THE wind swayed through the trees, and the leaves rustled in silence. The air was slightly humid but pleasant and the sun came peeking through the canopy, its shining rays bathing all in a light gold. And the grass below was moist with early morning dew, soft to the touch for their bare feet.
In the clearing of the forest, the sage and his pupil stood poised for battle. He sought to test Tūmbṃār one last time before leaving and did not expect himself to be bested, but all the same when this fight was over, he knew he would not be seeing Tūmbṃār for some time.
Six years had already passed, and with the boy now reaching twelve, the time came for his departure. Yet Tūmbṃār was excited to test his mettle one last time against the sage who had put him through such harsh and strenuous training that it would surely have made a layman keel over. And while he did not much like any of it, even now, he was glad for just that moment to have the sage as his teacher.
Silence hung in the air, and all the animals came to spectate and stood far back in the thickets or high above in the trees. The gorilla had also come, sitting a distance away. It was the referee for this match, as odd as that was, but it had been set up nonetheless for that role by the sage himself. It looked to both of them who waited for its signal. Seeing that all was good and the battle ready to commence, it held its arm up. And with a great roar, it flung its arm down into the ground, cracking the surface. The animals hollered and the two combatants flew toward one another.
Block for block, blow for blow, their attacks were matched and struck in perfect sync. The air was blasted between the strikes, making the rocks and the trees shudder. The impact and force of the strikes was so great that it made even their skin flap with the whiplash. And then suddenly, the sage opening his hand caught the flying fist.
Tūmbṃār was reeled in and sent flying toward the canopy. His teacher shifted his gaze above with his left arm held high. And from the open palm, a great blaze arose and ignited the air. It flew in a stream, and the boy quickly encased himself in earth around which the flames spread but could not penetrate it. But the weight of the element was great and Tūmbṃār plummeted like a boulder toward his teacher, who with a high sweep of his leg, struck the encasing crust and shattered it. But the leg did not let up in its motion, for the sage twisted himself and arcing his leg down, he thrust Tūmbṃār into the ground, forcing the dirt and the soil high.
When the dust cleared, the boy was nowhere to be seen, though the sage was unfazed and stood still. The shrubs and trees were silent, yet the air moved about differently from where he was.
And following his ears toward the source, he shifted his head to the side, where his eyes followed past the boy’s fist. And with his speed heightened, the sage caught ahold of Tūmbṃār’s back and propelled him fast behind, sending him flying like a missile.
The sage’s defense was nigh impenetrable, and the boy himself knew this. But still he persevered, hoping luck was on his side. With the adrenaline now rushing through him with greater might, he landed on a trunk and sent himself flying back. He waxed his powers.
The air, combined with fire, created a blaze, and the blaze—doused in water—steamed; and the earth was enveloped in the steaming blaze, turning molten! And with this last muster of strength and show of force, he projected his powers toward the sage in a fierce stream of elemental might.
The sage spread his legs, and with his palms set forth, he held against the onslaught! The elements forced him back, and his hands became seared and cut, yet his face remained calm. With just a light push of his hands, the elements all at once dispelled, and the exhaust and fumes of that potent display effused the air. Yet not a moment sooner, Tūmbṃār was now in front of him, his hands seared and his body steaming, but now with only a foot distance between.
He could at that moment have incapacitated Tūmbṃār had he rushed him down with a pummel of blows as he had done many times before. But he refrained. He saw something behind Tūmbṃār, a light as it were. And he smiled upon seeing that. Now, he wished to give his student just one moment of victory, and leaving himself open, he took the boy’s fist straight into his face. He soared back through the column of great trees, felling at least thirty of them before at last impacting a boulder where the dirt and debris were ejected high.
The great trees fell down, crashing into their kin on either side, and sending the animals flying in fear. The sound of their fall reverberated loud, startling all who could hear it, beyond even the village itself. Tūmbṃār skidded across the ground and landed not far from the base of the first stump. And thereafter, silence held.
The gorilla was wide-eyed and unable to move, as its hair stood on end. And suddenly, the sage and his pupil laughed loudly, and the gorilla—breaking from his position—roared alike in delight. All the animals came racing back and cheered, holding both the boy and the sage. Tūmbṃār, for the first time, had defeated his teacher.
The early morning passed, and the sun stood a bit higher. Tūmbṃār was packed and ready now, and he walked through the village, taking in as much of it as he could before his departure. The villagers who followed behind alongside his parents, his siblings, and his friends, all sobbed and cried. For all the mischief and trouble he caused, he also endeared all who came to know him.
