The water from the tubewell is different in taste but it's a good kind of difference. Like how one candy tastes different from another but it all tastes delicious. This feels rather delicious too, more so than the filtered waters of piped lines.

  I go back to take my bath. Dropping three more mugs of water on my head, I start rubbing soap all over my body. A much-needed act to wash away all the mud and pollution I’ve been through yesterday.

  I remembered seeing a scrubber in the first stall. Walking up to it, I grab the scrubber and begin scrubbing myself. Soon I’m covered in thick foam from the amount of scrubbing!

  Seeing the state I’m in; I drop five more mugs of water on my head and around my body. Then again some more, since it felt so good. The cool splash rolling down my skin like a reset button pressed on my whole being.

  I then start to get some water from the tubewell in the bucket again, but this time only about a fourth of the bucket. Then I fetch my clothes and the detergent packet. It’s already used a little and has a small tear on the top right side.

  I pour some detergent into the bucket and make it bubble by thrashing my hands around in the water. It’s actually fun, watching it foam up as my hand goes crazy in the bucket. After playing around for a while, I drop my clothes in one by one and press them down with my foot. I’m a bit too tired to keep bending over after foaming the bucket, so stomping with my right foot feels easier. I keep pressing hard and steady, and soon my clothes are getting thoroughly soaked and cleaned.

  I then take my shirt out and start slapping it against the cement ground. Over and over, pounding and kneading it like I’m making dough. The same treatment goes for the pants and underwear. After scrubbing and beating them clean, I throw away the foamy water and fill the bucket with fresh water.

  One by one, I rinse the clothes, dunking them into the clear water and squeezing them tightly two or three times until the soap fades away. Then I hang them over my shoulders, heavy and dripping, while I clean out the bucket once more. Finally, I place the squeezed-out clothes neatly inside the empty bucket.

  Since the bucket is now occupied by my clothes, I start bathing directly, taking water from the tubewell into the mug. With every pull and push, I fill it and pour it over my body. Again and again, until the water runs down my skin and I finally feel clean. By the end of it, I’m panting a little, exhausted from this much workout.

  I reach for the towel Gramps gave me, still hanging on the rope that stretches across the path leading outside. It’s fresh-smelling, soft, and warm in its own way. I wipe myself dry, then wrap it around my waist.

  Gathering my damp clothes from the bucket, I step out toward the courtyard. The morning air greets me once again. I hang each piece of clothing on the ropes stretched across the courtyard from one side to the other, leaving them to drip and dry in the rising sun.

  I see the old geezer taking his fair share of tea, gazing at the sun which has risen, yet still low, just like I did earlier. He sits in the same place, unmoving, as though he’s lost in some memory. Reminiscing about his past, probably. His face looks strangely conflicted: visibly happy, yet touched with a quiet sorrow. Eyes shimmering but not wet, lips neutral, neither smiling nor frowning. He might have lived through some tough life, that’s all I can guess from just looking at him.

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  I walk up to him. “Hey, Gramps, where are the clothes?” I ask, breaking into his little bubble.

  He turns his head toward me, slowly, without moving the rest of his body an inch. A single tear slides down from his right eye, tracing a path along his cheek and chin until it clings to his beard. His gaze holds me, steady, distant, for about five whole seconds. Then, as though a string suddenly snapped, he wipes his face with his right hand.

  “Ahh, oh, what?” he mutters, shaking off whatever world he was lost in.

  Standing up, he seems to understand what I meant without me repeating. He disappears into his room and returns with a plain white shirt and a pair of gray pant and underwear. I accept them without a word.

  I don’t question his behavior. Everyone has their own battles, their own scars to carry… especially in a world like this, where the government has taken so much. I head back to my house to change.

  Entering the house, I feel weirdly excited.

  “I’m actually going to get real training… even if it’s from that old Gramps, it’s better than shadow training,” I whisper to myself, the words slipping out with a quiet thrill.

  I quickly dress up and head out. The courtyard is empty. Maybe Gramps went to get ready too?

  “Hey, Gramps! Where are you?” I shout toward his house, half trying to annoy him.

  I reach for my phone to check the time….

  Wait.

  I thought I kept it in my left pocket. My heart races as I pat my pockets and clothes like a possessed man.

  The elder steps out, watching me with that calm, mischievous face.

  “Why are you acting like a monkey?” he asks.

  “I can’t find my phone!” I blurt out, panic rising.

  “Well,” he says, grinning, “where did you keep it during your bath? Maybe check those pockets that are dripping with water.”

  His teasing tone hits me like a lightning bolt of realization.

  No way. Did I actually wash my clothes with my phone in them?!

  Then it clicks.

  “Oh right! I left it in the first stall!”

  I dash off like my life depends on it, running back to the bathroom. And there it is! My phone, sitting just where I left it. I grab it and tuck it safely into my pocket, exhaling a massive sigh of relief.

  When I return, the old man’s already standing by the path, ready to leave.

  “Found it?” he asks.

  “Yes, oldy,” I reply, grumpily.

  He laughs. A hearty, satisfied laugh, and waves for me to follow.

  We head through the path leading toward the great banyan tree. I follow close behind, glancing left and right at the scenery. The morning light drapes the village in gold. Everything feels alive. The air smells clean. The earth beneath my feet feels soft.

  It’s beautiful how different this place is from the suffocating, steel jungle of the other villages, where buildings climb so high that even the sun and moon are strangers to the streets.

  “Hey, old fool!” a voice shouts from up ahead, breaking my thoughts.

  I look up. It’s Sheph, the shepherd, with a broad grin, is waving at us.

  “About time you showed up!” he calls out.

  I can’t help but smile.

  I guess my training begins now.