Ananta was born to a small riverside community of Nagaji which housed an impressively large garden tended to by her family for a good few generations. Taught from a young age in how to tend the garden as well as the many applications of its herbs, roots, and bulbs, Ananta was on a sure path to continue the ways of her family as the local herbalists... And she did, and she was quite good at it.
Yet, as she got older, Ananta's mind wandered. There was something more to the plants, to the people who worked the river, to the fish both great and small who swam along its stream. She could feel it, sense it. But... She couldn't see it. Many days, the Nagaji would shirk her duties to search for this odd sensations, hunting for the source. Some days her avenue was prayer, on others it was the well worn and oft stained pages of a book brought into town by a merchant. Months of this passed, a fruitless search for a buzzing in her head.
How ironic then, that the answer should come to her during the work she had avoided to search for it. Fate does love irony, after all.
It was night then, the full moon's light turning the dark waters of the village silvery grey wherever it wasn't stained red by a nearby torch or candle. Crickets chirped, beetles chittered, and humming along to the tune of the night, Ananta snipped away at rotting leaves, and cut away unsightly tendrils. Then, in the melody of the full moon, it arrived all at once, that thing she'd been searching for.
When her parents and the neighboring villagers arrived on the scene, bidden by screams of panic, the garden was consumed in flames, even the lily pads burned. Ananta shrieked, terrified by the heat, by the smoke which seemed to surround her and the flames which poured from her hands. She thought she was going to die there, reduced to ashes alongside the flowers and the baskets. But slowly, the panic faded, and for what seemed the first time, she truly saw.
It was an answer. A purpose.