Guardians Of the Ancient Bharat

Morning broke over Varanasi, its golden light spilling across ancient rooftops and narrow lanes. The city awoke with the rhythmic chants of priests and the scent of marigolds and incense drifting through the air. Ujjwal sat by the window, his eyes tracing the familiar streets below, yet his mind wandered far from the ordinary bustle of life.

The events of the previous night had left a residue in his thoughts—a persistent hum of something vast and incomprehensible. He turned the brass bangle on his wrist, a childhood trinket his mother had given him. She claimed it was a charm of protection, blessed by the Ganga herself. He had laughed at her sentimentality. Now, he wasn't so sure.

"Ujjwal, come have your breakfast before it gets cold!" his mother called from the kitchen.

He forced himself away from the window, drawn by the comforting normalcy of home. The smell of freshly made parathas filled the small dining area, a reminder of how easily life could mask the extraordinary lurking beneath its surface.

As he ate, his mother watched him with a quiet intensity. "You didn't sleep well," she said, her voice soft but probing.

He paused mid-bite, then shrugged. "Just tired."

Her eyes narrowed, searching. "The river keeps secrets. Some are not meant for ordinary men. Did you see anything strange last night?"

Ujjwal met her gaze, a chill running down his spine. "Maa, do you ever wonder if the stories we grew up with are… real?"

She smiled, a small, knowing curve of her lips. "The stories are always real, beta. They live in the blood of our ancestors. We are just the ones who forget."

---

The day passed in a haze of unanswered questions. Ujjwal wandered the city aimlessly, the hum of life around him a backdrop to the storm brewing inside. Every corner seemed to breathe with hidden eyes, every shadow a reminder of the beasts that had nearly claimed his life.

By evening, his restlessness led him back to the ghat. He stood at the same place where he had fallen into the river, the memory of claws and teeth fresh in his mind. The water lapped gently, as if it remembered him too.

A hand fell on his shoulder. He spun around, heart hammering, to find an elderly man dressed in simple saffron robes. His eyes gleamed with unsettling clarity.

"You've been touched by Naglok," the man said quietly, his words carrying a weight that rooted Ujjwal in place. "The serpents mark those who are chosen."

Ujjwal's voice caught in his throat. "Who… who are you?"

The man smiled faintly. "A watcher. A guardian of old pacts. Your path will cross with many who walk between worlds, but trust must be earned."

Before Ujjwal could respond, the man pressed a folded parchment into his hand and disappeared into the crowd. The paper was rough, its surface marked with ancient symbols. He unfolded it, the lines of an unfamiliar script shimmering like coiled serpents.

The words burned into his mind. "Beware the Watchers in the Dark. Your blood calls to them. The truth lies in the shadows of your name."

A sharp wind rose from the river, carrying a whisper that only he could hear. "Remember, Ujjwal. Remember who you are."

The shadows deepened.