It was a cool morning in the village of Terusheyni.
In a green landscape that held a few huts and misty air, the giant banyan tree stood with its lush branches spread out to all sides. And it was under this tree that the aged Guru, a man with a long grey beard and dressed in white, and his little disciples were seated cross-legged.
The boys, no older than the age of ten, only wore lower garments of white. Their heads were bald except for the thin tuft of hair that flowed from the back. The girls were dressed in white tunics with their hair tied to a bun on top. They sat facing the Guru, but there was a sense of concern written all over their faces.
They exchanged glances, finding him unusually silent.
“Guru ji,” said the smallest of them, humbly. “The soul is calm, but not the mind.”
The man slowly withdrew from his thoughts and kindly gazed at the boy. “Indeed.” he replied with a smile.
“Does the air carry the scent of the Hayacree?” asked a girl.
The Guru nodded.
“Will we be forced to leave this mortal world soon?” probed another.
The Guru was unsure; his gaze remained fixed into a distance.
“There are stories about a man who is fighting the Hayacree.”
“So I have heard,” the Guru replied. “But he is only one man. He cannot be present everywhere at the same time.”
“Why not seek his help before the Hayacree reaches us?”
The Guru smiled. ‘What is wiser: to speak the truth which is defeating in purpose or speak of a possibility that provides temporary relief?’
“I can run fast, Guru ji.” a little girl boasted innocently. “I race with cats by the kitchens all the time.”
‘Then what exactly is hope?’
“Guru ji, if you may allow, I can find him.” said the little girl.
‘Hope is beyond possibility. Hope becomes the desire to fight against the illusions of imminent truth. Hope is the very essence of survival. Hope is life itself.’
“I am going to find Arjuna,” said the little girl, standing up. “He will save us and our village from the Hayacree. I know he can!”