Ekal first heard the call on a breath of wind—soft, insistent, coming from Dandakaranya where rivers keep secrets and mountains never forget. He rose from his simple life, wrapped in saffron robes that fluttered around him like prayer flags, and hoisted his Kodanda bow over one shoulder. The bow gleamed like the first light of dawn and hummed with a power that was anything but ordinary. In his heart burned a single guiding star—dharma—pulling him onward into the unknown.

His journey would bring him to many rishis, each a guardian of some corner of reality: the delicate rhythm of time, the fire of creation, the unblinking clarity of truth. Their ashrams lay hidden in the folds of the earth, ancient and silent, waiting to share their wisdom. Each teacher would offer a fragment of a grand design—golden lessons tested in deep crimson trials.