Arun’s Grand Hygienic Revolution

The first few years of Arun's life were a constant struggle. As a baby, his tiny, fragile body existed in stark contrast to the sharpness of his mind, which buzzed with thoughts and strategies. Born into a world where survival was a daily battle, Arun was acutely aware of the challenges around him. Memories of a distant, more advanced life haunted him, reminding him of what was possible. At first, he felt frustrated, trapped in a body too small to act. But instead of despair, he turned to observation, carefully studying the tribe's routines, their habits, and the resilience they exhibited in the face of hardships.

The first few years of Arun's life could be summed up in one word: struggle. Not the kind of "I dropped my phone and it landed face down" struggle. No, this was primal survival—the kind of struggle where even getting clean drinking water felt like a monumental win.

As a baby, Arun's frail body was about as useful as a broken umbrella in a huricane, but his mind was racing at light speed. Memories of his old life buzzed with ideas, strategies, and random complaints about flavorless food. At first, he was just frustrated. Why am I stuck in a body that can't even hold its own neck up? But eventually, he resigned himself to observation, plotting silently while enduring the indignities of infancy.

By age five, things were different. His body was catching up, and his voice—tiny though it was—had started carrying weight. It was during this time that Arun launched his first world-changing initiative: better hygiene. (Big ideas for a little guy, huh?)

One evening, as they sat by the fire in their humble hut, Arun approached his mother. "Mom," he said with childlike earnestness, "I've noticed something. Every time people drink straight from the stream, they get sick. But what if... what if we boil the water first?"

His mother looked at him, a mixture of curiosity and confusion in her eyes. "Boil water before we drink it?" she repeated, her tone tinged with doubt. "Won't that waste precious wood for the fire?"

Arun straightened, his small frame filled with an unusual determination. "It'll keep us healthier, Mom. Please, just try it. If it works, we'll save more than firewood—we'll save lives."

Though skeptical, his mother agreed to give it a chance. For the next few days, she began boiling water for their household. Her neighbors watched with mild amusement, some even mocking the "child's strange ideas." One of the elders, a stout man with a weathered face, chuckled as he passed by their hut. "Boiling water to drink? What foolishness! Water from the stream is pure—it has sustained us for generations."

But Arun was undeterred. His mother, noticing that their family fell ill less frequently than others, started sharing the practice with a few close friends. Slowly, word spread. A neighbor who had mocked the idea earlier tried it out of desperation when her child fell ill. When her family saw noticeable improvements, she became an unexpected advocate for the practice.

"I thought it was silly at first," she admitted during a gathering, "but the boy was right. My son hasn't fallen sick since we started boiling water."

Even the skeptical elder began to reconsider when he saw more and more tribe members adopting the practice. He approached Arun one day, his tone grudging but respectful. "I'll admit, boy, there might be something to your strange ways."

As the months passed, boiling water became a common practice in the tribe. The effects were undeniable: fewer people fell sick, and the children grew healthier. The initial resistance gave way to quiet admiration, and though many didn't voice it outright, the tribe began to view Arun with a new sense of respect. His mother, watching all this unfold, couldn't hide her pride.

"You're already so much mature arun," she said one evening, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. Her tone was filled with wonder. "Sometimes, I forget you're only a child."

Arun smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth quirking into a sly grin as he leaned back on the woven mat he called a bed. His thoughts weren't just racing ahead to the next problem to solve; they were sprinting with purpose. This is just the beginning, he thought, his eyes glinting mischievously in the dim light. By the time I become the tribe leader, I'm going to live like a king. Or at least someone who doesn't have to eat flavorless stew every day.

Arun's drive for change was not purely altruistic—sure, helping the tribe thrive was nice and all, but deep down, he had a clear agenda: making his future life as easy and comfortable as possible. After all, who wouldn't want to inherit a well-organized, disease-free tribe with tasty food?

His first major triumph—the boiled water revolution—had already saved lives, and more importantly, saved him from getting sick every time he took a sip. But it wasn't just about health; it was about laying the groundwork for his future rule.

"If I don't have to deal with a tribe full of coughing, sneezing people, I'll have more time to focus on the important things… like convincing everyone we need spices," Arun muttered under his breath, his nine-year-old mind already crafting plans for a "Ministry of Taste."

His mother overheard him and raised an eyebrow. "Ministry of what?"

"Uh, nothing, Mom! Just thinking out loud!" Arun said quickly, flashing an innocent smile. Too soon for that plan, he thought.

