Prince Adil explained that the sorcerer had hidden three magical stones across Jaunpur—one in the Atala Masjid, one in the Shahi Bridge, and one in the old fort. If Anjali could find them before dawn, the curse would break, and the lantern’s magic would be hers to keep. Their first stop was the Atala Masjid, its towering arches bathed in moonlight

In the bustling town of Jaunpur, nestled along the banks of the Gomti River near the ancient city of Varanasi, lived a curious girl named Anjali. At ten years old, Anjali was known for her bright eyes and endless questions. Her home was a small, mud-brick house with a courtyard where her grandmother, Amma, grew marigolds and told stories of Jaunpur’s glorious past—of Mughal emperors, grand mosques, and hidden treasures.

One sunny afternoon, as the monsoon clouds took a rare break, Anjali wandered through Jaunpur’s crowded bazaar. The air was thick with the scent of frying jalebis, roasted peanuts, and jasmine flowers sold by vendors in colorful turbans. Anjali’s pocket jingled with a few rupees her father had given her for chores. She wasn’t looking for anything special, but her heart always raced at the thought of finding something extraordinary.

At the edge of the market, tucked between a chai stall and a shop selling brass idols, was an old, dusty stall Anjali had never noticed before. Behind it sat an elderly man with a long white beard, his eyes twinkling like the stars above the Atala Masjid at night. His stall was piled with odd trinkets: broken clocks, faded paintings, and a single, tarnished brass lantern that seemed to glow faintly, even in the daylight.

“Child, you have the look of an adventurer,” the old man said, his voice soft but clear. “This lantern is no ordinary thing. It holds the magic of Jaunpur’s past, but only for one who believes.”

Anjali’s eyes widened. “Magic? What does it do?”

The man smiled. “Light it under the moon by the Gomti, and it will show you wonders. But beware—it only works for a pure heart.” He handed her the lantern for just two rupees, a price so low Anjali couldn’t resist.

That night, under a full moon, Anjali crept out to the riverbank. The Gomti shimmered like a silver ribbon, reflecting the lights of Jaunpur’s bridges and temples. With trembling hands, she lit the lantern with a match she’d borrowed from Amma’s kitchen. At first, nothing happened. The flame flickered weakly, and Anjali’s heart sank. But then, the lantern flared with a golden light, so bright she had to squint.

From the glow emerged a figure—a boy, no older than Anjali, dressed in a shimmering kurta like the ones worn by princes in Amma’s stories. “I am Prince Adil,” he said, bowing. “This lantern holds my spirit, trapped centuries ago by a jealous sorcerer. You’ve freed me, but only for one night. Will you help me break the curse?”

Anjali, though startled, nodded. She wasn’t one to back away from an adventure. “What do I need to do?”

Prince Adil explained that the sorcerer had hidden three magical stones across Jaunpur—one in the Atala Masjid, one in the Shahi Bridge, and one in the old fort. If Anjali could find them before dawn, the curse would break, and the lantern’s magic would be hers to keep.

Their first stop was the Atala Masjid, its towering arches bathed in moonlight. Anjali tiptoed through the courtyard, the lantern’s glow guiding her to a carved stone pillar. She pressed her fingers against it, and a small compartment opened, revealing a sparkling emerald. “One down!” she whispered, tucking it into her pocket.

Next, they hurried to the Shahi Bridge, its ancient stones sturdy despite centuries of floods. The river whispered secrets as Anjali searched. Prince Adil pointed to a loose brick near the bridge’s edge. Anjali pried it free, and there lay a ruby, glowing like a tiny ember. “Two!” she cheered, her confidence growing.

The old fort was the final challenge. Its crumbling walls loomed like a sleeping giant. Anjali’s heart raced as she climbed over broken stones, the lantern casting eerie shadows. Deep inside, in a forgotten chamber, she found a sapphire hidden in a crack. But as she grabbed it, the ground trembled. The sorcerer’s spirit, a shadowy figure with eyes like coal, appeared. “You dare steal my magic?” it hissed.

Anjali froze, but Prince Adil stepped forward. “She’s braver than you’ll ever be!” he shouted. Anjali, clutching the stones, remembered the old man’s words about a pure heart. She held the lantern high and said, “I believe in Jaunpur’s magic, and I believe in kindness!” The stones glowed, merging with the lantern’s light, and a wave of warmth washed over the fort. The sorcerer’s shadow dissolved with a wail.

As dawn broke, Prince Adil smiled. “You’ve done it, Anjali. The curse is broken.” He faded into the light, leaving the lantern in her hands, now gleaming like new. Anjali returned home, exhausted but triumphant. Amma, seeing the lantern, only winked, as if she knew its secrets all along.

The next day, Anjali lit the lantern in her courtyard. It didn’t summon princes, but it filled her heart with courage and wonder. She knew Jaunpur’s magic wasn’t just in old stories—it was in her, too. And as she grew, she shared the lantern’s light with everyone, proving that even a small girl from a small town could shine brighter than the grandest Mughal palace.