As the sky turned saffron, the sun lingered just below the horizon, ready to rise and cast away the night's darkness—a symbolic beginning for a new day. In the Devashram, the Devangsh were already awake, embracing their disciplined routine.
Arunika and Vani, dressed in simple sarees, moved silently within the Shiv temple attached to their Ashram. With cloths and buckets of water, they meticulously wiped the temple floor, each stroke an act of reverence. The sanctity of the space demanded perfection, and their devotion was evident in the care they took to clean every corner, from the marble tiles to the steps leading to the inner sanctum. The fragrance of sandalwood lingered in the air as they worked.
Outside the temple, Manash, Bikram, and Suraj busied themselves with the compound. Wielding their long brooms, they clean of fallen leaves, twigs, and dust, ensuring the area surrounding the temple mirrored the purity within. The soft rustle of brooms against the earth mixed with the distant chirping of birds, creating a serene symphony of the morning.
Once their tasks were complete, the group headed to their bathing area to cleanse themselves. The chill of the water against their skin refreshed their spirits, preparing them for the morning devotion
Standing tall at the temple's entrance, Lakshmana-Acharya waited for them, his presence serene yet commanding. He wore a white dhoti, and over his upper body, a saffron cloth was draped with "शिव" (SHIV) embroidered repeatedly in Sanskrit. Around his neck hung a Rudraksha mala, its beads radiating a quiet sanctity, resting just above his heart. Barefoot on the cool, smooth stone, he stood unshaken, his connection to the earth a silent testament to his humility and devotion. The sacred script on his cloth shimmered faintly in the soft morning light, embodying his unwavering faith and discipline.
The Devangsh arrived with quiet reverence. Manash, Bikram, and Suraj wore pristine white dhotis paired with saffron kurtas, their attire glowing softly under the morning light. Arunika and Vani donned saffron sarees, the vivid hue perfectly accentuating the simplicity of their white blouses. The saffron drape not only enhanced their divine beauty but also embodied their devotion. Around their necks, Rudraksha malas gleamed faintly, a sacred reminder of their bond to Lord Shiva.
As they reached Lakshmana-Acharya, their steps slowed with respect. One by one, they bowed low, touching his feet in reverence. The Acharya, standing barefoot on the temple's stone threshold, radiated an aura of calm authority. The Rudraksha beads around his neck swayed gently as he bent to bless them, his hands resting lightly on their heads.
"Pranam, Guru-dev" they said in unison, as their voice resonating through the surrounding. Lakshmana-Acharya responded with a slight nod, his hands joining in a silent gesture of acknowledgment, his presence as study and grounded as the earth beneath them.
Turning gracefully, Lakshmana-Acharya led the way into the temple, the Devangsh following in quiet procession.
Inside, the air was thick with devotion. At the heart of the temple stood the majestic Shivlinga, its smooth black surface gleaming as if touched by divine light. A radiant aura seemed to emanate from it, casting an otherworldly glow across the sanctum. The very sight of it commanded reverence, its presence transforming the space into a realm of profound sanctity.
Lakshmana-Acharya stepped forward and lit a large diya, placing it reverently before the Shivlinga. The flickering flame bathed the sacred stone in a golden hue. Following his lead, the Devangsh each lit their own diyas, carefully placing them at the base of the Shivlinga.
As the soft glow of the flames grew, they lit incense sticks, their hands moving in graceful unison. The temple soon filled with a mesmerizing scent—a sweet, soothing fragrance that seemed to cradle their senses, deepening their connection to the divine. The flames danced gently, their light mingling with the heady aroma of devotion, creating a scene of unparalleled serenity and reverence.
Lakshmana-Acharya stepped forward, his every movement deliberate and graceful, as if guided by an unseen divine hand. He lifted the polished bronze kalash filled with pure water, its rim adorned with freshly plucked belpata leaves (bilva leaves). The water shimmered faintly, reflecting the sacred glow of the temple's lamps, as though it carried the blessing of the divine itself.
