In the great world of Yugantar, there exists a spiritual energy between heaven and earth, commonly known as "Urrja." Urrja, the spiritual energy that connected the heavens and earth, had always been a part of this world, though its mysteries were not understood by most. The cultivators, those few gifted with the ability to harness and channel Urrja, reaping its benefits in both longevity and strength. Mortals, on the other hand, could only look on with envy at the cultivators’ way of life. A life that seemed untouched by age, sickness, or suffering.
The village of Kamalpuri lay nestled at the base of a towering mountain on the Eastern continent of Yugantar, a quiet little settlement known for its serene beauty and simplicity. Despite the lush forests that surrounded it and the vast mountain ranges that bordered it, the village remained a world apart. Here, life moved at a steady pace—quiet, mundane, and uneventful.
Kamalpuri, named after the lotus-filled lake formed by the waterfall from the mountain’s peak, was a place where nothing ever seemed to change. The houses were small and modest, some crudely built with mud and wood, while others were sturdier, made of brick and stone, a testament to the families’ wealth or influence. It wasn’t a large village, but in a way, it didn’t need to be. Its population of around five hundred lived simple lives, relying on the mountain for their survival—gathering herbs from the forests, fishing in the lake, and hunting wild beasts that roamed the slopes.
But despite its charm, Kamalpuri was not without its divisions. To the north, the more affluent residents lived in two- or three-story homes, enjoying the luxuries of more comfortable lives. To the south, the poorer families lived in small, crumbling houses, barely keeping their homes from falling apart. It was a subtle yet stark reminder that wealth, like the Urrja that flowed through the land, was both a blessing and a curse.
Among the villagers, there was one family whose influence reached far and wide—the Vata family. The Vatas owned most of the businesses in the village, controlling nearly seventy percent of its trade. Kamal Vata, the current head of the family, was also the village chief. His power and influence were unmatched, and few dared challenge him, for doing so would mean risking their livelihoods, or worse.
Yet, despite this world of power and wealth, there was one boy who stood apart, a figure of purity and quiet resilience in the midst of it all. His name was Aaryan.
At first glance, Aaryan appeared just like any other orphan—ragged, barefoot, and dressed in worn-out clothes. His garments, patched together in places with different colors, spoke of poverty, and his hair, unkempt and wild, gave him an air of disarray. His eyes, however, were a different story. They shone bright sapphire blue, clear and radiant, almost glowing in contrast to the earthiness of his appearance. They were eyes that seemed untouched by hardship, as though they held a secret wisdom and innocence that the rest of the world could not see.
Aaryan’s smile was what set him apart, though. It was always there—a simple, unwavering smile that never seemed to falter, no matter what hardship life threw his way. It was a smile that radiated hope, and despite his circumstances, it was the one thing about him that made everyone notice.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
It wasn’t that Aaryan was immune to the hardships that life threw at him. He had none of the luxuries most children took for granted. His clothes were too old, his shoes nonexistent, and food was a constant struggle. His story was well-known in Kamalpuri, and it was one of tragedy. A few years ago, he had been found in the mountains, lying alone and abandoned. No one knew where he had come from, or who his family had been. The only clue was the man who had taken him in—a guard in the village who had raised Aaryan as his own before dying in a failed attempt to save the village chief from an assassination plot.
Since that day, Aaryan had been left to fend for himself. The villagers, though compassionate in their own ways, had done little to help. Some gave him food when they could, others simply ignored him, and a few, like the Vata family, used him to their advantage. Yet through it all, Aaryan never lost his smile. It was his shield against the harshness of his world, a reminder that hope, no matter how fleeting, could always be found.
As the sun rose over the village that morning, Aaryan made his way down the single road that stretched from the western entrance to the foot of the mountain. He had work to do, as usual. He wasn’t old enough to be a full member of the workforce, but he was often hired by the local shopkeepers to help with errands or deliveries. His tiny frame and quick feet made him perfect for the job, and in return, the shopkeepers gave him enough food to get by.
He walked past the fields and houses, offering cheerful greetings to those he passed. Some returned his greeting with a smile, others with pity, and a few simply ignored him. Yet, no matter the response, Aaryan’s smile remained unchanged.
The other children often mocked him, calling him "The Clown," a nickname that had stuck ever since he had first begun working for the shops. They found it amusing that despite his apparent misfortune, he always seemed to be smiling. What they didn’t know was that Aaryan’s smile was his way of holding onto something—a shred of hope, a belief that tomorrow would be better.
As he walked toward the shop, he passed a group of villagers who were talking among themselves. One of them, an older man with a rough face, shook his head and muttered, “Poor boy. Such rotten luck. No parents, no family, barely able to make ends meet… and still, that smile. That damned smile of his.”
His companion, a younger man, responded with a sigh. “You’re right. I heard he was found in the mountains all alone. No one knows where he came from. But the villagers seem to tolerate him. They even say he saved a few lives by using his wits during some of the forest expeditions.”
“But what’s the point?” the older man replied, a frown on his face. “What can he do? He can’t even carry a decent weapon. He’s nothing more than a burden.”
Aaryan overheard their conversation but didn’t react. He had heard it all before—the mockery, the pity, the dismissive attitudes. It wasn’t new to him. Still, the words stung.
When he reached the shop, he greeted the shopkeeper with a smile, ready for another day of work. But just as he was about to start, a figure appeared at the door—one that would change the course of Aaryan’s life.
The boy in the doorway was older, his face confident, and his stance unbending. He was dressed in a fine, blue robe, the same shade as the sky on a clear day. Aaryan could feel the weight of his presence, even though they had never met.
“This mission is very important,” the boy said with a voice that cut through the chatter, and Aaryan’s heart skipped a beat. The boy was talking to the villagers about a mission into the mountains—an expedition that would change course of life for Aaryan, the orphan with the impossible smile.