The early morning sun spilled through the window, casting a soft golden glow across the clay floor. Surya woke from his mat, stretching eagerly. Today was the day his life would begin to change — the day he would step into the world of Yog.
The scent of warm lentils and rice drifted from the kitchen. He rushed out and sat down to eat, quickly finishing the breakfast his mother had prepared. His heart beat fast with excitement, his mind full of dreams — of cultivating spiritual energy, of learning the path of Yog, and of proving himself worthy.
Across the room, his mother Saumya watched him quietly, her eyes full of both love and worry. She moved gently, placing another spoonful of food before him, but her expression was distant — as though she were remembering something far away.
> "Mom, I'm going now!" Surya said, hopping up with a grin and slinging his bag over his shoulder.
Saumya gave him a soft smile, but her voice was laced with concern.
> "Be careful on the way, son. And… don't be discouraged if you're unable to cultivate. There are many ways to live a good life."
Surya turned back, eyes shining with confidence.
> "It's okay, Mom. I believe I'll have a suitable talent. And I'll become great — so I can protect you and father."
Before she could answer, Shankara appeared at the doorway, his voice calm and steady.
> "Let's go. It's time."
Surya nodded quickly and waved goodbye to his mother.
> "Bye, Mom!"
> "Go, then," Saumya said softly. "And whatever happens… stay true to yourself."
As the two of them stepped onto the sunlit path leading toward the Gurukula, Saumya stood at the doorway for a long time, her hands folded tightly in front of her — the smile still on her face, but her heart uneasy.
As Surya and Shankara walked the narrow path to the Gurukula, they took a route unlike any other in the village — a winding road that passed through the edge of the forest, where ancient trees stretched high into the sky, their trunks thick and roots entwined deep into the earth.
The air felt different here — cooler, denser, almost humming with unseen energy.
Surya looked around in awe. The trees here were unlike anything he'd seen near the fields or his home.
> "Pa," he asked curiously, "why are the trees near the Gurukula so tall and… mighty?"
Shankara gave a small smile, eyes scanning the forest.
> "That's because the Gurukula sits near a place filled with abundant spiritual energy. Just like humans, trees can absorb that energy — and over time, they grow stronger. Some even develop awareness, intelligence."
Surya's eyes widened.
> "So… trees can cultivate too?"
> "Yes," Shankara nodded. "Plants, animals — they can all cultivate. But unlike humans, they don't need karmic weighing. They are closer to nature, and so the world allows them to grow freely."
Surya frowned, thinking.
> "But why do humans need karmic weighing? If we're the smartest, shouldn't we get the easiest path?"
Shankara chuckled softly.
> "It's because we are the smartest that our path is weighed. Only humans are born with free will and the capacity to shape the world — and so, only humans are born with karma from the very beginning."
He paused, then added:
> "Plants and animals cultivate slowly, and only when they reach a level of awareness equal to a human do their karmas begin to weigh. Until then, they simply exist — in harmony. But once a being can choose between right and wrong, karma begins to follow."
Surya was silent for a while, his gaze drifting up to the towering treetops.
> "So even these trees might become beings like us one day?"
> "Some already have," Shankara said, his voice distant. "Though not all choose to walk among humans. Some stay hidden… watching. Waiting."
Surya shivered slightly — but the feeling wasn't fear. It was awe.
They walked on, the path narrowing as the Gurukula's stone spires rose ahead in the distance, half-hidden by mist and branches.
As time passed and the road gently curved uphill, Surya and Shankara finally reached the outskirts of the village Gurukula.
Towering before them stood a massive banyan tree, its ancient roots coiling into the earth like stone serpents. Its branches stretched toward the sky, thick and wide, casting a canopy so vast it felt like a green sky overhead. Birds chirped within its leaves, and the air beneath it pulsed with quiet energy — as if the tree itself were alive, watching.
Nestled beneath this living giant stood the Gurukula building — a majestic structure of stone and timber, its walls carved with sacred markings and age-old Yogic symbols. The building rose gracefully, with tall columns and wide-open courtyards visible through intricately patterned archways. It radiated peace, but also power — the kind earned through centuries of silent cultivation.
Above the great entrance hung a weathered wooden board, held up by braided vines and gold-plated hooks. Etched into its surface in deep, flowing script were the words:
"adipatha Gurukula – Where the Path of Yog Begins"
As they approached the great banyan tree and the entrance to the Gurukula, Surya's eyes were drawn to the wooden plank above the archway. The ancient lettering carved into it glowed faintly, as though time itself dared not wear it down.
"Pa… who wrote that?" he asked, awe in his voice.
Shankara glanced up, his gaze thoughtful.
"That isn't ordinary writing, Surya. It's said the letters were carved by a Saint Yogi, long ago, using the bark of an Emperor-level Banyan Tree — one that once stood in the forests beyond the southern mountains."
Surya's eyes widened. "That tree must've been huge…"
"It was more than just huge. It was conscious. A sacred being." Shankara's tone carried quiet reverence. "And the ink? It was the blood of a King Yogi-level Winged Tiger — a beast so powerful, its roars could tear open the sky."
Surya blinked. "He killed it… just to write the name?"
Shankara shook his head.
"No. The Saint Yogi was returning from a hunt — it's said the tiger challenged him on its own. When the beast fell, its blood was offered not in arrogance, but in ritual. The Saint met the first Yogiguru of Ādipatha Gurukula here, just as they were laying the foundation of this very school."
He gestured to the land around them.
"The Saint sensed the effort, the purity of intent… and helped. He imbued the land with spiritual energy, planting sacred seeds and awakening the roots of nearby trees. That's why the trees here grow so tall, so wise. The forest remembers."
Surya looked around, suddenly understanding why the air here felt alive, why the trees seemed to listen.
"So that's why this place feels… different."
"Yes," said Shankara quietly. "It's not just a school. It's a living blessing — born from blood, bark, and Yog."
As all the children gathered within the open courtyard of the Gurukula, their chatter faded into silence. The sacred banyan cast its shadow over them like a guardian spirit, its leaves whispering secrets in the wind.
A calm yet commanding voice echoed through the stone arches:
"Children," said Acharya Chandra, the current Yogiguru of Ādipatha Gurukula, "you have now entered a place where your destiny begins to unfold."
His robes fluttered as he stepped forward, eyes sweeping across the young faces.
"We will now begin the Karmic Weighing… and allow each of you to awaken your Tatvapatha — the path your soul is meant to walk."
The children stood still, excitement and fear dancing in their eyes. Among them, Surya's heart beat louder than ever before.
He didn't know what would happen next.
But he knew — this was the beginning