The Devangsh, stood motionless their hands joined in prayer, their gazes fixed on the sacred Linga. The sanctum was meticulously prepared for the daily Linga Abhishek. The air was thick with the scent of incense and bilva leaves, blending into an ethereal aroma that seemed to transcend the physical realm.
Lakshmana-Acharya closed his eyes, his lips moving in a soft, rhythmic chant. The sacred mantra, "ॐ नमः शिवाय," (Om Namo Shivay) echoed through the sanctum, each syllable vibrating with an otherworldly energy.
The Devangsh joined him in unison, their collective chant creating a harmony that resonated deep within the temple walls.
"ॐ नमः शिवाय" (Om Namo Shivay)
Their voice intertwining to create a powerful resonance that seemed to reach beyond the physical realm.
With unwavering focus, the Acharya began the Abhishek. He poured the water slowly over the Shivlinga, the droplets cascading down its smooth surface, shimmering like liquid light. As the water pooled at the base, it seemed to absorb the divine energy of the mantra, sanctifying the space further.
Manash, Bikram, and Suraj each took turns pour water over the Shivlinga, their hands steady despite the weight of the moment. Every movement was purposeful, every offering an act of devotion. The chanting grew louder, filling the temple with a divine rhythm, as if the walls themselves were joining in prayer.
Arunika and Vani followed, their movements as graceful as the flow of water itself. The saffron of their sarees reflected the warm light, and their serene expressions mirrored the purity of their hearts. As they poured the water over the Shivlinga, the sanctity of the moment deepened, the beauty of their devotion radiating outward, touching even the unseen realms.
Lakshmana-Acharya then took a handful of bilva leaves, their edges damp with holy water, and placed them gently atop the Shivlinga. Each leaf was a symbol of unwavering faith and surrender. The Devangsh, their faces reflecting a deep sense of devotion and humility.
Taking a step back, the Acharya gestured for the Devangsh to follow. Together, they moved to sit cross-legged on the temple floor. The Acharya's eyes remained close, his hands joined in a mudra of prayer. The Devangsh mirrored his posture, their faces glowing with humility and peace.
The sanctum grew still, the faint scent of incense mingling with the cool air. Their breaths synchronized as they began to chant in unison, their voices steady and filled with devotion:
"ॐ नमो हिरण्यबाहवे हिरण्यवर्णाय हिरण्यरूपाय हिरण्यपतए अंबिका पतए उमा पतए पशूपतए नमो नमः"
(Om Namo hiranyabahavey hiranyabaranaaya hiranyaroopaya Ambika patayam uma pataye Pashupataye namo Namah)
The mantra echoed through the sanctum, each word carrying a sacred vibration that seemed to weave itself into the stillness. The walls absorbed the divine resonance, amplifying its spiritual energy.
"ईशान सर्वविद्यानाम् ईश्वर सर्व भूतानाम् ब्रह्मादीपते ब्रह्मनोदिपते ब्रह्मा शिवो अस्तु सदा शिवोहम,"
(Yishanasarva vidhyana Yishwarasarva Bhootanaam Brahmadipataye Bramhnodipate Brahma Shivone Ashtusada Shivoom)
Their voices reverberated like a hymn of truth, acknowledging Lord Shiva as the eternal ruler of all beings—the one above the creator himself, the source of all knowledge and the embodiment of timeless divinity.
"तत्पुरुषाय विद्महे वागविशुद्धाय धिमहे तन्नो शिव प्रचोदयात्
(Tatpurushaya vidmahe vagvishudhaaya dhimahe Tano Shiva Prachodayate)
महादेवाय विद्महे रुद्रमूर्तये धिमहे तन्नों शिव प्रचोदयात्"
(Mahadevaaya Vidmahe Rudramoortaye Dhimahi Tanno Shiva Prachodayate)
Their chant turned into a meditation, invoking Mahadev for guidance toward truth and righteousness. Each word was a prayer for inspiration, a plea to be illuminated by his divine wisdom.
