Arjun removed the sweat from his brow as he worked in the temple garden at sunrise. In the courtyard of the Satyavrata Temple, where he was an apprentice groundskeeper under Guru Vishwanath, a tall banyan tree threw shade over the courtyard.
The temple in the Western Ghats of Kerala was said to be blessed by Saraswati herself. Inside the garden, the jasmine, marigold, and tulsi plants filled the humid air with their beautiful scent. But at the heart of the garden stood a mango tree called the Tree of Absolute Truth, and its fruit was sealed to any being except the Creator himself.
The rule was old and was written in ancient Sanskrit at the tree’s base on a stone tablet, saying, “He who eats the fruit of truth will understand everything but will be banished from my house.”
Guru Vishwanath had repeated this warning countless times during Arjun's two years of service. The golden mangoes that hang from its branches, which is said to contain the wisdom of the universe itself, will glow from inside.
Arjun had always been careful around the sacred tree. Unlike the other apprentices who worked in the outer gardens, he was assigned to tend the inner courtyard. It is a privilege earned through his dedication, despite his tendency toward clumsiness.
His mother, back in their village near Kochi, often joked that he could trip over his own shadow (she wasn't entirely wrong, though).
That morning, when Arjun tried to pluck a dried hibiscus flower that had dropped near the base of the tree, his sleeve brushed against one of the lower branches. An aromatic, ripe mango, just like the color of the sunrise over the sea, suddenly landed on the ground with a quiet thud.
"Aiyyo!" he gasped, his heart immediately racing.
The fruit lay before him, unmarked but glowing faintly in the sunlight. Its sweet fragrance filled his nostrils. It was more intoxicating than any mango he'd ever encountered in the markets of Fort Kochi.
Panic seized him.
Guru Vishwanath's voice echoed in his memory: "Those who disturb the sacred fruit will face divine retribution. They will be cast out from this holy place forever."
Returned to his village in shame. His family's honor will be destroyed.
He looked around desperately. The morning prayers wouldn't begin for another hour, and the courtyard was empty except for a few sparrows pecking at seeds.
He couldn't leave the fruit there, as someone would find it. He couldn't hide it either, as Guru Vishwanath seemed to have eyes everywhere.
The mango pulsed gently, almost like a heartbeat. Before his rational mind could intervene, Arjun picked it up and took a bite.
The world exploded into light and knowledge.
He saw the cosmic dance of Nataraja, felt the rhythm of creation and destruction that governed all existence. He understood the Sanskrit verses he'd memorized without comprehension and felt the interconnectedness of every grain of sand from Kanyakumari to Kashmir. He knew why the temple cats always avoided the northern corner (an ancient burial ground) and could suddenly comprehend the Malayalam prayers the elderly women whispered during evening aarti.
The universe sang to him in ragas he'd never heard, showed him the mathematical precision behind the temple's architecture, and revealed the secret sorrow Guru Vishwanath carried, the loss of his son to illness decades ago.
"Arjun?" A gentle voice broke through his cosmic revelation.
Priya, an apprentice from the neighboring ashram who often came to collect flowers for their evening prayers, stood at the garden's entrance. Her concerned expression told him he must look as bewildered as he felt.
Before he could compose himself, the temple bells began ringing. Verbal prayer calls were replaced by an unpleasant noise that warned people that they had broken the sacred rules.
Guru Vishwanath appeared suddenly from his hut, the tail end of his white clothing sweeping beside him. His usual serenity was now turned into bitter disappointment and deep fierceness. His sharp and clear eyes caught the spot on the tree from where the mango fell.
“The fruit of truth is already gone,” was his reply, as decades of divine communion made his voice truly authoritative. "I can smell the essence of forbidden knowledge." His gaze swept the courtyard and settled on Arjun, who was still feeling immersed in what the universe was trying to teach him. "You, my child. You reek of stolen wisdom."
Terror flooded through Arjun. It was furthermore amplified by his newfound ability to see all possible consequences stretching out before him like threads in a web. In that moment, he witnessed his expulsion, his family’s humiliation, and his mother weeping in his mind's eyes.
And then, in that moment of absolute panic, the forbidden fruit’s secret power suggested to him the art of deception. Manipulation, fabrication, and lying have always been a part of human life.
"Guru-ji!" he stammered, pointing at Priya with a trembling finger. "It wasn't me! It was her! Priya-ji tempted me, saying the mango would help her understand the deeper meanings of the bhajans. She said Saraswati herself had appeared to her in a dream, telling her to share the fruit's wisdom!"
The lie spilled from his lips with horrifying ease, each word perfectly crafted by the fruit's terrible knowledge. He watched Priya's face transform from confusion to shock to deep, wounded betrayal.
"Guru-ji, I don't understand," Priya whispered, her voice breaking. "I only came for flowers. I've done nothing wrong."
"She lies, Guru-ji!" Arjun pressed on, the deception growing. "She offered it to me first, saying we could share the cosmic knowledge between us!"
Guru Vishwanath's ancient eyes fixed on Priya with profound disappointment. "Child, if this is true, you have violated the most sacred trust. You will be banned from these grounds. Your spiritual progress will be... reconsidered."
As Priya was led away, tears streaming down her face, Arjun remained alone under the Tree of Absolute Truth. The cosmic knowledge still flowed through him, but now every beautiful revelation was poisoned by his betrayal. He understood everything: the movement of stars, the language of birds, the hidden mathematics of flower petals, but the weight of his lie made it all feel like a curse rather than a blessing.
The tree's remaining mangoes seemed to pulse with accusation, and Arjun realized with crystal clarity that his punishment had already begun. He had gained the knowledge of gods but lost something far more precious: his soul's innocence.
The forbidden fruit had given him everything, and in his cowardice, he had lost it all.
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