Chapter 3: Voices in the Wilderness

Chapter 3 Illustration

Prince woke to the soft sound of humming—a melody he didn't recognize but that seemed hauntingly familiar nonetheless. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming, that the events of the previous day had been a product of his lonely imagination.

Then he opened his eyes and saw Daksha perched on his windowsill, the morning light catching in her emerald feathers, creating prismatic patterns on his bedroom wall.

"You're real," he whispered, sitting up slowly.

Daksha turned, her amber eyes bright and alert. The splint on her wing was still in place, but she seemed stronger today, her posture more upright.

"Good morning, Prince," she said, her voice clearer than it had been yesterday. "I hope my humming didn't wake you."

"What was that song?" Prince asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "It sounded... I don't know. Like something I've heard before, but I know I haven't."

A strange expression crossed Daksha's face—if a parrot could be said to have expressions. "It's a lullaby from... from where I come from."

"And where is that?" Prince asked, suddenly realizing how little he knew about his extraordinary guest.

Daksha looked out the window again, at the slice of sky visible between the houses. "Far away," she said softly. "Very far away."

Prince sensed her reluctance and didn't press further. Instead, he got up and checked the time. It was Saturday, which meant no school—no Amar and his friends to avoid, no teachers who looked through him as if he were invisible.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, changing the subject. "I can get you some breakfast."

"That would be nice," Daksha replied, turning back to him. "Your kindness is... unexpected."

Prince frowned slightly. "Why unexpected?"

"Where I come from, kindness is rare," she said, her voice taking on a distant quality. "Especially to strangers."

Before Prince could ask more questions, he heard the front door slam. His uncle was home from his night shift. Prince tensed automatically.

"Stay here," he whispered to Daksha. "And please... don't make any noise."

Daksha nodded, seeming to understand the sudden fear in his voice.

Prince slipped out of his room, closing the door carefully behind him. His uncle was in the kitchen, the smell of alcohol mixing with his factory work clothes. Not a good sign—it meant he'd stopped at the bar after his shift.

"Morning, Uncle Ravi," Prince said quietly, keeping his distance.

His uncle grunted in response, opening the refrigerator and staring into it with bloodshot eyes. "There's no food in this house," he muttered.

"I was going to go to the market today," Prince offered. "I saved some money from my tutoring job."

Uncle Ravi turned, seeming to really look at Prince for the first time. "Always the responsible one, aren't you? Just like your mother." There was something bitter in his tone, as there always was when he mentioned Prince's parents.

Prince said nothing, knowing from experience that engaging would only make things worse.

"I'm going to sleep," his uncle announced, slamming the refrigerator door. "Don't make any noise. And clean this place up—it's a mess."

Prince nodded, though the mess was entirely his uncle's. As Ravi shuffled toward his bedroom, Prince waited, counting the seconds until he heard the door close. Then he let out the breath he'd been holding.

Back in his room, Daksha was exactly where he'd left her, but her eyes were alert, watchful.

"Your uncle," she said, not a question but a statement.

Prince nodded. "He's... not a bad person. Just sad and angry. He didn't want to take me in after my parents died, but there was no one else."

Daksha tilted her head, studying him. "You make excuses for his behavior."

"It's not an excuse. It's just... understanding, I guess." Prince shrugged, uncomfortable with the conversation. "Anyway, he'll sleep until evening. I need to go to the market for food. Will you be okay here alone?"

"I'll be fine," Daksha assured him. "But Prince... you don't have to make yourself smaller to make others feel bigger."

The words hit him like a physical blow. How had this parrot—this strange, magical creature he'd known for less than a day—seen so clearly what he himself had never been able to articulate?

"I... I should go," he said, flustered. "I'll bring back something good for you to eat."

Daksha nodded, not pressing the point. "I'll rest while you're gone. My wing feels better today, thanks to your care."

Prince gathered his few remaining rupees and headed out, his mind swirling with thoughts. The market was busy, as it always was on Saturday mornings. He moved through the crowds with practiced invisibility, picking up the cheapest vegetables, some rice, and a small bag of mixed nuts and dried fruits that he thought Daksha might enjoy.

As he was paying for the last items, a familiar voice called out behind him.

"Well, if it isn't the tree-whisperer!"

Prince's shoulders tensed. Amar. Of course it would be Amar.

"Buying food for your imaginary friends?" Amar continued, approaching with two of his usual companions. "Or maybe for the trees you talk to?"

Prince gathered his purchases, keeping his eyes down. "Leave me alone, Amar."

"Or what?" Amar stepped closer, invading Prince's space. "You'll run away again? Hide in the jungle like a scared little animal?"

Something about the mention of the jungle—of his special place, now connected to Daksha—sparked a rare flare of anger in Prince.

"At least the jungle doesn't judge me," he said, looking up to meet Amar's gaze. "At least there, I can be myself without people like you trying to make me feel worthless."

Amar's eyes widened slightly, surprised by the response. Then his face hardened. "You are worthless. That's why you hide in the jungle—because you know you don't belong with normal people."

