Recollecting a peculiar dream is never easy, especially when only fragments linger after waking. But what made Uncle Satish's dreams so captivating was their resemblance to a treasure hunt.

Uncle Satish was a man of many eccentricities. Tall and lanky with a mop of unruly hair, he carried an air of mystery about him. His eyes, sharp and inquisitive, seemed always to be searching for something beyond the ordinary. He had a talent for storytelling, weaving tales that could captivate any audience, especially his nephews, Ritesh and Ravi. Despite his charm, Uncle Satish was jobless—not for lack of qualifications, but because he was too lazy to lift a finger. His master’s degree in Chemistry had never been put to good use, and the vast estate he inherited remained uncultivated.

His days were spent reading books, talking and playing with his nephews, and pursuing his unique talent for dreaming.

He would enter a rare state of dreaming: his pulse would race, his eyes twitch, and he would mutter cryptic words. These words were often clues. Sometimes, when we pieced together the clues, they led us to great treasures. At other times, he solved puzzles or math problems in his dreams. “The structure of benzene was discovered in a dream,” he would assert, emphasizing the significance of his visions.

Most of his dreamt pointers came true, which was reason enough to trust him. As Uncle Satish's nephews, Ritesh and Ravi often found themselves at the heart of these adventures. Ritesh, the elder at ten, was curious and cautious, always thinking two steps ahead with a keen eye for detail. Ravi, on the other hand, was a spirited seven-year-old with boundless energy and infectious enthusiasm. Together, they were the perfect team, balancing caution with excitement.

The treasures they discovered were far from trivial. Two months ago, they unearthed an ancient geometry box in their grandmother’s attic. Uncle Satish claimed it dated back to the British era. He insisted the box’s value was worth its weight in gold. For a ten-year-old and a seven-year-old, the story was easy to believe, especially since the box’s contents were unlike anything they’d seen among their friends. Having encountered similar instruments in comic books, they fully trusted Uncle Satish's tales.

Their grandmother, a kind-hearted woman with a passion for knitting, was always amused by their escapades. She often joined in their excitement, sharing stories from her own childhood. Despite Uncle Satish’s peculiarities, she had a soft spot for him and believed in his dreams as much as the boys did.

On another occasion, following his dream pointers, they discovered an old umbrella in the basement of their Uncle Nishant’s farmhouse. Uncle Satish claimed it originated in Arabia a century ago. “An umbrella in Arabia?” their grandfather scoffed. A retired schoolteacher with a pragmatic outlook, he was often skeptical of Satish’s wild claims. “When did it ever rain there to warrant such an umbrella?” he doubted. But Ritesh and Ravi had no reason to disbelieve. They were mesmerized by Uncle Satish's dream-induced discoveries.

One day, Uncle Satish asked the boys for a head and leg massage to ease into his semi-sleep state, where his magic happened. As usual, Ritesh and Ravi began the massage. Uncle Satish drifted off (or pretended to) while muttering a few keywords.

“My old farm… rock… tree… farm… pot buried… seeds…” he murmured before falling into a deep sleep after the splendid massage. Aside from his usual rapid pulse and twitching, he looked peaceful.

This time, however, his dreaming pattern was different. He fell asleep before finishing his keywords, leaving the story incomplete.

Determined not to let the mystery slip away, Ritesh and Ravi exchanged excited glances. They grabbed a flashlight and a small spade and quietly slipped out, heading toward the old farm.

The moon cast eerie shadows on their path. As they neared the farm, Ritesh recalled the words: "rock… tree… pot buried… seeds." They began searching near an ancient, gnarled tree that stood solitary in the field.

“Look, Ritesh! There’s a large rock next to the tree,” whispered Ravi. They started digging around the rock, hearts pounding with anticipation. After what felt like hours, their spade struck something hard.

Ravi’s eyes widened as they unearthed a small, rusted pot. With trembling hands, Ritesh opened the lid, revealing a collection of old seeds.

“We found it!” exclaimed Ravi, unable to contain his excitement.

Their discovery was legendary. Uncle Satish’s dream had led them to real treasure once again. They hurried back home, eager to share the news, knowing this was just the start of many adventures guided by Uncle Satish’s extraordinary dreams.

Their grandfather deciphered the mystery. Inside the pot was a message inscribed on a palm leaf: “These are magical seeds, which, if planted and cared for well, will yield magical fruits. They are worth their weight in diamonds.”

Uncle Satish was astonished that he had actually dreamt it. Ravi and Ritesh couldn't wait to sow the seeds. But planting them meant preparing the long-barren land, neglected by lazy Uncle Satish.

News spread through the village like wildfire. The next day, many came to inspect the seeds. No one had seen such mysterious seeds before. Excitement buzzed in the air, motivating Uncle Satish to prepare the land for farming and planting for the first time. Ravi and Ritesh encouraged him, promising to be his constant source of inspiration, reminding him of this dream come true, like all his other dreams.

Grandfather was the happiest of all. With a mischievous grin, he remarked, “If they had steel-made umbrellas a hundred years ago in Arabia, this century-old barren land can bear fruit too. One just needs to toil hard.” With a twinkle in his eye, he took a few seeds and tossed them towards the farm. “Let the magic begin,” cheered the villagers. From that day on, Uncle Satish became a farmer, thanks to his own dream!

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