Chapter 5: The Blossoming of Power
"Ruko!"
The moment the letter formed, an ancient aura swept through the area, and everything seemed to freeze.
Even the ceiling fan slowed to a halt, the dust motes hanging suspended like tiny stars. It was as if the whole world held its breath.
The boulder hovered in midair.
A collective gasp went around the room. The boulder hung, trembling, powerless to fall.
I pulled Meera to safety.
I grasped her arm gently, steering her out of the shadow of the stone. Her body trembled, but she clung to my hand like a lifeline.
Kabir stared at me in horror. "How can you write divine script with your finger?"
His voice was shaky, the bravado finally stripped away. The pen in his hand seemed suddenly useless.
Only those at the Samarpit level or above can write without a pen, though they still prefer to use one, as pen-written divine script is more powerful.
Among the elders, writing by finger was an art—rare and revered. To see it from a servant, a nobody, was unthinkable.
The same letter, written by people of different realms with different tools, can have vastly different effects.
It’s like making chai—same leaves, but in the hands of a master, it’s magic.
The 'stop' letter I wrote—he'd only ever felt such power from his teacher before.
That aura—it sent shivers through the tiled floors, making even the ancestors’ portraits on the wall seem to watch in awe.
"Could he be even stronger than my teacher?"
The thought flickered across Kabir’s face, quickly chased away by disbelief.
As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Kabir shook his head, refusing to believe it.
Pride dies hard in men like him. He glared at me as if sheer will could change reality.
Suddenly, my hand began to itch. I looked down to see tiny golden marigold petals blooming on my index finger.
The petals glowed, bright as Diwali diyas, swirling in a soft breeze that no one else seemed to feel.
These petals were insubstantial, formed from the world's primal energy.
They shimmered and faded, leaving only the faint scent of genda in the air.
"What is this?"
Startled, I brushed off the petals.
The golden flakes floated down, resting softly on Meera’s shoulder, making her gasp in wonder.
The petals landed on Meera, and the 'mute' letter immediately lost its effect.
Her throat vibrated, and she gasped—first in shock, then in joy. Her voice returned, stronger than before.
Meera found her voice and quickly explained, "This is the phenomenon called 'divine pen blossoms.' Only someone writing divine script for the first time will trigger it."
She looked at me as if I’d just sprouted wings and started chanting Sanskrit shlokas.
Then she suddenly realised something, staring at me as if I were a miracle. "You... is this your first time writing divine script?"
Her tone was half awe, half disbelief. I scratched my head, feeling oddly shy under her gaze.
I smiled. "It seems so."
I tried to keep my tone casual, but the truth was, my heart was beating faster than the dhol at a Punjabi wedding.
Kabir was dumbstruck.
His jaw dropped, eyes bulging. For once, he had no smart retort.
He had started learning divine script at two and a half, and wrote his first letter at three.
In this world, that made him a prodigy. Every family gathering, Chachi ji would boast about Kabir’s ‘genius.’
'Aakash.'
His father even added that letter to his name.
That day was a big celebration—sweet boxes distributed to the whole colony. Kabir Singh became Kabir Aakash Singh.
At that time, he too had seen the 'divine pen blossoms' phenomenon.
It was the pride of the family. The last time someone had witnessed it, the village held a special puja in their honour.
This was recognised by heaven and earth—no one could fake it.
To see it happen now, to a mere servant, shattered the illusion of inherited greatness.
But how could someone writing divine script for the first time be stronger than him?
Kabir simply couldn't figure it out.
His face twisted, torn between rage and despair, his world suddenly unfamiliar.