Chapter 13:"When Warriors Fall, and Hearts Rise"

When I reached the ashram again, it no longer felt like the same place.

Doctors were walking in and out of the main hall, carrying stethoscopes, medicines, and files. Some looked worried. Some avoided looking at anyone.

Everyone's steps were fast. The silence in the air felt louder than before.

I stood near the gallery when the manager and the politician came to me. They weren't as proud-looking as before.

Their voices were calm but strict.

"Ustaad doesn't want hospital treatment," the manager said. "He has asked for care inside the ashram only. You know his ways."

The politician nodded.

"We will arrange the rest. But we need you, boy," he said, patting my shoulder. "Prepare for the throne ceremony. It may happen soon."

I didn't respond.

My heart felt too heavy.

I didn't want to sit on a throne that came with Ustaad's pain.

He was the one who carried me here, gave me everything. How could I wear his crown when he wasn't even standing?

I lowered my head.

They walked away.

Angira was standing nearby. He didn't say much, but he walked beside me. His silence felt like support.

I looked across the hall.

Inside a small quiet room, Lila and Chhota Ustaad were being treated.

Chhota's hand was wrapped tightly in white bandage.

His face was bruised, but he still smiled and whispered something near Lila.

She was half-conscious, shivering a little. Her forehead was sweaty, and her breath short. She looked like she was caught between sleep and fear.

Chhota sat close to her, speaking softly. His concern was visible.

Everyone saw them together.

Some disciples turned their faces. A few raised eyebrows.

But no one said anything.

The same people who once whispered behind backs now stayed silent.

No one was stopping them anymore.

I watched from the doorway, quietly.

Chhota Ustaad sat on the edge of the wooden cot. His hand was wrapped fingers barely moving. Still, he managed to hold a small steel glass near Lila's lips.

He tilted it gently, letting a few drops fall into her mouth.

Some of the water spilled on her chin. He quickly wiped it away with the edge of his tattered sleeve.

That same sleeve ash stained and torn from the fightwas now doing the gentlest work.

Lila was half awake, her eyes fluttering. She tried to speak, but her lips only moved slightly.

She was still pale, and her hair had dust and dried blood stuck in it.

Chhota didn't speak.

With his other hand the broken one he tried, again and again, to brush away dirt from her face.

It hurt him.

I could see it in the way his eyebrows tightened each time he moved. But he didn't stop.

He leaned closer, resting his forehead gently on hers for a moment.

A single tear fell from his eye.

He wiped it quickly, not letting anyone see but I did.

The warrior who summoned storms, the boy who faced spirits on stage, now looked like a helpless lover, trying to fix the cracks with just one working hand and a tired heart.

And he was still wearing the same clothes torn, stained, and burnt at the edges.

No pride. No protection. Just care.

He didn't even ask for help.

I stepped back from the doorway, not wanting to disturb them.

I was lying on the long wooden bench outside Bade Ustaad's room

.

Doctors had been coming in and out all night.

I was staring at the closed wooden door.

I wanted to believe he would come out smiling, like always asking for tea, or his beads, or just a moment of silence.

But he didn't.

The oil lamp above flickered. My eyes felt heavy. My chest was full, but quiet.

I don't know when I started crying.

Maybe it was when a doctor whispered "reaction to poison slowing," or maybe when I saw my leg.

I curled up on the bench, like a child without a home.

My mind kept running in loops.

So many people had shouted my name, touched my feet, called me the heir.

But now I was just a boy.

A tired, scared boy, outside a closed door.

I don't know when sleep took me.

But before I slept, I prayed softly, not to any god

Just to him.