay’s chest tightened.
Only if Anvi could see this.
He imagined her walking through those fields, sunlight caught in her hair, laughter breaking through the stillness.
He lifted his foot.
Just one step would take him out of the cave and into that world.
“Not yet.”
The voice did not echo. It settled.
Amay turned sharply.
The dog was gone.
In its place stood the same man he had met at Nandi Hills — unchanged, composed, eyes clear as mountain air.
“I know why you are here,” the man said.
Amay did not deny it.
He did not fully understand it either, but something inside him acknowledged the truth of the statement.
“You seek what you have lost,” the man continued. “And you believe this world holds it.”
Amay glanced again at the fields beyond the cave. “What is this place?”
“That depends on what you are willing to become.”
Silence settled between them.
The man’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“Before you step out, you must understand the rules.”
Amay nodded, though his pulse had begun to climb again.
“As soon as you step out of this cave,” the man said calmly, “time here and time there will no longer move the same. Time in that world flows slower. What feels like months there may be days here.”
Amay absorbed the weight of that.
“You cannot return to this cave unless you learn what is being taught to you. And you do not know how long that learning will take. You may be there for what feels like years. Until then, you are bound to that world.”
The breeze from outside continued to move gently, invitingly.
“In that world,” the man continued, “no work is small. No task is beneath you. Ego has no soil to grow in there. If you carry it, it will wither you.”
Amay felt something inside him tighten — not resistance, but recognition.
“And the most important rule,” the man said quietly, stepping closer, “you must never forget why you came.”
Amay’s throat felt dry.
“This world is comfortable. It will soothe you. It will tempt you to stay without questioning. The moment you forget your reason — the moment you dissolve into comfort — you will vanish.”
“Vanish?” Amay asked.
“You will cease to exist there. Only the one who carries purpose can remain.”
The mustard fields shimmered under sunlight. Birds continued their gentle chorus. The waterfall’s murmur sounded like distant reassurance.
Amay stood between two realities.
Behind him: the cave, the mountain, the unanswered questions.
Ahead: beauty without pain. Warmth without ache.
The man’s voice softened.
“Are you ready to learn instead of escape?”
Amay closed his eyes briefly.
He saw Anvi’s face — uncertain, vulnerable, breathing his name in a dream that had not yet been real.
He opened his eyes again.
The world beyond the cave did not waver.
And neither did his reason.
Amay stepped out of the cave.
The transition was not violent. No tremor, no surge of light. Just a subtle shift — like crossing from one breath into another.
The air embraced him.
The cave mouth stood behind him, dark and silent, as if it had never been a barrier at all.
The mystical man walked beside him without sound.
They descended a gentle slope toward a cluster of modest huts built from mud and timber. Smoke rose lightly from a few clay chimneys. The mustard fields stretched beyond, rippling under the steady blue of the sky.
There were others.
Twenty, perhaps thirty people scattered across the landscape — some tending small patches of land, some carrying water from a narrow stream, some seated beneath trees in quiet reading. No one appeared hurried. No one appeared idle.
Each face carried concentration.
Each movement carried intent.
“This is where you will stay,” the man said, gesturing toward a small hut at the edge of the settlement.
Inside, there was very little.
A woven mat for sleeping.
Two clay pots.
A wooden ladle.
A folded set of plain cotton clothes.
A notebook.
A pen.
Nothing else.
No excess.
No distraction.
Amay ran his fingers lightly over the notebook’s rough cover. It felt deliberate — as though the emptiness itself were an instruction.
“This world is natural,” the man continued. “You will cook your food. You will wash your clothes. You will maintain your space.”
Amay stepped back outside, observing the others more carefully.
They were not alike in age or appearance. Some were young. Some older. A few carried expressions of past exhaustion that had softened into quiet resolve.
“Each one here has a reason,” the man said. “Each one has something to unlearn before they can understand what they seek.”
Amay’s thoughts drifted immediately to Anvi.
Her face.
Her voice.
Her absence.
The man turned toward him before he could speak.
“Ego,” he said plainly.
Amay stiffened slightly.
“That is what stands between you and what you are looking for.”
“I don’t—” Amay began, but stopped.
The man’s gaze was neither accusing nor gentle. It was precise.
“You believe your suffering is greater. Your love is deeper. Your search more urgent. You believe the universe owes you alignment.”
The words did not feel cruel.
They felt accurate.
“You must eliminate ego completely,” the man continued. “Not suppress it. Not negotiate with it. Remove it.”
Amay exhaled slowly.
“What should I call you?” he asked after a moment.
The man’s expression shifted, almost imperceptibly.
“Whatever you feel I am to you.”
Amay considered.
“You are like a teacher to me.”
“Then call me Guru.”
There was no pride in the acceptance of the word.
Only responsibility.
Guru extended a folded sheet of paper toward him.
“A timetable.”
Amay unfolded it.
4:00 a.m. — Wake.
4:15 a.m. — Bathe.
4:45 a.m. — Clean the main teaching centre.
Dust the pillars.
Arrange the books.
Sweep the floors.
Prepare the lamps.
The list continued with simple, repetitive tasks.
Amay looked up, unable to hide his confusion.
“How does this bring me closer to what I want?”
Guru held his gaze.
“You do not yet know what you want,” he said quietly. “You only know what you miss.”
The breeze moved gently through the trees.
“In this world,” Guru continued, “no work is menial. Every task reveals you to yourself. When you clean the floor, you will confront your impatience. When you arrange the books, you will confront your need for control. When you wake before dawn, you will confront your resistance.”
Amay remained silent.
“And when ego dissolves,” Guru added, “you will see clearly.”
He handed the paper back to Amay.
“Your first lesson begins tomorrow.”
The sun remained steady above, neither rising nor falling noticeably.
For the first time since stepping out of the cave, a flicker of uncertainty returned.
Not about the world.
About himself.
He glanced toward the mustard fields again.
This place was beautiful.
But it was not designed for comfort.
It was designed for transformation.
And somewhere beneath the simplicity of clay pots and dusted pillars, his real journey had just begun.
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