"नमस्ते अस्तु भगवान विश्वेश्वराय महादेवाय त्र्यंबकाय त्रिपुरान्तकाय त्रिकाग्नी कालाय कालाग्नी रुद्राय नीलकंठाय मृत्युंजयाय सर्वेश्वराय सदशिवाय श्रीमान महादेवाय नमः"
(Namaste Astu Bhagwan Vishweshwaraya Mahadevaaya Trayambakaya Tripurantakaya Trikagni Kalaaya Kalagni Rudraya Nilakanthay Mrityunjayaya Sarveshwaraya Sadashivaya Shriman Mahadevaaya Namaha)
They bowed deeply, their voices trembling with devotion as they praised the three-eyed Lord—the destroyer of Tripura (The cities of illusion). The mantra acknowledged his might, his grace, and his boundless compassion as the eternal protector of the universe.
"श्रीमान महादेवाय नमः"
(Shriman Mahadevaaya Namaha)
"शांति शांति शांति"
(Shanti! Shanti! Shanti!!)
With these closing words, they prayed for peace in all realms—for the body, mind, and spirit.
For a moment, time itself seemed to stand still. The divine energy was almost tangible, enveloping the devotees in its sacred embrace. Bound by their shared reverence, each one felt the profound presence of strength—a silent, eternal force bearing witness to their unwavering devotion.
Slowly, Lakshmana-Acharya opened his eyes, his serene expression reflecting the peace of the divine connection. Manash and the others opened their eyes too, their gazes naturally falling upon the Shivlinga. The sacred Linga emanated a majestic aura, a silent yet powerful reminder of strength and protection. Its divine presence seemed to bless them, as always, with unspoken grace.
Once more, they closed their eyes, joining their hands and touching them to their foreheads in a gesture of profound reverence. In unison, their voices resonated through the temple, strong and unwavering.
"ॐनमःशिवाय" (Om Namo Shivay)
The words echoed the temple walls and spilled out into the still morning air, weaving itself into the world beyond. Slowly, they opened their eyes and rose to their feet, their movements measured and respectful.
Lakshmana-Acharya stepped forward, his gaze steady and filled with devotion. At the base of the Shivlinga rested a bronze tray, its surface holding a sacred paste of sindoor. With deliberate care, he dipped his ring finger into the vibrant red paste and closed his eyes in silent prayer. Drawing a long, vivid tilak down the centre of his forehead, he completed the act of worship.
He then Turned to Manash and the others, he approached them one by one. With steady hands, he marked each of their foreheads with the same sacred tilak, the red streak symbolizing divine blessings and their unwavering faith.
Returning the tray to its place by the Shivlinga, Lakshmana-Acharya stepped back without turning his back to the sanctum. The others mirrored his movements, each retreating, their eyes looking at the Linga with quiet reverence.
As they passed through the temple doors, Lakshmana-Acharya paused at the threshold. Joining his hands in prayer, he closed his eyes briefly and reached for the temple bell that hung from the doorway. He rang it three times, each chime carrying a prayer for peace and strength to the far corners of existence.
The sound lingered in the air, a fitting conclusion to their morning worship, as the group stepped into the sun-light of the new day, their hearts touched by the divine.
*****
The servants, having completed their morning baths, had already begun their daily tasks with quiet diligence. The comforting aroma of food being prepared drifted from the kitchen as Aai worked swiftly, cooking the morning meal for the Devangsh. Outside, Kaka swung his axe with practiced ease, splitting logs for the kitchen fires, each strike echoing through the serene morning air. Later in the morning, he would also tend to the small ashram garden—a sacred space where life itself seemed to flourish under his care. The garden not only provided nourishment but also contained some specific plants essential for preparing medicinal remedies.
In the wide prangan of the ashram, Manash stood still, his posture steady and composed. He wore a black dhoti and kurta, with a red cloth tied securely around his waist. In his hands, he held a long wooden staff, a temporary replacement for his divine spear. Facing him stood Suraj and Vani. Suraj, dressed similarly in a black dhoti and kurta, wielded two short wooden sticks, gripping them with unwavering focus.
