Paras left his village and walked down a well-trodden path through the farms. On his left and right green fields spread as far as eye could see, a small puff of dust rising with his every step. The path soon opened up to a well-travelled road and his school was right in front, a small building with peeling paint and barely legible board with school’s name. Paras turned towards the river on his right. 

The river was visible, water flowing with a gentle glide. Paras approached the bank, picked up a stone and tossed it over the surface of the water. It bounced a couple of times before plunging into the river’s depths, the ripples quickly fading. He sat down on the roots of the large banyan tree, said to have been planted there by his great grandfather many decades ago.

He gazed over the flowing river, an occasional fish jumping out and disappearing back with a splash, leaving behind a spreading ripple that would disappear before reaching the bank. The sound of the river flow soothed him, making way for tranquillity. The birds chirped on the branches, an occasional bark from stray dogs and shouts from shepherds as they guided goats and cows back towards the village.

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