When he stepped into the blue city- the promised home of the royals, a place oozing with love and hope, a place that could heal you- he had hated it.

And why wouldn't he, a ten-year-old boy, torn apart from the only friends he had ever known. Dragged away from the serene abode of the eastern mountains and brought where? An old city lost to the passage of time.

Yet, when the boy set his sights on the Archaic Bastion for the first time, he felt drawn to it. His eyes shimmered with joy and innocent curiosity. In his stomach he could feel a warm sensation being radiated, calming him. It was the best day of his life.

Taken aback by his elation, the mother had asked, ‘What’s wrong? For someone who was complaining the whole ride, you seem quite excited.’

In return, the boy had blushed and hid his face. Even to him, this was new.

Never had he experienced such bliss. For the first time, he felt it in his bones, I am home. It was mystifying. As someone who had not known the existence of this place until a month ago, his reactions were perplexing. But still, he knew this wasn’t the first time he had seen this view.

Basking under the eternal glow of the sun, blessed with pristine azure sky, were the timeless streets filled with the  hustle and bustle of the evening crowd. The walls on the edge were flushed blue with patterns depicting stories never told. The king and his crown, the lion and his frown, the cries of the Queen yet the war won in vain, heroes slumbered in rain, hoping for one last descent.

Shifting his gaze upwards, he was blessed with the towering sentinel, the icon of the city, Mehrangarh fort. This fortress nestled at the top of a hillock gazed down over its subject in a protective embrace. Centuries had withered its golden walls yet for the boy it was a relic of an era, singing an ode long forgotten.

As he slid down the seat of his car, towards his new home on the outskirts, he whispered to himself with a smile — It is not as bad as I thought.

He was lucky. He had arrived at the blue city in winter, a pleasant time when the heat wasn't as treacherous, and the sun not as brutal. Still, it was no jest. For someone who had spent most of his life under the veil of The Seven Sisters, the boy wasn't ready for this drastic change.

From the cold and pristine winters to the dry and barren summers, it was a journey he would normally have never partaken in. Like others before him, he struggled, cried, and complained. But in the end, he accepted and adapted. That was when the blue city opened her arms for him.

Poetic yet hardly amusing. From the sadness to the joy, from the highs and the lows, he came to accept this new home. And today three years after his fated arrival, he sat in a quiet stupor gazing over the cracked window and towards the barely lit holographic board which read Jodhpur Sweets.

He sighed as the hot and dusty gale made its way towards him. The rushing electric cars, some levitating and some still with tyres honked, giving the young boy a headache. Meanwhile, his own bus stood silently, waiting for the road ahead to clear.

<Master Sidharth> A robotic female voice called for him. <It is time to drink water. Your hydration level is low.>

Lowering his gaze towards the glass screen of his blue watch, Sidharth lightly tapped on the warning sign, ignoring the remarks of his AI companion. Free from its chains, he continued judging the shop on the other end of the street. The glass doors looked broken, as the worker – an old man with a mechanical arm or two Sidharth guessed – tried to serve all the customers alone. His arms were filled with kachoris along with cool drinks.

How can one eat something so oily in this weather? Sidharth wondered, retracting his gaze back. Not that he had any qualms against those who did. It was just a wonder: how their bodies allowed such food to digest.

It was two in the afternoon, and the sun was as devilish as it could be, the golden rays that had once mesmerized the young boy, now only aggravated him. On the window opposite to him was a newborn tree. His amber eyes filled with curiosity as he observed the green leaves, tiny yet brave. It was barely tall. Sidharth guessed it might be smaller than him. But he couldn’t help but admire its courage, daring to bloom despite the brutal heat.

There was a certain beauty to it. Mesmerized, an impulsive desire to touch the leaves took over him. He pulled up his legs and crawled towards the other side. Movement was easier today, as he wasn’t wearing his navy blue school uniform.

Once near the window, he stretched his arms out, his pale finger struggling to reach the seedling. He pressed his shoulders over the railing, one last try, only to fall short by an inch. In defeat, he quickly retracted his arm, as the bus started to move forward.

He shook his head, cursing himself. This was a bad idea. After all, the last thing he wanted today was to accidentally get his arm amputated.

What a wonderful birthday that would be? He sarcastically thought.

Pressing his back on the worn-out leather seat, Sidharth drew his lids, taking a deep breath before slightly opening it.

He was welcomed by the interior of the primordial bus. Devoid of anyone except the driver, conductor and a girl he had never talked with, the vehicle creaked, as it travelled through the green corridor of the Blue City.

As he gazed upwards, he could see the crevice-adorned roof spread across the length like a spiderweb, with openings allowing the sunlight to creep in.

The windows, or what was left of them, were mostly fragmented, with a few somehow still holding their own. The seats had torn covers with their white, feathery filling all over the metallic floor which was covered in grease and oil. The air conditioner had long stopped working. The legend was it never had worked in the first place.

The bus took a slight turn towards the right, entering the military complex. Nestled in the outskirts of the city, this locality was a far cry from the antiquity that Jodhpur was.

Designed systematically with tree-lined avenues and grids of officer quarters, bases, automata units and war centre. This place was the reason why this city prided itself as a fortress, even in the modern era.

The driver braked, bringing the olive bus to a screeching halt. This was the last stop before Sidharth was home.

The girl who was sitting five seats ahead of him stood up, dusting her navy blue skirt, she pulled her white bag and glanced at Sidharth for a second. Her auburn eyes shimmered with familiarity as she slightly bowed, quietly wishing him happy birthday and then walked down.

He raised his brow, staring after her, but soon looked away and shook his head to bring his focus elsewhere.

