The word, raw and broken, tore from Rudraksha's throat, echoing across the impossible landscape: "Maa…"
The woman on the rock flinched. The humming ceased instantly. Her shoulders, previously still, tensed with shock at the sound of the familiar, beloved voice. She turned, slowly, smoothly, her celestial blue sari flowing like water.
The face was unmistakable. The fierce, high cheekbones, the unwavering, dark eyes, the soft line of her mouth—it was her. It was his mother, Gauri, perfectly restored, unmarred by the savage brutality of the arrows or the deep, life-ending wound. She looked healthy, vibrant, radiating a gentle, internal light that made the fantastical flowers around her seem dim.
Rudraksha had been sprinting. Now, exhausted and overwhelmed, he collapsed onto his knees on the strange blue-green soil.
Gauri's expression softened into one of boundless love and profound sorrow. She moved swiftly, gracefully, kneeling before him and placing her two healthy hands gently on his cheeks. They were warm, solid, and utterly real.
"Calm down, my child," she murmured, her voice the smooth, familiar balm he had always needed. "Don't worry. I am here."
Rudraksha, feeling the tangible contact, the impossible warmth, shattered completely. The dam of his grief, which had been momentarily held by the hyena attack and the immediate need for survival, broke. Tears poured down his face, silent at first, then wracking his small body with deep, gasping sobs. He tried to speak, tried to ask the thousand questions screaming in his mind, but only unintelligible, choked mumblings came out.
Gauri watched him, allowing the torrent of pain to pass, then spoke softly but firmly. "Stand up, my little warrior. Don't cry."
Rudraksha held her hands, pressing them against his face, terrified that if he let go, she would vanish. With a difficulty that reflected his emotional and physical collapse, he struggled to his feet.
In the next moment, Gauri pulled him forward, scooping him into her embrace. She held him tightly against her chest, patting his head with the rhythmic, comforting motion that had soothed him since infancy.
Rudraksha went silent, drinking in the moment. The scent of her—not the coppery, dying scent of the forest, but the true scent of her skin, sandalwood, and flowers—filled his senses. He remained there, completely passive, enjoying the impossible solace of his mother's presence.
After a minute, when the convulsions of his crying subsided, Rudraksha pulled back, holding her at arm's length. He searched every inch of her body, confusion mixing with his relief.
"Maa, I am so happy to see you," he whispered, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "You have recovered from those injuries? The arrows, the blood…" He glanced around the surreal landscape. "What is this place, with those beasts? Where are we actually? You are alive, right?"
The rapid-fire questions, tumbling out in a rush of desperate hope, made Gauri laugh—a true, full, beautiful sound that Rudraksha hadn't realized he would hear it after a long time.
When he started to ask again, Gauri gently held his chin, making him look at her. She spoke slowly, patiently, carefully calibrating her words to allow his young mind to process the devastating truth.
"This place… you can think of it as a dream for now. Hmm, A dream that I, with all the will left in my soul, could come and meet you in." She sighed, a deep, sorrowful breath. "But alas, my child, my body is dead. And for now, I can only do this."
Rudraksha's face fell, the light in his eyes dimming. "W… wait. But how? I never heard of this… you never told me about this. Are you real? If it is a dream, then I can meet you every time I sleep? Right?"
The possibility, the thin, fragile promise of even a few minutes with her each night, filled him with exhilarating hope. It wouldn't be enough, but it would be everything.
Gauri shook her head slowly, gently crushing that hope. "My little one, I cannot do this. My time has come, and my soul needs to move forward. I came only at this moment because you are facing the toughest situation of your life, and I need you to understand what you must do. My time is limited here, now."
Rudraksha's heart rate climbed, rising slowly, painfully. "But… but you told me you will be with me! Always! Then why leave again?"
Gauri immediately placed her finger softly on his lip. "Shush… The next words I speak are only for you to get forward, to survive. Listen intently."
Rudraksha, feeling helpless internally but completely bound by her command, shut his mouth. Gauri nodded, a gentle smile returning.
"You know where I asked you to go, earlier?"
Rudraksha nodded. "Yes. Ta… Taxila."
"Hmm. To go there, you need to be light. You need to do anything you can within your limitation to survive the journey," she said, her voice dropping lower, emphasizing the next terrible point. "That includes… leaving my body there."
Rudraksha was utterly shocked, tearing himself away from her grip. "NOOO!" he cried out loudly, the sound echoing strangely in the silent, shimmering valley. "You always taught me that cremation is the necessary ritual for death! It is necessary for the soul! Why now? I cannot do this… it is disrespecting to you!"
Gauri firmly gripped her son's shoulders, shaking him slightly to command his absolute attention.
"Rudraksha, listen to me closely. Always remember this: When a situation changes, you must adapt to it, or it will be your doom only. Do you know the story of 'The Lotus and the Flood (Kamala-Nyaya)'?"
Rudraksha, meekly and still tearful, nodded. "Y-yes, a little. It is an old wisdom story."
