In the dim sanctum of the shrine, two conflicting emotions hung in the air like a tempest—exaltation and heartbroken melancholy. The ethereal spirit danced around the seated yogi, its luminous form weaving an intricate rhythm. Onish sat cross-legged, eyes closed, lost in himself, his aura a flickering interplay of curiosity and weariness. A few feet away, the blind awakener, Chalukya, lay unconscious, his body limp, his expression contorted as though trapped in some haunting vision. The once-vivid idol, with its divine grace, now seemed lifeless. Whatever spark had animated it before—something primal and sacred—had dimmed, leaving only a hollow air of sorrow.
The blue fire, however, surged on, undeterred, its flames licking the still air with an almost defiant vitality.
Onish had no sense of how much time had passed when he opened his eyes to assess his state. His heart, once a nest of despair and hopelessness, now carried a faint but steady flame of resolve. The mysterious streak of light that had pierced him hadn't destroyed his spirit paths as he'd feared. Instead, it had transformed them. His nadis, once forged of the akash tatva—the ether element—had been altered into an unfamiliar substance. They now shimmered invisibly, vibrating with an enigmatic hum.
Though unsure of what these changes heralded, Onish took comfort in one certainty: his nadis still existed. Using his heightened awareness, he traced the altered pathways. It appeared his spirit—his essence—no longer resided fully within him. Instead, it reached into some other dimension, tethered to his being but distant in a way he couldn't yet comprehend. He had never heard of such phenomena, not in all his years of yogic training or lore.
When Onish brought his awareness back to his heart chakra, his breath caught. Floating alongside his soul was a pearl, no larger than a mustard seed, glowing faintly blue. He directed his inner focus toward it, seeking to understand its nature, but the pearl repelled him. Puzzled yet unwilling to force an answer, he turned his attention to his soul itself. The cracks that had once marred it remained, but his aura had brightened. What truly intrigued him, though, were the fine golden lines now radiating from his causal body. Barely perceptible, they looked as if they had been hidden under layers of dirt, only now revealed.
Despite his efforts, their purpose eluded him. The yogi, who had once thought himself knowledgeable in the mysteries of existence, now felt like a novice. Frustration simmered in his chest, but he let it pass. For now, he turned his focus to his other chakras. They pulsed with an abundance of pranic energy, tinged with a strange new essence. Tentatively, he directed this bluish energy into his invisible nadis. It flowed like a river breaking through a dam, surging into every crevice of his spirit.
The rush awakened something long dormant. His spiritual sense, dulled since he'd acquired his current body, began to return, though it was faint. So this, he thought, was wielding the spirit. It was an underwhelming revelation—his newfound awareness was sharper but offered little else. Still, as he continued to study the energy, he recognized it. This was the spirit energy Drona had once described.
Now, he too was a spirit wielder. Of what kind, he had yet to discover.
Satisfied that his body was stable, Onish opened his eyes. The first thing he saw startled him. The idol before him, the once-vibrant figure of divine beauty, now had tears streaking its stone face. Onish blinked, wondering if his exhaustion was playing tricks on him. But the glistening trails remained. A stone idol weeping? He had heard rumors and read accounts in the Puranas of such occurrences, but witnessing it firsthand felt surreal.
His mind wandered to the lore his guru had shared: consecrated idols, or vigrahams, brought to life through ancient Vedic rituals. These divine forms could laugh, cry, and even converse. Was this a manifestation of such power? The goddess's face, once captivating in its serenity, now bore an air of profound melancholy. The sight stirred something deep within him. The voice he'd heard earlier—the sorrowful whisper lamenting a failed promise—returned to his thoughts.
Who was she?
Onish searched his memory, but the face evoked no recognition. Yet he was no fool. He had long suspected there was more to his identity than that of a fallen yogi from Earth. First, the mysterious hand that had touched his soul, and now this weeping goddess.
He bowed his head solemnly. "Thank you for your gift. Though I have no memory of you and cannot recall my failed promise, I apologize. My life is like a broken kite, drifting aimlessly. My consciousness holds no recollection of the past that haunts me. Forgive me for not recognizing you."
As his words faded into the sanctum, a sudden cry shattered the stillness.
"LEAVE HER ALONE, YOU DEVILS!" Chalukya's voice was a guttural roar, his body convulsing as he pounded the floor with his fists. "SHE IS JUST FIVE SPRINGS OLD… AARGH!"
Onish scrambled to the awakener's side, his heart pounding. Chalukya was thrashing, his mouth frothing, eyes squeezed shut. "Dwiza! Wake up. No one is here," Onish shouted, shaking him.
The old man's cries grew more desperate. "Leave my Vindu! Please don't defile her… I beg you! I will accept your ways!" His voice cracked, raw with agony, as blood-tinged tears seeped from his blind eyes.
Alarmed, Onish grabbed the ewer and sprinkled its milky water over Chalukya's face. The old man's spasms subsided, and his eyelids fluttered open. Onish gasped as he saw the blind man's polished white stones—his artificial eyes—spinning wildly in their sockets.
"Are you alright, Dwiza?" Onish asked, helping him sit upright. Chalukya's clothes clung to his frail frame, drenched in sweat. The old man didn't respond. His trembling hands grasped Onish's tightly.
"You must save them," Chalukya pleaded, his voice hoarse. "They didn't abandon the Old Ways by choice. The treacherous Mora deceived them. I beg you, Hara… save them from the Evil Lord's believers."
Onish stared at him, bewildered. "Dwiza, you've mistaken me. I am not Hara. I am Ishit, young lord of Minaak."
Chalukya shook his head vehemently. "No, you are Hara. You just haven't awakened yet. This is my fault… but I will make it right."
Onish sighed, exasperated. The old man's delusions were impossible to reason with. He decided to play along. "Alright, Dwiza. Let me help you first. You're not well."
Chalukya's grip tightened. "There's no time. The ritual will awaken you. Sit at the yantra's center. Please, Hara."
Reluctantly, Onish obeyed. The Shri Yantra materialized in radiant splendor under Chalukya's incantations. The air grew taut, vibrating with an unseen force. As Onish closed his eyes and surrendered to the ritual, he braced himself for whatever was to come.