Father Gabriel sat at his desk, lost in thought, when Akhil's voice interrupted the silence.
"What are they doing here, Father?" Akhil's voice was low, almost wary.
Father Gabriel sighed, rising from his chair. He, too, was puzzled. "Huh… That's what I don't understand now either." His eyes fixed on the approaching group outside the door, and his brow furrowed. "This family parade… and to see me too…"
Akhil stood as the group reached the entrance, tension mounting in the air.
The door creaked open, and there they were—a family of dignified presence, led by Satyanarayana Verma. Father Gabriel folded his arms, offering a polite yet guarded smile.
"Greetings, Your Highness," Father Gabriel said, his tone respectful but curious.
They returned his greeting with warm smiles and folded hands. There was an air of formality, though something unspoken lingered between them.
"Please," Father Gabriel gestured toward the chairs in front of him, his voice calm but firm. He had yet to understand why they had come, but he would find out soon enough.
"Thank you, Father." Satyanarayana Verma's voice carried a deep sense of authority as he took his seat, facing Father Gabriel. Ashadevi, regal in her own right, sat beside him with an air of grace.
"Mr. Prabhakaran, sit down." Father Gabriel's eyes moved to Prabhakaran Nair, who silently took his place behind Satyanarayana, his expression inscrutable.
"And Shiva… sit down too," Father Gabriel urged gently. His gaze shifted to Shivatmika, who stood frozen, her eyes locked onto Akhil's face. She hadn't blinked, hadn't even moved, as if she were caught in some spell.
Shivatmika hesitated, her expression a mix of emotions, before finally sitting beside Ashadevi. Yet her eyes remained fixed on Akhil, as though trying to uncover something hidden in his gaze.
Father Gabriel noticed the tension, the way all eyes seemed to rest on Akhil, searching for answers. Whatever had brought this family here, it seemed Akhil was at the center of it.
"Huh…" Father Gabriel muttered under his breath, noticing the shift in the room. He glanced at Akhil, then at the royal family seated before him. Clearing his throat, he began to speak.
"You may not know him," Father Gabriel said, gesturing toward Akhil. "He's been here for about a month. He used to be an executive in the company of our former minister, Vasudeva Menon. The company is now closed, unfortunately. Ha... And he's also researching ancient Malayalam literature. Akhil Viswanathan."
The revelation caught Shivatmika off guard. She hadn't known this about him, and it stirred a curiosity she hadn't expected.
Akhil met their gaze and folded his hands respectfully. The royal family responded in kind, acknowledging him with equal politeness.
"And Akhil," Father Gabriel continued, turning his attention back to him, "you must be familiar with these people, at least from history books. This is His Highness Satyanarayana Varma."
Akhil blinked in surprise, recognizing the name. He hadn't expected to find himself in the presence of royalty. Father Gabriel's introduction made it all the more surreal.
"And this," Father Gabriel added, "is Maharani Ashadevi Thampuratti."
Ashadevi inclined her head gracefully, her regal presence unmistakable. Akhil mirrored the gesture, still trying to wrap his mind around the situation.
"And this," Father Gabriel paused, his gaze landing on Shivatmika, who met his eyes with a raised brow, "this is their only daughter."
Shivatmika, caught between surprise and formality, folded her hands once again, this time in Akhil's direction.
"Shiva," Father Gabriel's voice softened as he completed the introduction, "Her Excellency, Shivatmika Varma."
The words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, the room seemed to stand still. Shivatmika and Akhil's eyes met—her title now carrying weight, her identity revealed. Father Gabriel's voice echoed softly in the silence, yet it was Shivatmika's presence that filled the space, a realization dawning between them all.
"No, sir... I..." Shivatmika's voice came out sharp, almost instinctively, stopping Akhil mid-motion as he began to fold his hands in greeting.
For a moment, their gazes locked. She hadn't meant to sound so forbidding, yet the words had slipped out. Despite her protest, Akhil bowed to her, his eyes steady on hers. The gesture, simple as it was, took her by surprise. She felt something in the way he looked at her—an intensity, a depth that unsettled her, as though his eyes were reaching for something deeper inside her.
Father Gabriel cleared his throat, breaking the silent tension between them. He quickly moved on, introducing Prabhakaran Nair. Polite nods were exchanged, though the air still seemed heavy with unspoken questions.
"Huh, and..." Father Gabriel glanced at his guests, trying to regain control of the conversation. "It's wonderful to have everyone here together. What a help I can be..."
