Kiran and Surabhi watched from their seats as the children parted and gave way to their teacher.

A group of 4 children were following the saffron-clad man. The same man, who that had not looked kindly at the children in the past few months, was now smiling softly at the children following him.

Of the 4 children following the gaunt man, one was a boy with rather dark skin while the rest were girls. Two of the girls had skin almost as dark as the bark of the Nightwood Tree while the last one was relatively fair.

But their skin tones were not what caught the attention of the assembled children. It was their hair. Or rather, the lack of it. All four of them possessed not a single strand of hair on their head.

The crowd murmured and chattered but those that walked cared not for the mutterings of those that were left behind. Jealousy, envy and loathing danced amongst the children and the faces became twisted.

“This…” Kiran’s face was ugly, much like those all around him. Such was the ugliness of his emotions that even the charm of the child was overcome and defeated.

“I know.” The girl with the long hair clipped. Her voice was short and somehow unpleasant to the ears.

Nothing more was said as the Guru, and the children that followed him like ducklings vanished from sight. Noise erupted but Kiran and Surabhi remained standing.

“Will,” the girl hesitated. “you be leaving?”

The boy clenched his fists and grit his teeth. “Why would I leave? I did not waste all my time just to go back without achieving anything!”

The girl’s brows furrowed at the sharp tone. “Don’t take that tone with me!”

“Then don’t ask stupid things!” The boy snapped and the two glared at each other.

As the year had ended, only four children had managed to shed their hair. While this was good news for those children, it meant that all the other children had failed. Almost a hundred of their fellow pupils had failed.

Failure hung like fog around the children, making the atmosphere high cold and dreary. Tensions ran high and tempers were loose. The defeat was etched on quite a few faces while struggle on just a few.

The two children glowered at each other, neither willing to back down. And just like that, the friendship of a year ended.

It would have been different if these two had been a bit younger or a bit older. But they were 13-year olds and the on the cusp of puberty. Their emotions ran high and hormones pumped, especially in an atmosphere as highly charged as they were currently in.

This would have been different if two children had been living with their families or had someone to guide them. But they didn’t.

The boy had left his family to come here. And while the girl’s parents lived in the ashram, she didn’t live with them. She, just like all the other students, had built her own hut and had been living within it all alone.

Thus, a tiff became a rift and the rift became a chasm. As a result, the two never talked again.

0.0

Kiran watched from afar as the five students ran up to their parents. All the five sported bald head that almost seemed to shine in the golden light of the sun.

His eyes fell on the new addition amongst those that had risen above failure and he tried to remember if he had seen the boy in his class before. Kiran hadn’t.

The dark-skinned boy’s eyebrows furrowed and he observed more closely.

‘Oh.’ It was then that he noticed that the new boy was quite a bit taller than the rest and his face lacked the softness that was prevalent in those of his class. ‘He must be from the last year’s class.’

’Did just one person,’ the thought made the boy frown even further, ‘succeed from those that failed last year?’

“I must be there next year.” Kiran’s fists tensed and his jaws clenched. “I must be.”

0.0

Kiran walked with determined steps. His pace was fast but his face was clammy. His eyes were red and sported bags underneath, despite his dark complexion.

The previous night had been tough for the boy. He had cried and he had thought. But then he had thought and he had cried.

His failure haunted him, but the ghost of his own name had been the most daunting. Kiran. A ray of light. The hope of his father. The hope of his mother. The hope of his clan. Kiran. A ray of light.

In those moments, the 13-year-old had hated his name as he had never hated anything else in his rather short life.

But the boy had not lingered on those thoughts for he was still at the Ashram. And as long as he was at the Ashram, he still had a chance. Or at least, that was what the boy had told himself.

The boy’s feet stopped as he reached his destination.

Before his eyes was a structure that was neither a shack nor a hut. It was a cottage. It wasn’t just a lump of mud and clay that had been stacked on the top of one another. And the roof wasn’t just a stack of hay that leaked in the monsoon.

Rather, it was a structure made of mud walls that were flat and smooth and the sloped roof was covered in several layers of clay and woven hay. Plants and shrubs had been planted within the roof to give it structure and walls were covered in paintings that seemed to have been drawn by a child.

Kiran stood there and stared at the home. For it was a home rather than just a temporary abode meant to be discarded.

Kiran stood there for a long time, yet he couldn’t bring himself to approach further. He remembered the uncaring eyes and the cold gaze that had passed him over, much like it had passed over all the other children in his class.

“How long do you plan on standing there?” Kiran jumped at sudden sound and looked around with his eyes wide.

But he didn’t have to search for long as a man exited the cottage. He was clad in saffron robes but his eyes lacked the coldness that they had recently acquired.

“Pr-Pranam Guru Ji!” The boy barely managed to whisper as he hurriedly joined his hands and bowed.

The man nodded. “Why have you come here?”

The boy fell to his knees and clasped his hands. His red eyes began to leak and the emotions that he had bottled up erupted as he began to cry.

“P-Please…” He sobbed and fat tears rolled down from his eyes. His breath hitched and snot dripped down his nose. “…he-help m-me.”

The man’s eyes softened and he gently raised the boy. “Alright. I will help you.”

-X-

Within a desolate desert, inside a dilapidated shop, on a simple chair, a youth seemingly slept.

-X-