Vani kept her distance, her sharp eyes trained on the scene. She held a bamboo bow, its string taut and ready. A back quiver rested against her, carrying practice arrows—each tip flattened and smoothed to ensure safety during training. She wore a green saree, draped in the warrior's style, its loose end tucked securely at her waist to keep it from hindering her movements.
A little farther away, Arunika stood, exuding quiet intensity. She wore a saree as fiery red as her spirit, draped in the same warrior fashion as Vani's. In her hands, she gripped a wooden training sword—its form a replica of her divine golden blade. Opposing her was Bikram. Clad in only a white dhoti with a red cloth tied at his waist, his muscular frame was a testament to the sheer strength he possessed. His towering presence radiated an unshakable aura of power.
In his grasp was a massive wooden Gada (mace), so enormous that its size alone could dwarf the faces of those around him combined. Yet, to Bikram, it was nothing. He lifted it effortlessly, as if it weighed no more than a mere branch, his muscles barely straining under the weight of the colossal weapon.
Arunika and Bikram locked eyes, their bodies tensed with readiness. With a sharp nod, they began.
Arunika surged forward, fingers tightening around the hilt of her wooden sword as she closed the distance. But before she could strike, Bikram lifted his massive Gada and slammed it onto the ground in her path. The impact sent a tremor through the earth, forcing her to halt abruptly.
Without missing a beat, Bikram spun on his heels, dragging the Gada along the ground. A thick cloud of dust erupted into the air, swirling chaotically, obscuring Arunika's vision.
She squinted, struggling to track his movements through the dust storm, when suddenly—she caught a glimpse of the Gada swinging toward her from the side. Instinct kicked in. She backstepped just in time, the massive weapon missing her by mere inches.
But Bikram was relentless. He raised the Gada high, preparing to bring it down in a crushing blow. For a split second, the shadow of the enormous weapon loomed over her face. There was no time to dodge—she had to act.
With a sharp inhale, Arunika raised her sword, bracing herself. As the Gada came crashing down, she angled her blade just right, parrying the attack. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, shaking the very air around them.
But this time, Arunika was ready. Seizing the opening, she slashed her sword in a swift arc toward Bikram's face. He reacted fast—too fast for his Gada to be of use. Instead, he loosened his grip and swiftly stepped back, dodging the strike with practiced ease.
But Arunika refused to back down. With a swift movement, she launched another strike, faster than before. The wooden blade cut through the air, aimed straight for Bikram's face.
Instinct took over—Bikram had no choice but to block. He raised his forearm just in time, absorbing the impact of the strike. The sharp thwack of wood against flesh echoed in the air.
And then—silence.
Arunika held her stance, her sword pressing lightly against his arm. A realization dawned in Bikram's eyes.
He had made a mistake.
The rules of their sparring match were simple—to win, one had to land a clean hit on their opponent's body with their wooden weapon. And Arunika had just done exactly that.
Meanwhile, Manash tightened his grip on his wooden staff, his gaze locked onto Suraj. He knew Suraj would close the distance in an instant, while Vani would maintain her range, firing arrows from afar. His mind raced—should he take out Vani first, securing a one-on-one fight with Suraj? Or should he deal with Suraj before she could interfere?
Suraj and Vani exchanged a brief nod, signaling their readiness. But before they could make a move, Manash rushed straight toward Suraj, his spear clutched tightly.
Suraj's eyes widened—why was Manash coming for him first?
Reacting quickly, Suraj tightened his grip on his wooden sticks and charged forward, prepared to counter. Meanwhile, Vani had already drawn an arrow, nocking it onto her bowstring. She took aim, tracking Manash's movement, and loosed the arrow slightly ahead of him, predicting his path.
At the last moment, Manash abruptly stopped in place. The arrow whizzed past his face, missing by mere inches. He had anticipated her attack, catching a fleeting glimpse of her movement just before she fired.
Then, without warning, Manash spun—turning his full attention toward Vani.
Suraj realized too late—Manash had tricked them both. He had made it seem as if he was targeting Suraj, only to redirect at the last second.