On the other side of the bus, was the old and tired conductor, who had stepped down towards the supposed automatic door. He was clad in his olive-green combat uniform, with a polo cap as he pressed his worn-out fingers on the deformed door frame, forcing it open as the door loudly protested.

It was so bad that Sidharth could feel the rusted metal scraped against each other wailing, before jerking into place with a final clunk.

Dropping the girl, the ancient chariot once again continued its journey. In this advanced age of cybernetics and neural implants, this was a relic which somehow survived the passage of time. Stubborn to be put out of service, yet only a step away from falling apart.

From the back seat, Sidharth’s gaze lingered at the rearview mirror. On it was the reflection of a man whose face was wrinkled, crow feet adorned his eyes as the white untrimmed beard announced his age. Admiring his silent resilience he observed the brown, bony fingers gripping the steering. They were calloused by the hours the man had put in. Yet in his brown eyes, the fire to live burned, rebelling against time.

With a sigh, Sidharth ran his fingers through his raven hair, trying to brush off the stubborn dust clinging to the strands. The heat clung to him too, relentless and inescapable, foreboding the arrival of harsh months ahead. Despite it still being April, the city was unforgiving as ever.

Trying to shake his frustration, Sidharth focused on the events that awaited him. It was already a fun day at school, with the allowance of wearing regular clothes and being allowed to roam all over the campus with his best friend – Swara – to distribute chocolates, he was ready to dub this day as his epoch. However, that wasn’t exactly the reason why he was so elated.

What made today special was the fact that for the first time in six years, his entire family would be present. Despite his father’s harsh duty at the borders along with the skirmishes from the Imperials, today he had made it home.

Only a few minutes away from his home Sidharth smiled. The scenery outside changed once again. From the dust-stricken barren land, there were now rows of trees acting as a cool shelter for this stretch, there were pink-washed high walls on either side. From his height, Sidharth could see a platoon of soldiers running drills within them.

This familiar sight made him smile even wider. He was home. This locality: Jodhpur Military Cantonment — often called Jodhpur Cantt — despite being a fortress, it was also home to the prideful warriors who defended this nation.

The olive-coloured bus made a sharp left turn, pushing Sidharth forcefully towards the metallic wall on the right, which he avoided by using his bag as a cushion.

As Sidharth pulled himself up from the awkward position, he could see the statue of the Generation Five Automata, dubbed ‘Karna’, outside the window. It was a black and white, ten metres tall giant robot with humanoid features, that once served the armed forces.

The bus then entered the eight-foot-tall, black metallic gate, with a golden circular shield emblazoned with the logo of two swords crossing each other attached to it. Above the gate was a rectangular board with the words — SOUTHERN HQ JODHPUR — printed on it in bold.

Once inside the gate, they had entered a new world, a city within the city, filled with lush greeneries, planned roads and cross sections, libraries, golf courses and multiple living mansions arranged in a grid pattern sprawled throughout the campus. If a nomad ever entered this place, for him, it would be an oasis in the middle of a desert.

The bus stopped in front of yet another gate, albeit smaller and without a proper enclosure on the top of which was a holographic board with the name — Shaitan Singh Enclave — projected over it.

This was Sidharth’s stop. He picked up his bag and the white data pad on his left arm before he exited. The bus was empty as this was the last stop. The old bus conductor patted his back on his way down.

“I will see you in July,” he said. “That is unless you leave, hero.”

The bus conductor, Jagannath Balakrishnan, had been very fond of Sidharth ever since they met three years ago. He even gave him the nickname — Hero. Sidharth never truly understood the logic behind the name but he allowed it. Despite his previous exasperation, he had grown quite fond of it.

Sidharth smirked, “Don’t think I will be leaving this place anytime soon, old man. After all, who would travel in this broken time machine if not me.”

“It’s not broken,” Jagannath retorted, his fingers gripping the entrance as he pushed it open and close to prove Sidharth wrong. “See, the door works just fine.”

“Uhuh,” He smiled. “I would have agreed with you if this wasn’t here.” His index fingers pointed towards the top of the door frame, towards a small cubical glass box covered in dust. Inside of which the words — ‘Automatic door’— flickered in red. “Not very automatic now.”

Jaganath sighed, smiling, as he patted Sidharth’s head. Something Sidharth enjoyed a lot yet never expressed it upfront.

“Fine, you win,” He said. “But I will be missing you.”

“Ehh,” Sid answered dramatically. “I know I am amazing, but isn’t missing me a bit much?”

“Shut up,” Jagannath chuckled. “And then you ask why I call you hero.”

“My acting skills have nothing to do with your nickname,” Sidharth puts his hands on his waist and leans forward. “which, by the way, is so creative.”

“Better than nothing-” Jaganath was cut off when the old driver pushed the horn, signalling that this was taking too long and he had more important things to do. Though Sidharth thought otherwise, the old driver just wanted to go home and sleep; I mean, who wouldn’t want to in this brutal weather?

“Guess it’s time to leave,” Jagannath said, forwarding his right hand. Sidharth could see the black metallic watch with broken glass strapped around his wrist, with the hour hand always stuck at midnight. Sidharth had seen Jaganath wear this watch for the past three years and yet never understood why he chose not to fix it. Maybe it was a gift from a loved one, but it didn’t matter.

“Yep,” Sidharth replied as he firmly returned the handshake.

“Happy Birthday, Hero,” Jagannath smiled. “Don’t forget to enjoy your summer vacation.”

Sidharth smiled as Jagannath closed the door, signalling the driver. As the bus disappeared from view, Sidharth waved it goodbye, bidding his farewell. Even though he knew they would meet each other again one day, he couldn't help but say goodbye.

Somewhere in his heart, Sidharth knew this was a farewell. Not to Jagannath or the old driver he barely conversed with but to that ancient relic of a bus.