Prince felt the familiar pain of those words, but something was different today. Maybe it was Daksha's presence in his life, or her strange words about not making himself smaller. Whatever it was, he found himself standing straighter.

"You don't know anything about me," he said quietly but firmly. "And you don't know anything about the jungle. There's more life, more wonder in one tree than in your entire existence, Amar."

For a moment, Amar seemed genuinely taken aback. Then he laughed, but it sounded forced. "Listen to the freak, talking like he's some kind of philosopher. Come on, guys. Let's leave the nature boy to his plants and animals. They're the only friends he'll ever have."

As they walked away, Prince realized his heart was pounding—not with fear, but with a strange exhilaration. He had stood up to Amar. Not dramatically, not victoriously, but he had stood his ground. And somehow, it felt like a beginning.

When he returned home, he found Daksha not on the windowsill but perched on his desk, carefully turning the pages of one of his books with her beak.

"You can read?" he asked, setting down his purchases.

Daksha looked up, not at all embarrassed at being caught. "Yes. Your language is... interesting. Similar to others I've encountered, but with unique patterns."

Prince blinked, processing this new revelation. A parrot that could not only talk but read? And what did she mean by "others I've encountered"?

"Daksha," he said slowly, sitting on the edge of his bed. "What are you? Really?"

The parrot was silent for a long moment, her amber eyes studying him with that unsettling intelligence.

"I'm not sure how to answer that," she finally said. "I am... not from here. And I am not what I appear to be."

"Are you... magical?" Prince asked, feeling childish even as he said it.

Daksha made a sound that might have been a laugh. "In a manner of speaking. Where I come from, what you call 'magic' is simply a different understanding of the universe's fundamental forces."

Prince's mind raced with questions. "Where do you come from? Another country?"

"Another world," Daksha replied simply. "Another reality, you might say."

Prince stared at her, waiting for her to say she was joking. But those amber eyes remained steady, serious.

"You mean... like an alien?" he whispered.

"If that helps you understand, yes. Though 'interdimensional being' would be more accurate."

Prince ran a hand through his hair, trying to process this information. "But... why are you here? Why are you a parrot? And why did I find you?"

Daksha hopped closer to him, her movements graceful despite the splinted wing. "I was exiled from my world," she said, her voice softer now. "Transformed and cast out. As for why you found me..." She paused, seeming to choose her words carefully. "Perhaps it wasn't chance. Perhaps something in the universe recognized two lonely souls who needed each other."

Prince felt a lump form in his throat. "I don't understand any of this," he admitted.

"You don't need to understand everything right away," Daksha assured him. "For now, it's enough that we found each other. That you helped me when I needed help."

Prince nodded slowly, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea that he was harboring an interdimensional exile in the form of a parrot. It should have seemed absurd, impossible. Yet somehow, looking into Daksha's eyes, he knew she was telling the truth.

"So what happens now?" he asked.

"Now," Daksha said, "we heal. Both of us. My wing, and your spirit."

"My spirit isn't broken," Prince protested weakly.

Daksha tilted her head. "Isn't it? You move through the world as if you're apologizing for existing. You let others define your worth. You hide your light."

Prince looked away, uncomfortable with her perception. "I'm just being realistic. I'm not special or important."

"Everyone is important," Daksha said firmly. "Every being has a unique perspective, a unique energy. Where I come from, they tried to eliminate that uniqueness, to make everyone the same. That's why I was exiled—because I believed in the power of individuality, of emotion."

"Emotion?" Prince frowned. "They exiled you for having feelings?"

"My people decided long ago that emotions were inefficient, dangerous. They purged them from their society, becoming cold, logical beings." Daksha's voice took on a sad quality. "But in doing so, they lost something essential. They forgot how to create, how to connect, how to love."

"And you didn't forget?" Prince asked softly.

Daksha's feathers seemed to glow more brightly for a moment. "No. I discovered ancient texts that spoke of the time before the purge, when my people created art and music, when they loved and laughed and cried. I began to feel those things myself, to understand their power. And for that, I was deemed contaminated and cast out."

Prince felt a surge of indignation on her behalf. "That's terrible. They punished you for being alive, for being real."

"Yes," Daksha agreed. "But in doing so, they sent me here. To this world. To you." She hopped closer still, until she was right beside his hand. "Perhaps exile was not a punishment but a gift."

Prince hesitantly reached out, gently stroking the soft feathers on Daksha's head. She leaned into his touch, a gesture so trusting it made his heart ache.

"I brought you some food," he said, changing the subject before his emotions overwhelmed him. "Nuts and dried fruits. I thought you might like them."

"Thank you," Daksha said, following his lead. "I am hungry. This body has different needs than I'm used to."

As Prince arranged a small plate of food for her, he found himself smiling. His life had been so predictable, so gray, for so long. Now, in the span of a day, everything had changed. He had a friend—an impossible, extraordinary friend who saw him, really saw him.

For the first time in years, Prince felt the weight of his loneliness begin to lift. And in its place, something new began to grow—something that felt suspiciously like hope.