Gauri nodded, her eyes shining with the wisdom of the world.
"The lotus always turns its face to the sun. This is its law. But when the great monsoon flood rises and the current becomes a torrent, the lotus bends its neck and hides beneath the water. It does not defy the flood to stare at a hidden sun. To stay above is to be snapped; to go below is to live so that it may bloom again when the waters clear."
She drove the metaphor home, her voice full of stern love. "My body is the flood, Rudraksha. You cannot carry this weight and survive the journey ahead. To honor the dead, you must first be among the living."
"But… but I want to honor you!" he argued, the emotional conflict tearing him apart.
Gauri laughed, a small, sad sound. "A body is just a vessel, my child. If you truly want to honor me, then fulfill the vow I gave you. Make me proud. Yes, there will be disappointment in my heart if you cannot put my words first, but not anger. I am not pressuring you, my child. I just want you to live your life fully, which I cannot do. Live for yourself, and for your people."
Rudraksha fell silent again, his mind racing through the powerful analogy. The flood. The lotus. Survival. He was enlightened, suddenly seeing the cold, necessary logic in her sacrifice. She was sacrificing her own dignity in death to ensure his survival and ultimate success.
He looked up at her, the tears still fresh on his cheeks, but the resolution hardening in his eyes.
"Maa, I understand now," he said, his voice stronger. "I… I know I can't do anything now, but I will fulfill your vow in the future. You will see it. Be… believe me."
Gauri's eyes softened, a veil of emotion passing over her face. She gently combed his hair back from his forehead. "Yes, I believe you. Always."
She hesitated, her form seeming to subtly shimmer in the unnatural light. "But now… the time has come."
Rudraksha's voice rose in panic. "No… no! Don't go! Just a little more!"
Gauri pulled him into one final, fierce hug. For a few seconds, his racing heartbeat slowed, calmed by the absolute warmth of her embrace.
Then, she began to disappear.
The shimmering began at her feet. Gauri's legs started dissolving into millions of tiny, glowing motes of golden dust. She was turning into pure light, whispering into his ear, her voice now ethereal, yet absolute:
"It's true that I am with you always, my little star."
The glittering dust reached her chest, her arms, and finally, her face.
Rudraksha, horrified, tried desperately to catch the dust, his fists closing futilely on the slipping motes of light that vanished into the air.
As Gauri completely dissolved, the strange landscape began to follow her. The blue-green soil faded to gray. The mighty Nāga and the winged Aindri beasts blurred at the edges, their magnificent forms shrinking, losing color, until they were just static shadows. The crystalline waterfall turned cloudy, then became a silent, white void.
Rudraksha ran desperately, stumbling through the rapidly vanishing reality, confused and terrified, screaming for her to come back.
Then, with a sudden, painful snap, his consciousness tore back to his body.
He woke up, heaving deep, ragged breaths, his eyes snapping open to the sight of the muddy, quiet clearing. The cold air hit him, replacing the warmth of the dream-world. He was lying beside the tree, covered in the real, damp forest dirt.
He quickly checked the surroundings—safe. He immediately reached for Gauri's body, touching her cold cheek. He called her name, but only the cold, unyielding reality answered. The wind blew past him, a cold gust that seemed to sweep away the last vestiges of his worry, compelling him to accept the inevitable.
...
Eleanor Vance leaned back in her chair, profoundly affected by the intensity of the scene. "Dr. Rao, the dream… it was so vivid. It was a place where one time a thing passes through you, and another time you can make physical contact with a person who is dead. Isn't it a great possibility that Rudraksha's dream is simply a product of his sheer exhaustion and emotional trauma after losing someone so vital?"
Dr. Rao smiled, a diplomatic expression on his face. "Well, Ms. Vance, it seems you are experiencing the same confusion I had when I first translated this segment. I cannot give you a definitive answer. This domain, the bridge between intense psychological stress and inexplicable reality, is highly subjective. It depends entirely on the person."
He steepled his fingers, leaning forward slightly. "However, I did research this topic extensively. Many known authors and chroniclers of ancient history have experienced visions or dreams that they claim were utterly indistinguishable from reality. We speak of figures who documented their experiences in texts now considered literary classics—accounts of journeys out of the body, of dialogues with the deceased, of impossible landscapes.
"Whether Rudraksha had a neurological reaction to extreme trauma, or whether his mother's last will manifested in some unknown plane to give him that vital, necessary instruction—the Lotus and the Flood—we cannot say. There are many things we, even with our modern technology, are still unaware of. We simply need to wait."
The audience, both in the studio and online, was captivated by the philosophical turn.
Eleanor asked the final, key question. "Then this phenomenon… will it happen again with him?"
Dr. Rao laughed, a low, easy sound. "Miss Vance, we shall see if it will or not. Rudraksha has made his decision. Now comes the toughest part of this story: the execution of his final duty. The journey to Taxila will begun soon."