Chapter 9: Trials of Neem / Pāpi — Part Two
The village of Mālakā did not remain silent for long.
By the third sunrise after Madhu declared the child his student, the villagers gathered—quietly at first, then with growing warmth. Word spread not as gossip, but as certainty: the child beneath the neem tree now will live with them.
They came not with questions, but with offerings.
A woman left a basket of ripe fruits at Madhu's door.
An old man brought a pouch of rice, tied carefully with twine.
A young mother offered warm milk in a clay pot.
Some brought small, handcrafted gifts—simple pottery, wooden toys, a woven mat no larger than a child's blanket.
Each gift was placed respectfully, without demand for thanks.
But Neem did not step outside.
The sounds of people, the murmurs, the careful curiosity—it unsettled him. His chest tightened in ways he could not yet name. So he stayed within Madhu's house, sitting quietly near the wall, fingers curled into the cloth at his knees.
Madhu noticed.
"So much kindness can feel heavy," he said gently, not looking directly at the boy. "You need not meet them today."
No one took offense. The villagers understood—or at least, they accepted. A child who had lost his memories carried wounds no one could see.
And so, life resumed.
Five weeks passed like flowing water.
In that time, Pāpi learned to live as Neem.
He learned the language—slowly, carefully. Or at least, he pretended to. He spoke in short phrases, hesitant words, often stopping midway as if thoughts slipped from him. In truth, he absorbed far more than he revealed. All because of his boon given by mahādeva, "No karma born of true effort shall dissolve into nothingness."
Madhu taught him letters first, tracing them in ash upon a wooden board.
"This is ka," Madhu said patiently.
"And this?" Neem asked softly.
"That is ga. They are brothers. Remember them as such."
Neem remembered everything.
Madhu taught him numbers, then words, then how to listen not only with ears, but with breath.
More importantly, Madhu taught him herbs.
They walked together at dawn, baskets in hand.
"This leaf cools fever," Madhu said, crushing it between his palms. "But only when dried in shade."
"And this?" Neem asked, holding a root.
"Painkiller," Madhu replied. "Deadly if eaten raw."
"And this root?" Neem asked.
"For skin," Madhu replied. "But only after boiling.when raw, it's harmful as poison."
Neem listened closely.
Because he remembered eating many herbs & poisonous root.
He remembered the bitterness, the burning that never came but nothing happened as Madhu said.
One evening, as Madhu rested, Neem sat alone and thought.
When I wandered in those 20 days… I ate many things. Leaves. Roots. Berries.
Most should have killed him.
But they did not.
Then he remembered of the boons.
His body.
Made of fertile soil.
Mixed with herbs and poisonous plants.
Washed in Gaṅgā's water.
Molded by Mahādeva Himself.
Understanding bloomed quietly.
Poison does not work on me.
Curiosity—dangerous and childlike—followed.
Behind Madhu's back, Neem tested it.
A bitter leaf.
A sap known to burn.
A root Madhu had warned him never to touch.
Nothing happened.
His heart raced—not with fear, but wonder.
Then he went further.
When he saw the snake near the field—coiled, thick-bodied, ancient—he did not think fully.
He extended his hand.
The snake in defence bitten pāpi.
Pain exploded.
Fangs pierced skin. Venom surged.
Reality struck.
The world spun violently. His limbs shook. Breath came in sharp, broken gasps.
I was wrong, panic screamed within him. I am still weak.
He tore the snake away and ran.
Blood stained his hand. Foam gathered at his lips. But to save his life he run towards the village.
Villagers who saw neem screamed.
"Neem!"
"Snake bite!"
Madhu rushed forward, his calm shattering for that time.
He worked with desperate precision—binding, cutting, drawing poison, crushing herbs, forcing decoctions between trembling lips.
As Madhu was trying his all to force out venom, neem stayed conscious.
That terrified Madhu more than if he had fainted.
He should be unconscious, A child should have fallen by now, Madhu thought, dread cold in his veins. Why is he still awake?
Finally, Neem collapsed into sleep.
The poison had been drawn.
What none of them knew was that most of it never reached his heart.
His body resisted.
Not fully.
Not yet.
Neem awoke the next day weak—but alive And wiser.
I am resistant to poison, he realized. Not immune.
As his strength grows… so will this resistance.
Then another truth unfolded.
When Madhu tended his wound, Neem felt something else—life.
The plants near him responded subtly. Leaves leaned. Grass straightened. The pain eased faster than it should.
Life Dominion, he understood. This was another boon of mahādev dominion over life & plant.
Not control—but exchange.
He could draw life energy from plants, animals… even himself. To heal. To strengthen. To grow. He can also give it others like giving plant to grow it faster and stronger.
Joy stirred quietly within him.
But he told no one.
Life continued.
After the snake incident, Madhu began telling stories at night.
They sat near the small fire, shadows dancing on mud walls.
"Listen, Neem," Madhu said one night, voice deep and reverent. "I will tell you of Mahādeva."
Neem listened.
"How he drank poison to save the cosmos," Madhu said. "And held it in his throat, turning it blue."
Another night—
"And so Mahākāl rose," Madhu's voice thundered softly, "and with time itself as his weapon, he slew the rākṣasa who believed himself eternal."
Another—
"Rudra danced upon the battlefield, not in rage—but in justice. Each step ended sin."
Neem's eyes widened with every tale.
This was not the Mahādeva he remembered vaguely.
This was greater.
Sincere. Terrifying. Gentle.
Weeks passed.
Two more months flowed like water.
Neem was now nearly five months old in age but his body was still that of 3 years.
He had lived with Madhu for over four months.
One night, after the story ended, Neem lay awake.
Why, he wondered, would Mahādeva wish Madhu to become a sinner?
Madhu—kind, patient, gentle.
To free him from this world?
No… I was sent to learn under him for 5 years.
Then another thought.
To test me.
To see if a sinner could influence others.
If so… Neem did not fear the task.
But his heart resisted.
Mahādeva's task… and my heart stand opposite.
Tears gathered silently.
"O Mahādeva," he whispered within, "guide me."
Far away, upon Kailāśa, beneath eternal snow—
Mahādeva smiled.
And beside him, Mātā Pārvatī smiled too.
The trial was unfolding exactly as it should.
Chapter End