Chapter 30: Return and Blood on the road
General POV
The sun had just begun to rise over Sundargiri when Shon stepped off the mountain slope, his satchel light but his soul heavier than ever. He had left the mountain once before to reach it, tired and unsure. But this time was different. This time, he descended as a disciple of Lord Hanuman—not just in name, but in spirit.
He was now nine years and three months old, but he carried the poise and strength of someone far older. His steps were silent, calculated. His breath was even. The muscles beneath his skin moved with purpose. But it wasn't only the physical changes that made him different—it was the calm in his eyes, the stillness in his thoughts, and the humility in his soul.
As he made his way down the rugged paths of Sundargiri, the forest greeted him not as a stranger, but as one of its own. Birds flew across him with songs instead of fear. Even the trees seemed to sway gently as if bowing.
But nature still had its tests to offer.
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Shon's POV
It wasn't long before I ran into trouble.
A pack of wild boars appeared near a clearing. Six of them. Their eyes were red, their tusks long, their growls hungry. In my earlier days, I would have run. But now, my first instinct was not fear—it was readiness.
I reached for my bow. My body moved on its own.
One breath. One draw. One release.
Arrow. Arrow. Arrow.
Three of the boars fell. The others charged. I leapt aside, dodging with ease I didn't know I had. One boar lunged again, and I used my staff—a gift from my Hanuman ji—to strike it across the jaw. Another tried to circle behind, but I rolled, spun, and struck.
They ran.
I stood, panting but alive.
Not a scratch.
But I felt something odd—not joy, not pride. Just awareness. I had improved, yes. But I still lacked one thing.
Experience.
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General POV
By the fourth day of his journey, the thick forest began to thin, opening up to dusty roads and scattered trees. The air smelled different now—drier, filled with the scent of smoke, distant food, and the occasional cow dung. Here and there, carts creaked past, merchants with cloth-wrapped goods, and barefoot travelers walking beside bullocks.
Shon kept his head low, his senses alert. His bow remained within reach, eyes constantly scanning. Though he had come far from the wilds of Sundargiri, danger still lingered on the roads of Aryavrat.
As the sun dipped low, casting everything in golden-orange, he heard it.
A scream.
"Help! Bandits! Please! Somebody help!"
Shon sprinted.
In a clearing just off the road, five men surrounded a bullock cart. The merchant—a middle-aged man, bearded, wearing once-rich clothes now dulled by dust—was swinging a stick in desperation.
"Leave the cart, old man," one of the masked bandits snarled, waving a curved dagger.
"Take whatever you want, but spare me!" the merchant cried.
Shon stepped out of the trees.
"Five against one?" he said, voice calm, clear. "That doesn't seem very brave."
The bandits turned.
A child?
They laughed.
"A little cub has come to roar?"
Shon didn't blink.
"Leave."
"Or what?" the tallest sneered.
"Or you'll regret it."
They charged.
Shon's bow moved like lightning. Two arrows fired in rapid succession—both hit legs. The bandits fell, howling. The third ran at him with a blade. Shon ducked, spun, and cracked his staff across the man's shoulder. The crack echoed. The bandit dropped.
Only two remained. One of them—the leader—was faster, more experienced. He lunged at Shon with a sword. The clash began. Steel against staff. Shon was quicker, but the man had killed before.
Shon stumbled.
The bandit raised his blade.
Instinct took over. Shon pulled his dagger and thrust upward.
The man gasped.
Then collapsed.
Blood spilled. The forest hushed.
Shon stood, dagger trembling in his grip, his eyes on the body.
His first kill.
But there was no time to think.
The remaining four bandits saw their leader fall—and screamed.
They charged like animals.
Shon snapped out of his daze just in time.
Two arrows.
One struck a bandit's eye. The other hit another's forehead. One dropped with a scream. The other didn't even get to scream.
The remaining two reached him.
One attacked from the front with fists. The other came from behind with a sword.
Shon punched forward—his fist met flesh and bone—but just as their fists collided, the front bandit flung a dagger at him.
It hit.
It didn't go too deep thanks to his hardened muscles—but pain exploded across his stomach.
He staggered. His left hand parried the sword at his back with his staff.
The pain was real. Hot. But he couldn't stop.
With a twist and roar, he shoved the front bandit away, grabbed his bow, and rolled back.
Two arrows.
One to the chest.
One to the skull.
Done.
The last bandit—his eye bleeding, screaming—fell to his knees.
Shon approached, breath ragged.
He ended it.
Then silence.
He stood there, soaked in blood—not just others', but his own.
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Shon's POV
I didn't move.
I couldn't.
My breath was stuck in my throat. My body ached, but my heart... it felt heavier than all the wounds combined.
That man... he would've killed me.
Still...
Killing a wild beast is survival.
Killing a man...
That's something else.
But I didn't get to think too much about it.
The moment I dropped the dagger, his allies charged.
Their rage. Their eyes. Their screams.
It wasn't a fight.
It was madness.
I fought with everything I had. Every step, every swing, every arrow, every breath—it was survival.
And pain.
The dagger in my stomach... gods, it burned.
But I didn't stop.
And now, it was over.
I yanked the dagger from my side and pressed cloth against the wound. My hands were shaking, but my mind was clear.
I remembered my Guru's words:
"Strength is not for pride. It is for protection."
Today, I protected someone.
And still, I whispered a prayer—for the souls I had ended. Even if they were evil.
No one deserves to die forgotten.
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General POV
Behind him, the merchant slowly emerged from his hiding spot behind the overturned cart. His face was pale, his mouth trembling.
"You... you're just a child," he whispered.
Shon didn't answer.
"You saved my life," the man said, more firmly now. He stepped forward, offering a cloth and water from his pot.
Shon nodded silently.
"Come. I'm going to Ayodhya. Ride with me. You need rest. You're bleeding."
Shon climbed into the cart.
And together, they left the clearing—leaving behind the bodies of the bandits, now just shadows among the trees.
The road ahead was quiet.
The merchant didn't speak.
Neither did Shon.
But they both knew something sacred had happened.
A life saved.
A boy changed.
And somewhere, high above, Hanuman watched—with both pride and sorrow.
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General POV
By the seventh day, the towering gates of Ayodhya rose in the distance.
Shon looked at them and felt a strange sense of return—not just to a city, but to a new beginning.
The boy who had entered this kingdom hungry and wounded months ago...
Was now walking back as something else entirely.
Not just stronger.
But ready.
And somewhere within those city walls, destiny waited—in the form of friendships, trials, love...
And a mission that would change history.
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