Vani, caught off guard, quickly drew another arrow and fired as fast as she could. But Manash twisted his spear mid-motion, deflecting the arrow effortlessly.
She reached for another shot, hastily drawing her bowstring, but before she could release it, Manash was already there. His hand closed around her bow, immobilizing her. She struggled to pull away, but it was too late.
With the tip of his spear, Manash tapped her lightly on the forehead—a clear signal of her defeat.
But before he could savour his victory, a wooden stick pressed against his neck.
Suraj had closed the distance by then. He stood behind Manash, his weapon resting lightly against his throat.
Manash exhaled and released Vani's bow, stepping back with a small chuckle.
"Alright, I'm defeated," he admitted, raising both hands in surrender.
Suraj narrowed his eyes, frustration flickering in them. "You know, you really fooled us. Made it look like you were attacking me first."
Manash gave a knowing smile. "The task was to protect Vani. I knew that if you got close to me, there was no way I'd be able to reach her."
"Yeah, yeah," Suraj muttered, rolling his eyes. "I get it, you trickster."
Manash then turned to Vani, noticing the slight unease in her expression. His smile faded. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern lacing his voice. "Still thinking about Maya?"
"Yeah… kind of," Vani admitted quietly.
She then turned to Suraj. "Sorry about that."
Just then, Bikram and Arunika approached them.
"So? What happened?" Bikram asked, his deep voice breaking through the moment.
"We lost," Suraj muttered, clearly still bitter. "He made a fool out of us."
Bikram frowned. "Why did he have to do that?" Then, with a mischievous smirk, he added, "Aren't you one already?"
Suraj glanced at Bikram with a betrayed expression, clearly, Bikram was enjoying himself.
Suraj huffed. "Oh yeah? What about you? I'm sure you lost too. You totally smacked your head on Arunika's sword—on your own!"
"Yeah, I lost," Bikram admitted, retaliating against Suraj's tease. "Because I forgot about the rule—we were supposed to touch each other with our weapons to win."
"You forgot?" Suraj raised a skeptical brow. "I knew your abnormal muscles had shrunk your brain."
Bikram's expression darkened playfully as he placed a heavy hand on Suraj's shoulder. "What did you just say?" he asked, his intense gaze locking onto him.
Suraj immediately took a step back. "Nothing. I said nothing."
Meanwhile, Arunika had noticed Vani's unease.
"Hey…" she called softly, stepping closer. "Are you still worried?"
Vani hesitated before giving a slight nod.
"I'm worried too," Arunika admitted. "But don't worry. You and I won't let anything happen to our friend."
Her voice carried quiet determination—an unspoken promise.
Vani looked at her, a faint but reassuring smile forming on her lips.
As they shared a moment of camaraderie, Lakshmana-Acharya emerged into the prangan of the ashram.
At the sight of him, Manash and the others rushed forward, bowing down and touching his feet in reverence. Lakshmana-Acharya, his ever-serene smile gracing his lips, placed his hands gently on their heads, offering his blessings as he always did.
"It's time. Go, clean up, and get ready for school," he said.
As they rose, they responded in unison, "Okay, Guru-dev." Without delay, they departed for their separate bathing areas.
Seizing the moment, Bikram suddenly hooked an arm around Suraj's neck, pulling him into a headlock.
"Let's go," Bikram said, grinning mischievously.
"Not again—Bikram, let me go!" Suraj protested, struggling to break free but failing against Bikram's brute strength.
Manash watched the two as they wrestled playfully, a gentle smile appearing on his lips.
"Bikram, make sure he doesn't get lost," Manash quipped.
"You got it!" Bikram replied with a laugh.
"Ahh, come on! Let me go already!" Suraj groaned, still struggling.
Lakshmana-Acharya observed them in silence. Their unbreakable bond, their laughter amidst duty—it reassured him. No matter what challenges lay ahead, he knew they would stand together. A quiet, knowing smile played on his lips.
Then, without warning—
Three black XUVs roared through the ashram gates, kicking up a storm of dust. The sudden intrusion shattered the morning stillness.