The school bell rang. Arjun and Kiran stood outside near the ice cream shop. Shantappa’s shop was famous across Malnad for its delicious Kulfi.
"Two mango kulfis," Kiran ordered.
Arjuna took out his sketchbook, sat under the shade of a tree, and began sketching. He had been anxious for the past two days. Vikram's curious gaze... how much did he know?
"Hey, can I join you guys?"
Both looked up. Vikram stood there with a friendly smile, holding a badminton racket. He must have just finished a game.
"Vikram Anna!" Kiran exclaimed in surprise. "Yes, of course!"
Vikram sat beside them. Arjuna tensed up slightly, but Vikram’s demeanor was completely natural. There was no mention of the incident.
"Shantappa, one almond kulfi," Vikram ordered, then turned to Arjuna. "What are you sketching?"
"That banyan tree," Arjuna replied softly.
Vikram peered into the sketchbook. His eyes widened. "This... this is amazing, Arjun! Look at the detail—every root, every leaf... You are incredibly talented."
Arjuna smiled shyly. "Thank you."
"Tell me, do you guys play cricket?" Vikram asked, changing the subject.
"Kiran plays. I’m not that good," Arjuna said.
"Arjuna is more interested in art than sports," Kiran added.
As they ate their kulfi, the three chatted about school, movies, and sports. Vikram spoke casually and warmly.
Arjuna slowly realized—Vikram wasn't just a popular senior. He was a genuine, honest person.
---
Saturday afternoon. The outskirts of the village, by the river—a favorite spot for kids to swim and play.
The three boys jumped into the water.
"Watch this! See how long I can stay underwater!" Kiran challenged.
He took a deep breath and dived. Thirty seconds later, he surfaced, gasping for air.
"My turn!" Arjuna laughed.
They held diving contests, played in the water, and floated on the surface, talking.
"This is truly a peaceful place," Vikram said, looking up at the sky. "I’ve never been here before."
"We've been coming here since we were kids," Arjuna said.
Kiran was happy to see his best friend opening up to someone new.
"You know," Vikram continued, "You two are real friends. That’s rare."
"We’ve been together since we were five," Kiran said.
Vikram smiled. "Amazing. That kind of friendship is true wealth."
Next day, Sunday. The three met by the river again.
Kiran suddenly stood up. "Shall we show him our Adda?"
Arjuna hesitated slightly. "The old ruined temple?"
"Ruined temple?" Vikram asked curiously.
Kiran nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! About a kilometer from here. Remains of an ancient temple. It's an awesome place."
"It’s our secret hideout," Arjuna said softly. "Our Adda."
Vikram’s eyes lit up. "Can I come? I mean, if it's your private space..."
Arjuna and Kiran looked at each other. A silent communication passed between them. Then Arjuna smiled.
"Yes, come. You are our friend now, aren't you?"
They left the riverbank and took a narrow path into the forest. The canopy of trees covered them like an umbrella.
"Is it an ancient temple?" Vikram asked as they walked.
"Yes," Kiran replied. "My grandfather used to say it's about five hundred years old. From the Hoysala era."
As they walked, Arjuna began to notice it. The multi-colored aura from the surrounding plants... it was intensifying. As they got closer to the temple, the glow became brighter.
"Here it is," Kiran whispered.
The path opened up, and there it stood.
The ruins of an ancient temple. Stone pillars covered in green moss. Peepal trees grew through the broken walls, their roots embracing the stones. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the trees, bathing the place in magical light.
But for Arjuna... he saw something else.
The entire place was bathed in a kaleidoscope of colors. Green, blue, violet, gold... every plant, every tree, every creeper glowed with its own aura. It was more intense than he had ever seen.
He held his breath.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Kiran asked, waiting for Vikram's reaction.
Vikram walked forward slowly, his eyes roaming around. "This... this is incredibly beautiful," he whispered. "You can feel the history here. The peace."
---
They entered the main part of the temple ruins.
"We used to play here when we were little," Kiran said. "Pretending to be archaeologists finding treasure."
Arjuna laughed. "Or pretending we could talk to ancient gods."
