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Episode pilot: Born in Silence

  Episode pilot:Born in Silence

  (Name of the protagonist: Varun)

  Darkness.

  Silence, endless, cold.

  But I am not afraid.

  I’ve walked through this before.

  Then suddenly — pain.

  Light.

  Screaming.

  The smell of steel and antiseptic.

  A woman's voice.

  A man's voice.

  A crying nurse.

  A blinking monitor.

  And me... opening my eyes.

  “Doctor! He’s not crying!”

  “He’s... he's staring—straight at us.”

  A baby shouldn’t be this calm.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  A newborn shouldn’t have this gaze.

  But I wasn’t new.

  I was Varun, once a wandering sadhu of the old world — a disciple of truth, silence, and fire.

  I remembered the hymns of the Vedas, the chanting under the stars, and the moment I died.

  Burned to ash while shielding children from an asura’s fury.

  I gave my life in Treta Yuga.

  So why was I reborn here?

  The world around me was strange.

  Machines beeped. Nurses tapped on glowing rectangles.

  No incense. No mantras.

  Just the dull, humming noise of electricity.

  I wanted to speak.

  Instead, I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep.

  They named me Varun — after the god of the cosmic waters.

  I didn’t correct them.

  It was fitting.

  As I grew, the memories remained.

  So did the sadness.

  At two years old, I meditated under my crib.

  At five, I felt the prana flowing in my palms.

  At seven, I chanted Rigvedic verses in perfect meter while other children watched cartoons.

  And all the while… people stared.

  They said I was too quiet.

  Too beautiful.

  Too strange.

  My face became my curse.

  People bent to it, envied it, desired it.

  But no one could see what lay beneath:

  A monk. A warrior. A man who had once left all this behind.

  Now, I’m fifteen.

  I live in Kalyani with my mother and father.

  I avoid crowds.

  I’m a class 10 student, studying hard, and teach Sanskrit online for pocket money, all while living in a quiet house.

  But last night… I saw him.

  Not in a dream. Not in memory.

  But across the street.

  A man with red eyes and burnt skin, watching me from the shadows.

  I whispered the name without meaning to.

  “Vrindhakasura…”

  The asura I once died fighting.

  He has returned.

  And so have I.

  [To be continued…]

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