Veer ~ Rise Of The Sisodia's [#YourStoryIndia]

Chapter 8

Peshawar, 1027 AD

An archer stood poised with his bow in the serene enclave of the monastery, nestled amidst the rugged hills. The crisp air carried the tension of anticipation as he meticulously prepared for his shot. His left hand held the bow steady, while with the right, he drew back the string until it nearly grazed his lips. His right elbow ascended high, forming a straight line with the arrow to ensure the strain fell upon his robust back and shoulder muscles, sparing the vulnerability of the weaker elbow. With a final notch, he released the arrow.

The target, an agile young man robed in the attire of a Buddhist monk, awaited the impending challenge. Bamboo armour, worn and weathered, guarded his chest, and in his right hand, he held a staff. Compact and sinewy, his body exuded strength, devoid of any excessive weight.

Immobile as a statue, the monk observed the arrow hurtling towards him. At the last moment, his hands moved with a blur, and the staff collided with the projectile, diverting it harmlessly to the side, where it collided with a rocky wall. Applause erupted from above, where novice monks perched on tall rocks, witnessing the spectacle unfold in a circular sand pit.

The stunt concluded with grins exchanged between the archer and the monk, only to be interrupted by a stern voice echoing through the enclave. "Kanishka! Sanghamani! You should have been back in the monastery an hour ago. Kanishka, the abbot, wants to see you."

The mirthful atmosphere shifted as the two young men, now resembling chastised children, hastily stored their equipment and ascended from the training pit. They sprinted up a steep hill, where crude steps etched into the side tested their endurance. Upon reaching the summit, the wooden gates of the main monastery complex came into view.

Within the familiar confines of their home and school, Kanishka and Sanghamani scurried through the rectangle within a rectangle. The outer rectangle housed dormitories, stores, granaries, and rooms for pilgrims, while passageways led to the inner rectangle—a domain of teachers' cells, classrooms, a dining hall, and a library.

As they traversed the monastery, a simple and utilitarian complex adorned with earth-toned bricks, Kanishka couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging. The only exceptions to the unadorned architecture were found in the courtyard of the inner rectangle, where a prayer hall and a majestic stupa with a distinctive white dome stood. The complex was about fifty kilometres from the bustling town of Peshawar, or Purushpura, as it had once been called.

"Where's the abbot?" Kanishka inquired of a young monk.

"In the prayer hall," came the reply.

Expressing gratitude, Kanishka hurried to the prayer hall, where he knocked softly on the wooden doors, half-hoping the abbot would be deeply engrossed in prayer and might not notice his arrival.

Kanishka expressed his gratitude in hushed tones and hurried towards the prayer hall. Softly, he tapped on the wooden doors, half-hoping that the abbot would be engrossed in deep prayer and not notice the sound.

'Come in,' called out the abbot cheerfully.

In the tranquil embrace of the monastery, Kanishka whispered his thanks and hastily made his way to the prayer hall. There, he gently rapped on the wooden doors, harbouring the hope that the abbot would be immersed in profound prayer, oblivious to the soft sound.

"Come in," the abbot's cheerful voice resonated.

Kanishka sighed ruefully as he entered the hall, a grand three-story structure that towered above the complex. Nearly two stories high, a colossal statue of a seated Buddha commanded attention at the room's far end. Elaborate, colourful murals adorned the walls, vividly depicting scenes from the life of the Buddha. No matter how familiar he was with the room, the statue's majesty and the beauty of the murals never failed to leave Kanishka awestruck.