Vikram explored the place with genuine reverence. He touched the carvings, examined the plants growing on the walls.
Arjuna sat near a broken pillar. He watched Vikram closely.
And then, Arjuna realized something.
In Vikram’s presence, the aura of the plants glowed even brighter. When he moved closer to them, the light intensified.
Why?
---
Evening approached. The sun was setting, casting long shadows.
Kiran was lying on a flat stone, resting. Arjuna was sketching. Vikram was pacing around.
Then, Vikram came and sat next to Arjuna.
"Arjun," he said quietly. "I need to ask you something."
Arjuna’s hand froze. He looked at Vikram with a hint of anxiety. "What?"
Vikram adjusted his glasses. "That day... the water you gave me. About that."
Arjuna tensed up. He closed his sketchbook.
Kiran sat up, curious. "What about the water?"
Vikram kept his voice soft. "I'm not blaming you, Arjun. I just... I felt I needed to know."
"Know what?"
"You knew exactly what to do, didn't you?" Vikram said. "I know it wasn't a coincidence."
Vikram continued, "There was something else in that water. Something that helped me in a way ordinary water couldn't."
"I don't understand," Arjuna said, but his voice was shaky.
Vikram leaned in, curious, not threatening. "Arjun, I've noticed. The way you look at plants... it's different from everyone else. It shows in your drawings too."
"In my drawings?"
"Yes. When you draw plants... they look special. Like you understand them, not just see them."
Arjuna looked down.
"And that day," Vikram continued, "when I had the asthma attack... you knew exactly which plant, which leaves. How is that possible?"
Kiran was now listening intently. "Arjun, what is he talking about?"
Arjuna gripped his sketchbook. Vikram was a friend now. But this secret...
"I... I just wanted to help," he whispered.
"Arjun," Vikram said earnestly. "I am your friend. You can tell me. I won't judge you."
A long silence followed.
"Sometimes," Arjuna finally said, his voice barely audible, "I see the world differently."
"Specially around plants," he continued. "They... they look more alive than they do to others."
Vikram’s eyes widened. "What kind of things?"
"I can't explain properly. It's like... like they glow sometimes."
"Glow?" Kiran asked, shocked.
"Not normal light," Arjuna said. "A different kind. A multi-colored aura. Light that no one else sees."
"And when I was sick?" Vikram asked gently.
Arjuna sighed. "Something... something told me. Which plant to use. Which leaves. I don't understand how I knew."
"You never told me this!" Kiran said, hurt and surprised.
Arjuna looked at his best friend. "Would you have believed me?"
Kiran opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Vikram spoke softly. "I believe you, Arjun. I felt it. I felt your help. It was like a miracle."
---
lking back to the village, Kiran was silent, processing everything. Arjun walked with his head down. Vikram walked beside them, lost in thought.
"Arjun," Vikram said as they parted ways. "Thank you for sharing."
Vikram reached home and went straight to his room. He paced back and forth.
"Plants glow... multi-colored aura... something told me..."
He looked at the books on his desk. Books on medicinal plants. Ancient wisdom. But none of them mentioned anything like this.
"There must be an explanation," he muttered. "Something in the old heritage."
He stopped suddenly.
His Great-Grandfather's collection!
His great-grandfather had been a scholar of his time. He collected ancient texts and palm-leaf manuscripts.
Those books were in the attic!
Vikram climbed the narrow stairs to the dusty attic. In the corner sat a large wooden chest.
He opened it. The smell of old paper wafted out. Inside were palm-leaf manuscripts and old books in Kannada and Sanskrit.
He started searching carefully.
"Ayurveda Sangraha" — No.
"Vriksha Ayurveda" — This was about tree health, not humans.
He dug deeper to the bottom of the chest. The oldest manuscripts.
Then, his hand touched a specific bundle.
It was strange. The moment he touched that palm-leaf manuscript, he felt something. A warmth. Like it was calling to him.
He carefully pulled it out. Ancient palm leaves bound by a thread. The script on the top leaf was ancient Kannada and Sanskrit.
He brought it under the light to read.
"Vanaspati Vidya"
His heart raced.
The palm-leaf manuscript was glowing...