He wore a loose set of maroon pants known as a fhorlia that curled over his legs, held firm by his waist strap and a clasp at each of his ankles, together with an ornamented skirt that draped down the back of his legs and receded in the front tucked and held by his pants, and a green shirt, loosely held by three buttons.
He approached the cows, pigs, and sheep, bowing to them, and said, “Farewell, Dithri, Yithri, Medra, Pedra, Hādru, and Fādru,” to which they mooed, oinked, and baaed in return.
He petted the stray dogs and cats, to which they barked and meowed, seeming sad over his departure. To the Fiyukthi, he then approached and, with folded hands, prayed to the Gods.
The priests and priestesses, covered from head to toe in thick white robes and donning wooden masks, pronounced blessings upon him and offered him oblations to cast into the flames, which he gladly did. And at last, he approached and bent toward the sage his teacher, clasping his feet and kissing them. And as he did so, he sang the Ode to the Gruvhō. When he had finished, the sage rose him up and kissed him on his head, wishing him well.
“Congratulations for having bested me! We shall see each other at some point, Tūmbṃār,” the sage said with a smile. “You have listened all your life to me and though at times you made mistakes, ever did your amends follow. So, now giving you freedom to go where you will, I ask, where do you wish to go?”
Tūmbṃār thought for a bit, having completely forgotten to plan where he was going. After some time, he said, “How about south! I heard from some traders that there’s a great forest there, and some funny looking people.”
The sage was surprised and then laughed, and said, “Go there if you please! You shall come upon what is known as the Cedar Forest and I shall have an escort ready there to take you to a place you should very much like. He should bring you to an acquaintance of mine, and I shall have him train you for a trial that awaits. If my suspicions are right, then there is a much greater importance your journey holds than I first thought! But even if it does not, you shall at least have helped out and perhaps made a friend, of which I am sure you will make plenty! In any case, I look forward to seeing how much you will have grown in the time that will have passed.”
Tūmbṃār nodded in delight, but internally wished he would not have to see his teacher for a long while.
While joyous over having won the battle, the prospect of yet another trial was not all that pleasant to him. And it seemed to him at the moment that the sage would have given him one regardless of where he went. The grueling training and rigorous instruction of his teacher was something he did not desire to undergo again. Knowing what his teacher was predisposed toward, such a thing seemed more than likely were they to meet again.
Tūmbṃār considered that he should have found it almost a blessing that his teacher could not travel with him. It seemed there were other matters he had to attend to in some secret location, no doubt related to meeting other sages which his teacher often did do in the small intervals he was gone from the village. He did not care much to know, but he did find his leaving him, especially now of all times, a little bit suspicious. And he felt slightly conflicted, sad even, that after all this time the sage had been with him, they would now be parting ways for a long period.
But as for the matter of the importance of his journey—well, given how vague his teacher was concerning such matters—he could make little of what that meant. He often wondered what evil should actually come, and how the Gods might have been involved since their abandonment, but hoped all the while that it should excite rather than hinder his travels.
Now in front of the entrance where Tūmbṃār took one last look at the small wooden and stone houses, the Fiyukthi, and all his friends, his parents cried and embraced him, saying: “Our child, be safe in your travels. Make sure to not come back until twelve years have passed, promise us this!”
And Tūmbṃār with his childish smile said, “I’ve always done as you’ve asked and this shan’t be different. Have no fear, Father and Mother! I’ll return when the curse has passed, with mirth and glee as I’ve always been.”
Then he faced his brothers, sisters, and the rest of the villagers, with a large and thick cloth sack in hand and said, “Farewell, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandfathers, grandmothers, teachers, friends, and other associates! May I receive your blessings before departing!”
And the villagers laughed at his words, dumping an excess of items into the sack, some useful while others useless, yet Tūmbṃār accepted them all with pride and joy as he tossed the sack over his back.
His siblings embraced him and cried for his departure, but he assured them that he would return. His parents put a garland around his neck and he embraced them one last time.
He then turned to set out on his journey and at that moment, a powerful gust came. It blew the petals and leaves off of the garland, nearby flowers, and trees, scattering them in the air. They danced aflight, descending around and upon him as if the Gods were showering him in delight. And to this did all the villagers intone:
Se shakrd-hoyahm Arhaḥṃār!
That One and All shall manifest in you, child!
And the child who stood just four-and-a-half feet took those first steps into the vast expanse of the world, breathing in the air that marked the start of his adventure!
