After an hour of walking, they reached a bend where the river narrowed, and a small waterfall cascaded over mossy rocks. Behind it, barely visible, was a dark crevice in the stone. Ananth’s heart skipped a beat. “Meera, you weren’t kidding,” he whispered. As they approached, a dazzling peacock strutted out from behind a boulder, its tail feathers shimmering like a rainbow. “Who dares disturb the Vishwamitri’s secrets?” it squawked, its voice sharp but not unkind

In the heart of Vadodara, Gujarat, where the Vishwamitri River sparkled under the golden sun, lived a curious boy named Ananth. At ten years old, Ananth loved exploring the nooks and crannies of his vibrant city, from the bustling Sayaji Garden to the ancient stepwells hidden in quiet alleys. His favorite place, though, was the riverbank near his home, where he’d spend hours watching turtles bask on rocks and egrets wade gracefully in the shallows. But the river wasn’t just a place for daydreams—it was where Ananth’s greatest adventure began.

One sweltering afternoon, as the monsoon clouds gathered on the horizon, Ananth sat by the Vishwamitri, tossing pebbles into the water. His best friend, Meera, a spirited girl with a knack for storytelling, joined him. “Ananth, don’t you ever wonder what secrets this river holds?” she asked, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Secrets?” Ananth laughed. “It’s just water, Meera. Maybe some fish and a few grumpy crocodiles.”

Meera shook her head. “My nani says the Vishwamitri is older than Vadodara itself. It’s magical. She told me about a hidden cave behind a waterfall, guarded by a talking peacock!”

Ananth rolled his eyes but couldn’t resist Meera’s enthusiasm. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s find this cave. But if there’s no peacock, you owe me a plate of sev usal!”

They set off along the riverbank, their sandals squelching in the muddy grass. The air smelled of wet earth and jasmine as they passed mango trees and street vendors selling kites near Kamati Baug. Meera led the way, her braid bouncing as she recounted her nani’s tales of ancient sages and enchanted animals. Ananth, ever practical, kept an eye out for crocodiles, knowing the Vishwamitri was home to a few.

After an hour of walking, they reached a bend where the river narrowed, and a small waterfall cascaded over mossy rocks. Behind it, barely visible, was a dark crevice in the stone. Ananth’s heart skipped a beat. “Meera, you weren’t kidding,” he whispered.

As they approached, a dazzling peacock strutted out from behind a boulder, its tail feathers shimmering like a rainbow. “Who dares disturb the Vishwamitri’s secrets?” it squawked, its voice sharp but not unkind.

Ananth froze, but Meera stepped forward. “We’re not here to cause trouble, Mr. Peacock. I’m Meera, and this is Ananth. We just want to see the cave.”

The peacock tilted its head, studying them. “I am Kesar, guardian of the river’s heart. Only those pure of heart may enter. Answer my riddle, and the cave is yours to explore.”

Ananth gulped. Riddles weren’t his strength, but Meera nodded eagerly. Kesar spread his tail and spoke: “I am in Vadodara’s heart, built by a king, where colors dance and voices sing. What am I?”

Meera whispered to Ananth, “It’s the Laxmi Vilas Palace! The king built it, and it’s full of colorful paintings and music during Navratri!”

Ananth nodded, and Meera answered confidently, “The Laxmi Vilas Palace!”

Kesar’s feathers rustled approvingly. “Well done. Enter, but beware—the cave holds the river’s magic, and it tests those who seek it.” With a flourish, he stepped aside, and the children slipped behind the waterfall.

Inside, the cave glowed with a soft blue light, reflecting off walls carved with ancient Gujarati scripts. At its center stood a small, shimmering pool, its surface rippling as if alive. Above it floated a tiny, golden lotus that pulsed with light.

“It’s beautiful,” Meera gasped. Ananth reached out, but the lotus spoke in a gentle voice: “I am the Spirit of the Vishwamitri. Touch me, and I will grant one wish, but choose wisely, for the river’s magic reflects your heart.”

Ananth hesitated. A wish could mean anything—riches, fame, or even a lifetime supply of jalebi! But as he looked at Meera, then at the river outside, he thought of the garbage he’d seen littering the banks and the murky patches where fish struggled. The Vishwamitri wasn’t as clean as it once was, his dadi had told him.

“Meera, what if we wished for the river to be clean again?” Ananth asked.

Meera’s eyes widened. “You’d use a magic wish for that? Not for flying or a new bike?”

Ananth shrugged. “The river’s our home. It gives us so much. I want it to sparkle like it did in Dadi’s stories.”

Meera grinned. “You’re right. Let’s do it.”

Together, they touched the golden lotus and said, “We wish for the Vishwamitri to be clean and full of life again.”

The cave trembled, and the pool glowed brighter. The lotus vanished, and a warm wind rushed past them, carrying the scent of fresh water. They ran outside, where the waterfall sparkled clearer than ever. The river, once murky in spots, shimmered like glass, and fish darted playfully in the current.

Kesar the peacock bowed. “You’ve chosen well. The river’s magic lives through selfless hearts.”

Word spread in Vadodara about the Vishwamitri’s sudden clarity. People gathered at the banks, marveling at the clean water and returning wildlife. Ananth and Meera never told anyone about the cave, but they smiled, knowing they’d made a difference. Each evening, they’d sit by the river, eating sev usal and dreaming up new adventures, certain that the Vishwamitri held more secrets, waiting to be discovered.