Arjun was not like other twelve-year-old boys in Banaras. While his friends played cricket near the ghats, he often found himself staring at the ancient temples, mesmerized by colors that danced around them—colors nobody else seemed to notice.
“Arjun! Stop daydreaming!” his grandmother would call from their small house overlooking the Ganges. But Arjun couldn’t help it. The golden threads that floated through the air, the purple mist that surrounded certain people, the silver sparkles that emanated from the river at dawn—how could everyone else not see them?
It was a Tuesday morning when everything changed. Arjun was walking through the narrow lanes of Banaras, heading to school, when he saw an old man sitting outside Kashi Vishwanath temple. But this wasn’t just any old man. Around him swirled a magnificent aura of deep blue and gold, brighter than anything Arjun had ever seen. Their eyes met. The old man smiled, revealing gaps in his teeth. “Finally,” he whispered, though Arjun heard it clearly despite the morning chaos around them. “Finally, the Chosen One can see.”
Arjun’s heart raced. “You… you can see the colors too?”
“Colors?” The old man chuckled. “Child, what you see is not colors. It is magic—the ancient magic of Banaras that has protected our world for thousands of years. And it is fading.”
Before Arjun could respond, a strange chill filled the air. The usual warmth of Banaras morning vanished. People around them continued their routines, unaware, but Arjun saw it clearly—dark shadows creeping along the walls, moving against the sunlight, consuming the golden threads he always saw.
“What is that?” Arjun gasped.
The old man’s expression turned grave. “The Darkness. It has found a way into our world. And if it succeeds, not just Banaras, but the entire world will fall into eternal shadow.”
“But what can I do? I’m just a kid!”
The old man stood up, and despite his frail appearance, he suddenly seemed powerful, almost regal. “You are not just any child, Arjun. You are a Roopdarshi—a Seer of True Forms. Once in a generation, one is born with this gift. You can see magic in its purest form, which means you can also wield it.”
A shadow creature detached from the wall, taking the form of a giant serpent made of smoke. It lunged toward them. Arjun froze in terror.
“Don’t be afraid!” the old man shouted. “Feel the magic around you. Grab it. Use it!”
Instinctively, Arjun reached out toward the golden threads floating nearby. The moment his fingers touched them, they felt solid, warm, and alive. He pulled them toward himself, and they responded, wrapping around his arms like glowing vines.
The shadow serpent was inches away from his face when Arjun thrust his hands forward. The golden threads shot out like arrows of light, piercing through the creature. It let out a silent scream and dissolved into nothing.
Arjun stood there, breathing heavily, his hands still glowing.
The old man placed a hand on his shoulder. “Your training begins now. Come to the temple at midnight. Tell no one. The fate of the world depends on what you learn in the next seven days.”
What secrets await Arjun at the midnight meeting? Can a twelve-year-old really save the world? Find out in the next part of “The Magic of Banaras”!