Arun's focus on waste management was another strategic move. He hated the smell wafting into the village and figured that future-leader-Arun wouldn't enjoy holding meetings next to piles of unpleasantness. When he proposed the idea of proper latrines to the elders, their reactions ranged from skepticism to outright horror.

"You want us to dig holes and do our business in the ground?" one elder asked, scandalized.

"Yes! It's innovative!" Arun insisted, biting back a sarcastic comment. I mean, what are you people doing now, just hoping the wind carries the smell away? Instead, he added diplomatically, "Trust me, it'll make our village smell fresher. Wouldn't you like that?"

The elder grumbled but eventually agreed, and soon the tribe was noticeably less pungent. Arun considered it a major personal win.

Then there was food preservation. Arun's memories of eating biryani in his past life haunted him nightly, taunting him with flavors he could no longer taste. When he introduced the concept of salting and drying meat, his motivations weren't entirely selfless.

"Why are we doing this again?" asked one of the hunters, eyeing the drying racks skeptically.

"So you don't have to hunt every single day," Arun replied, exasperated. "And so I don't have to eat meat that smells like it's auditioning for a horror story."

That got a few chuckles, and the hunters reluctantly tried his method. When they discovered the dried meat not only lasted longer but made their lives easier, Arun gave himself a mental high-five. Future me is going to have a stocked pantry. Success!

While the elders debated his strange ideas, little did Arun know that someone far more influential had been keeping a close eye on him: the tribe leader, Kaelan.

Kaelan was an enigmatic figure. Rarely seen by most of the villagers, he preferred to observe from the shadows, stepping in only when absolutely necessary. But Arun's actions had caught his attention. The boy's odd suggestions—whether it was boiling water, digging pits, or drying meat—were sparking changes Kaelan had never expected in the tribe. Quietly intrigued, he began offering subtle assistance, ensuring Arun's ideas faced fewer roadblocks than they otherwise might.

One evening, as the sun sank behind the cliffs and the forest whispered with the sounds of twilight, a few of the elders gathered around a fire for their customary meeting. Among them were Rihal, a grizzled hunter with a scar running down his cheek; Oviya, a sharp-tongued yet wise woman known for her no-nonsense attitude; and Vedan, the tribe's resident herbalist, who often smelled of crushed leaves and roots. Their conversation drifted naturally to the topic on everyone's mind: Arun.

"That boy," Rihal began, poking the fire with a stick, "has ideas that make my head spin. Latrines in the ground? Boiling water like we're cooking it? What's next—building huts in the trees?"

Oviya chuckled, adjusting the shawl draped over her shoulders. "You say that, but you didn't complain when your cough cleared up after you started boiling water. Admit it, Rihal, the boy's smarter than the lot of us combined."

Rihal grumbled something unintelligible but didn't deny it. Instead, he muttered, "Still, where does he get these ideas? He's just a child."

Vedan, ever the calm voice of reason, leaned forward. "Child or not, his ideas work. My herbs can only do so much when people drink foul water or get sick from all the filth around. If digging pits keeps the village cleaner, then let him dig. Spirits know we've lived in worse conditions."

Oviya smirked. "You sound like you're ready to hand the tribe over to him already."

Before Vedan could respond, a low voice interrupted their conversation. "Perhaps you should be."

The elders turned to see Kaelan emerging from the shadows, his tall frame outlined by the firelight. His presence was magnetic, commanding silence without effort. Kaelan rarely spoke during these informal gatherings, so his words carried weight.

"The boy thinks differently," Kaelan said, his deep voice steady. "He sees problems we've lived with for generations and offers solutions we never imagined. That isn't weakness; it's strength."

Rihal scratched his beard, still looking unsure. "Strength, maybe. But he's still a child and an Unawakened one"

Kaelan's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "A child who has already achieved what many adults in this tribe could not. Don't dismiss him so easily, Rahul. Arun's ideas are shaping the future of this tribe, whether you realize it or not."

Oviya tilted her head, her sharp gaze studying Kaelan. "You seem to have taken quite an interest in the boy."

Kaelan shrugged, his expression unreadable. "I've seen enough to know potential when it's in front of me. The question is whether we nurture it or let it fade."

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics—hunting strategies, the dwindling deer population, and the best way to trap beasts—Kaelan's thoughts remained fixed on Arun. Quietly, he resolved to ensure the boy's path forward would be met with as little resistance as possible. After all, Kaelan knew that change was never easy in a place like this, but it was often necessary.