From The Monk, To A Fairy

By Laxmi Varenya

As the sun peeked through the snow-capped mountains, a tourist bus filled with curious chatter and vibrant laughter arrived at the Lachung cottages. The manager of the cottages hurried out to welcome the large delegation, wearing his standard polite smile. He exchanged a few words with the tour guide, and his smile became more sincere upon learning about these generous guests.

He curiously glanced over the group until his eyes were drawn to a beautiful young woman. While everyone else was busy taking selfies, she stood alone on a small cliff, gazing at the mountains, lost in her thoughts. For a moment, the manager had the strange feeling that she might vanish into the landscape—carried away by the wind.

“Sarayu!” a voice called out, grounding her back to the world.

The manager snapped out of his daze and chuckled at his own imagination. Mortals and immortals? He shook his head and returned to the task of arranging rooms for the guests.

Little did he know, Sarayu was already receiving an earful from her friend, Chaitra.

“Sarayu, do you realize you could have fallen off that cliff? Why do you zone out like that? If you had a penny for every thought, you’d be a millionaire!”

“Don’t be mad, Chaitra. I know I was wrong,” Sarayu said playfully, grabbing her best friend’s arm. “Well... I just traveled to another nation. It was worth it!”

“What nation?” Chaitra asked, narrowing her eyes.

“It’s called Imagination,” Sarayu giggled, sticking out her tongue before running off as Chaitra prepared to chase her.

The group of guests included people of various ages and ethnicities, all seemingly elite. The management was especially careful not to offend anyone and arranged for a guide to show them around the region.

The guide, Bala, was enthusiastic and decided to start with the famed Lachung Monastery.

The Buddhist monastery, though tranquil at its entrance, was grand and steeped in history. After everyone prayed in the inner hall, they were given some time to explore. While a few meditated, others wandered around the courtyard.

Sarayu and Chaitra strolled through the backyard, where the low, melodic chanting of sutras echoed. A calm voice instructed the monks, carrying a weight that felt older than time. As the trees opened into a clearing, they spotted a tall man leaning down to gently correct a young monk’s posture.

Sensing their presence, he looked up.

Almond-shaped eyes, a straight nose, and a chiseled jaw gave his face a stern, almost cold beauty—softened only by his gentle smile.

“Woah,” Chaitra whispered under her breath. “He is so handsome.”

Sarayu, momentarily dazed, snapped back to attention and tugged Chaitra forward.

“Stop staring. You have a boyfriend,” she whispered.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Chaitra snorted. “Appreciating beauty is universal. And weren’t you zoning out too? That’s the first time I’ve seen you like that.”

“No... it’s just... he looked familiar. Like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

“Oh, sure. That’s how love starts—‘he looked familiar,’” Chaitra teased.

“Oh please! Says the girl who friend-zoned Vivek for years,” Sarayu shot back.

Later that evening, as they returned to the cottages, Sarayu glimpsed two shadows below the cliff, deep in the forest. She suddenly remembered seeing that monk earlier that morning—surrounded by people who looked dangerous, wading through treacherous terrain.

As she prepared to turn back, she saw movement again. Trying to distract herself, she wandered into the cottage gardens. While passing a rockery, she suddenly heard a low whisper.

“Eagle, Eagle, are you here? It’s Wolf.”

Sarayu froze.

Before she could make sense of the words, a man’s shadow shifted. When he didn’t hear a reply, he turned—and saw her. It was the monk.

His eyes instantly changed—sharp, calculating, like a predator deciding what to do with unexpected prey. They stared at each other in silence until he finally spoke.

“Sorry. I mistook you for someone else.”

And then, just like that, he vanished into the night.

Days passed. The group explored the region—trekking, learning local customs, and enjoying their trip. But Sarayu remained caught in a silent dilemma: should she report what she saw? She had no proof, and she hadn’t seen the monk again. Quietly, she asked around, but there were no reports of anything suspicious happening in Lachung.

On the final day, they returned to the monastery—on the manager’s enthusiastic recommendation of the vegetarian food served there. As they entered the courtyard, there he was again—the same monk. This time, he was delivering a sermon to a group of elderly visitors. His tone was kind, his manner peaceful. The coldness from that night was nowhere to be seen.

After the sermon, he approached the group.

“The lunch is ready for this group of donors. Let me escort you to the west room,” he said with a smile. He spoke warmly with the group and gradually drifted to the back—where Sarayu and Chaitra walked.

Then, in a low voice meant only for her, he said, “Miss Sarayu, it’s better to forget what you saw that night. Stop asking questions. I mean you no harm—but that doesn’t mean you can walk away unharmed either.”

His smile never faded.

Sarayu looked at him—his aura, calm on the outside, still held a quiet danger.

“You have my word,” she said solemnly. “I’ll never speak of it to anyone.”

He gave a small nod and rejoined the others.

Chaitra raised an eyebrow, but Sarayu brushed it off with a simple, “Nothing.”

Over the past few days, Sarayu had begun piecing things together. The code names. The tactics. The strange movements. It reminded her of stories about the Indian military—covert operations, deep undercover work. She had no intention of interfering, or endangering him—or herself.

Apart from that unexpected encounter, the trip ended smoothly.

Months later, while watching the news at her office, Sarayu saw a familiar face—one she could never forget—on the screen. He was receiving the Ashoka Chakra, India’s highest peacetime gallantry award. The exact details of his operation were never revealed.

Sarayu breathed a deep sigh of relief.

“Seems like I made the right bet,” she whispered.

She thought back to his words: “You can’t escape safely.” They sounded different now.

He hadn’t been threatening her. He had been warning her—protecting her. He had been deep behind enemy lines, and yet he chose to trust her.

Her heart swelled with an indescribable warmth.

As she prepared to leave the office, a colleague appeared with a bouquet.

“Sarayu, someone left these for you at reception.”

Surprised, she opened the card. Her heartbeat quickened at the sight of the familiar handwriting.

She looked up—and there he was, standing there with the same quiet smile she remembered.

The card read: “From the Monk, To a Fairy.”

By Laxmi Varenya