Stranger’s Shelter

Chapter: Stranger's Shelter

The first rays of the sun were touching the peaks of the mountain forest. A soft golden light floated in the snow-cold breeze, and the deodar trees swayed their branches gently, as if whispering secrets of the wild.

Breaking the deep silence, an old wooden door creaked open with a slow, grating sound.

The air inside was slightly damp. The room was simple — mud walls, a flickering lamp in the corner, and a worn-out bed in the center. On that bed lay a motionless body — Bajrang.

His breathing was irregular. His lips were parched. A cloth bandage was tied on his forehead, from beneath which a thin line of blood could be seen seeping.

Just then, his eyelids trembled — as if someone was returning from a very deep slumber.

His eyes slowly opened. Staring at the ceiling, he muttered softly—

> "Ki... Kira…"

And in that single moment, everything flashed before his eyes —

The dark night… the rushing wind… the running footsteps… and the shadow — that took his sister away.

> "Kira!"

Bajrang cried out and sat up abruptly.

But his body was weak, as if there was no strength left in his bones. He tried to stand, but his legs faltered and he fell to the wooden floor with a heavy thud.

The very next moment, a young boy, about his age, rushed in, opening the door in a hurry.

> "Bhaiya! Oh bhaiya!"

He ran to him and held Bajrang in his arms.

Worry was clearly written on his face. Bajrang rested his head on the boy's shoulder as he shouted—

> "Grandfather! Come quickly! He's awake!"

Moments later, an old man entered the room — white beard, hunched back, but eyes glowing with the sharpness of a sage. In one hand, he held a small clay cup, filled with a steaming, thick herbal brew.

He came closer and spoke softly—

> "So… you've finally awakened, son."

"We thought it would take days before you opened your eyes…"

Bajrang looked up, lips trembling. He was about to speak, but his breath grew heavy again.

> "Who... are you?"

He managed to ask with difficulty.

The old man smiled and placed the clay cup beside him.

> "Names don't matter when a life needs saving. You rest now… there will be time for questions later."

Bajrang remained quiet for a moment, then muttered—

> "I don't know how I got here… Where's Kira?"

The old man's face turned slightly serious. Instead of replying, he placed his hand gently on Bajrang's head.

> "Sometimes, only time can give answers… and your time hasn't come yet."

Bajrang was about to ask more, but the old man shook his head.

> "Your wounds are deep. The body can be healed with time… but what's broken inside, only the soul can mend."

> "Now lie down. You'll get food and medicine — both on time."

In the corner of the room, a faint mist lingered. The lamp's flame flickered, as if it was hiding something in its trembling light.

Bajrang lay back down, but his eyes remained open. Staring at the ceiling, a flood of questions surged through his mind.

"Where am I?"

"Where is Kira?"

"What was that shadow?"

A while later, the same old man returned. In his hand was a wooden tray — with a steaming clay bowl of khichdi, and that same herbal brew.

He placed the tray beside Bajrang and said gently—

> "Eat, son. Once the hunger of the body is settled, the questions of the soul will also begin to find answers."

Bajrang remained silent. Then hesitantly, he began eating. Every bite felt heavy going down his throat.

Once he was done, the old man sat beside him. His eyes were calm… but behind that calm was a hidden depth. Something… not ordinary.

> "What is your name?"

Bajrang finally asked.

The old man smiled, but did not answer.

> "And why are you helping me?"

This time, the old man took a deep breath and replied softly—

> "Not everyone is saved, son… some are brought here by destiny, so they can find their own path."

> "You have been brought here… and this place is not just a home…"

Bajrang looked at him in surprise.

The old man said—

> "Now sleep. Drink this brew. Tomorrow, we'll talk more."

Bajrang took the cup — the taste was bitter, but as soon as he drank it, his eyelids grew heavy.

He lay down on the bed… and soon drifted into deep sleep.

---

The Next Morning

Soft sun rays filtered into the hut through a narrow crack. The layer of dust on the wooden floor glistened like gold in the light.

Bajrang slowly woke up. His body felt much better. The wounds were still there, but they had stopped bleeding. The bandage on his shoulder, the slight pull in his leg — these had become part of him now.

He peeked out of the window.

Outside was the same calm scene — the morning mist had lifted with the sun, and that boy, Aarav, was gathering firewood in the yard. His body was slim, but his hands worked fast.

A short distance away, the old man sat still. His eyes closed, as if in deep meditation. A small clay pot beside him let out faint wisps of smoke — perhaps burning herbs.

Bajrang had been watching the same routine for many days now.

Every morning, Aarav would head out — collecting wood, fetching water from the hills, or gathering leaves for animals.

The old man would sit in deep meditation, and by noon, he would start mixing, grinding, or studying old books — thin, ancient ones, with yellowed, torn pages, as if they were a hundred years old.

Bajrang was growing restless.

Every day passed the same, but no one gave him any answers.

He stepped outside.

> "Aarav!"

He called out.

Aarav smiled —

> "Bhaiya! You're walking on your own today? That's great!"

Bajrang smiled faintly too, though his eyes held the fire of unanswered questions.

But he stayed quiet.

Aarav put aside the wood and helped Bajrang to a chair made of logs. Then he said:

> "Bhaiya, you never told us your name."

Bajrang replied instantly:

> "My name is Bajrang."

Aarav said:

> "Oh, your name is Bajrang? That's such a strong name!"

They continued chatting like that…

Now it had been one whole year since Bajrang had arrived there.

In this one year, he had learned so much about them.

The silence of the mountains had become a part of him, but somewhere deep inside, one question still burned —

"Where is Kira?"

In this one year, he had learned a lot… endured a lot…

But was it all just a coincidence?

No. He had received something in this year. Something big.

Want to know what?

Then stay with the story — The Origin of Om.