The merchant had watched long enough.
He had seen Shakthi organize grain towers with geometric precision, debate with elders about river flow patterns, and teach younger children how to track deer without disturbing the underbrush. He had seen Dhira lift fallen logs, carry water barrels, and turn every chore into a comedy routine.
But now, it was time.
The Final Question
They sat beneath a neem tree, the wind moving west as always.
The merchant stirred the fire, then looked up.
"One last question," he said. "What is life?"
Shakthi didn't hesitate.
"Life is a set of decisions," she said. "Each one shapes the next. The shape becomes a path. The path becomes a person."
Dhira scratched his head.
"I mean… it's a journey, right? You walk, you fall, you eat mangoes, you keep walking."
The merchant smiled.
Both answers were true.
But one was rooted.
One was ready.
The Revelation
He stood.
The disguise faded.
The ash washed from his robes. The limp vanished. The air around him shimmered with ancient energy.
Maharishi Durvasa stood before them.
Shakthi blinked once.
Dhira dropped his tamarind.
"I knew he had the demigod vibe!"
Durvasa looked at Shakthi—not with pride, but with recognition.
"You are ready," he said. "And I have come to teach."
The Visit to Her Parents
That evening, Durvasa walked to the edge of the settlement, where Shakthi's parents lived in a modest hut near the river.
Her father was tending to a broken plough. Her mother was grinding herbs.
They saw him and froze.
Then, slowly, her father stepped forward and bowed low.
"Pranam , Maharishi," he said. "We are honored."
Durvasa raised his hand in blessing.
"Your daughter carries the shadow of Bhumi. I have come to take her as my student."
The parents exchanged a glance.
They knew who he was.
The rishi whom even gods feared.
The sage whose curses had shaped kingdoms.
Her mother stepped forward, voice trembling.
"We are grateful. But… we ask one thing."
Durvasa's eyes narrowed.
"Speak."
"Promise us you will not curse her. If she errs. If she falters. She is still a child."
For a moment, the air thickened.
Durvasa's eyes flared—not with rage, but with the sting of misunderstanding.
"You think I would curse a child for learning?"
"No," her father said quickly. "But the world speaks of your anger. We are only parents."
Durvasa closed his eyes.
He understood.
The stories had outgrown the man.
He placed his hand on the father's shoulder.
"I promise. She will be taught. Not punished."
The Departure
At dawn, Shakthi stood at the edge of the settlement, her satchel packed, her armband gleaming.
Dhira stood beside her, arms crossed.
"So you're going off to become a sage now?"
"I'm going to learn," she said. "And maybe teach."
"You'll miss my jokes."
"I'll miss correcting them."
Durvasa waited silently.
Shakthi turned to her parents, hugged them both, and stepped forward.
And a new journey for her has begun.