Thousand Years | A Shubman Gill & Ishan Kishan Fanfiction ✓

Nrupal and Pushparaj

1092 AD, Hills of Aravalli 

Pushparaj was gasping for breath. The ten year old boy was tired of walking for hours at stretch. He wanted to stop for some time but he knew that he couldn't. There were a few hours of daylight left and they had to make the best of them. 

His family sustained on shifting cultivation. Every five years, they moved to a new plot. The last time they had traveled in search of a new area, Pushparaj was five and too young to understand the joys that came with traveling and finding a new abode were accompanied by the disconcerting feeling of homelessness. 

He understood it a little too well now. 

His feet were laboring forward but his mind was pulling him in the opposite direction, reminding him of the last place he had thought of as his home. Where he had befriended the cattle and a few boys of his age. Just when Pushparaj had begun getting attached with the stream near his hut, the orange sunsets that lasted half an hour and the songbirds that hummed sweet melodies, he was bereft of it. 

At nighttime, when they would finally rest to replenish themselves, Pushparaj would stare at the skies, wondering if he should talk to his father about his dislike towards changing their home. He would imagine what his father would reprimand him with. 

“Don't you know the soil takes time to regain its health? I know you don't like change but you're doing something good, Pushparaj. Be proud that you belong to a lineage where your ancestors chose the environment above their discomfort.” 

It was pointless to argue. And unyielding to try to sleep. Exhaustion was his only ally, taking him in its arms so that he could finally drift off to sleep. 

Breaking his chain of thought, his gaze fell on the lush greenery in front of him. Vast and wonderful, the Aravalli hills welcomed him. For the first time in a long time, Pushparaj smiled, comforted by their foliage. 

*****

They had successfully built their huts and the elder of the family had started communicating with the groups living nearby, learning about the soil, sharing their history of cultivation, and smelling, touching and eating exotic crops. 

Pushparaj sat on a grass patch, cross legged and detached. He had resolved to not think of the Aravalli hills as his home. He stared into space with a neutral demeanor when he found someone tapping on his shoulder. A slender boy was looking at him with such excitement that Pushparaj felt overwhelmed. He decided to ignore the boy and walk towards his hut. 

But that was not to be for the boy had started walking with him. He was saying something. Pushparaj pretended to look disinterested but his eyes betrayed him. The boy smiled. 

“I'm Nrupal. I saw your family arrive yesterday.” 

Pushparaj hmmed in response. 

“Have you heard of corn? It's a speciality of this region. I brought you some.” 

He revealed his hands that were kept behind his back to be holding a yellow coloured crop with tiny grain like structures that looked peculiar to Pushparaj. 

“It tastes sweet. Do you like sweet?” 

Pushparaj decided to answer in negative hoping that the boy would leave him alone. But Nrupal was delighted to hear No and smiled a smile that revealed slant, narrow but beautiful dents on his cheeks as he said, “Good. You'll like it after eating this.” 

What an annoyingly persistent boy, Pushparaj thought as he sighed and accepted the corn.

*****

A few days later, Pushparaj learnt that things worked differently in the Aravalli hills. A unique method that would be known in history as terrace farming had germinated here. People of the hills were not in favor of shifting cultivation resulting in hours of debates between the natives and the newcomers. At times the two sides were unwilling to accept the merits of each other and returned to their huts holding grudges, only to reunite at dinner time to exchange food.

Nrupal’s family became unabashedly fond of the newcomers' cabbage.

And Pushparaj’s family developed a taste for the native’s corn.

Nrupal found new ways to talk to Pushparaj everyday, making it extremely difficult for the latter to keep his walls intact.

Slowly and steadily, the bud of their friendship blossomed. Petal by petal it grew into a beautiful flower which Pushparaj was afraid would soon be uprooted.

*****

1108 AD, Aravalli hills

Pushparaj held his newborn son in his arms and thought of naming him Nrupal.

After all, Nrupal had changed his life. 

He was transported back to the day when Nrupal had insisted on taking him to his favorite spot, dragging a half asleep Pushparaj to see the sunrise from a hilltop etching the beauty of the Aravalli hills in his heart. 

The thirteen year old Pushparaj weeped, unable to deny the comfort he had felt ever since their family had traveled here. Whether he liked it or not, Aravalli was becoming his home. 

The two boys sat there in silence, filling their eyes with the picturesque curves of valleys. 

“Will you remember me even after I am gone?”

Nrupal, whose face was ever smiling, looked solemn as he said, “You're not going anywhere.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can see how strongly you like Aravalli. We'll tell your family to settle down here.” 

“As if they will listen to you.” Pushparaj couldn't help but laugh at how much faith Nrupal had in his convincing skills. 

“Well I made you eat corn, have you forgotten that?” Nrupal grinned as his friend shook his head, surrendering in front of his confidence. 

*****

1108 AD, Aravalli hills

Nrupal had succeeded in helping Pushparaj stay. He spoke with heart and moved the rocks over his father's heart, convincing him to try terrace farming. Stay for a few years. Learn how to cultivate corn. 

And through his persistently caring ways, Nrupal had changed Pushparaj's life. 

“What is the name of your child?” The village head asked Pushparaj. 

Several eyes were fixed on him but he searched for a familiar brown pair of eyes and when he found them, he smiled. 

“His name is Nrupal.”