Before he could finish, Satyanarayana Varma interrupted him. "Father..." His voice was calm but distant, his eyes turning away from Akhil. "We have come to know a truth."
Father Gabriel blinked, caught off guard by the gravity in Satyanarayana's words. His usual calm demeanor faltered as he tried to gauge the situation. "I'm sorry. I didn't quite understand," he replied, forcing a polite smile despite his rising concern.
All eyes remained fixed on Akhil's face, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on the room. Satyanarayana Varma hesitated, his usual poise wavering as he struggled to find the right words.
"I don't know how to say it," Satyanarayana finally admitted, his voice thick with uncertainty. "We went to the club... We thought you'd be there. That's when we found out you were here."
Father Gabriel's brows furrowed. *'You'?* He glanced at Akhil, noticing the young man's surprise. Clearly, neither of them had expected this. But before Father Gabriel could make sense of it, something else caught his attention.
Shivatmika. She seemed lost, her eyes lingering on Akhil's face as if nothing else in the room existed. She wasn't simply looking—she was seeing something deeper, something beyond the present moment, as if trapped in a dream she couldn't wake from.
"Is your name Akhil Viswanathan?" Ashadevi's voice cut through the haze, pulling everyone's attention back to the moment.
Father Gabriel exchanged a quick glance with Akhil. There was a ripple of unease between them. What exactly was happening here?
"Excuse me," Ashadevi continued, her gaze steady on Akhil. "My question to you—"
She was interrupted by the sudden sound of a vehicle pulling up outside. The low hum of an engine stopped abruptly, and all eyes turned toward the door. A white Santro had parked just outside. They watched as a middle-aged man, dressed in the humble garb of a monk, stepped out of the driver's seat. He moved with purpose, opening the back door of the car.
From the open door emerged a tall, elderly monk, his presence commanding despite his age. There was something almost ethereal about him as he stepped forward, his every movement calm and deliberate.
"Guruji Omprakash…" Satyanarayana Varma whispered, the name heavy with reverence.
Father Gabriel, Akhil, and the others stepped outside, the warm sunlight casting long shadows as they gathered on the steps. Father Gabriel noticed Ashadevi, Shivatmika, and Satyanarayana Varma bowing their heads, hands clasped in reverence, as the tall, graceful figure of Maharshi Omprakash approached. But it wasn't their respect that caught Father Gabriel's attention—it was the look of pure wonder in Akhil's eyes.
Everyone else seemed to fade into the background as Maharshi Omprakash's gaze remained fixed on Akhil. There was a knowing in his eyes, an unspoken connection that left the others watching in awe.
Without hesitation, Akhil moved forward, his arms open as if pulled by an invisible force. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. He approached the Maharshi, who stood waiting, serene and still.
As they watched, Akhil knelt before him, his hands gently touching the holy man's feet. The act of reverence hung in the air, a moment so intimate that it left everyone breathless.
Maharshi Omprakash bent down, his movements slow and filled with purpose, and he lifted Akhil to his feet. His smile was warm, a reflection of the deep affection in his eyes. Without a word, he pulled Akhil into an embrace, cradling him with a tenderness that spoke volumes.
Akhil's voice trembled, a whisper barely loud enough to reach those watching. "Dad, I…"
He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. The embrace said it all. In that moment, under the gaze of the others, Akhil found himself wrapped in a comfort that felt both familiar and overwhelming, as if he had come home after a long journey.
Father Gabriel's expression grew increasingly pensive as he observed Akhil, standing embraced by Maharshi OmPrakash. This young man, with his extraordinary intellect and calm demeanor, had been visiting him regularly for almost a month, and yet Gabriel had never questioned why. The more he pondered, the more familiar memories began to stir in the recesses of his mind. There was something about Akhil, something just beyond his grasp.
Then, suddenly, realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. His eyes widened, breath catching in his throat. *Oh God... this is...*
He stared at Akhil, his gaze unblinking, as if seeing him for the first time. Akhil Viswanathan—this young man, still held tenderly in the arms of Maharshi OmPrakash—was more than he appeared. Gabriel's heart raced as the truth settled over him like a revelation.
Satyanarayana Varma, Ashadevi, Shivatmika, and Prabhakaran stood a few feet away, equally transfixed. Their faces mirrored a shared sense of wonder as they witnessed the emotional exchange between Akhil and the revered Maharshi. The scene before them was unlike anything they had ever expected, leaving them speechless, lost in its intensity.
For Shivatmika, it felt surreal, like she was drifting through a dream she hadn't woken from. Ever since that first time she'd seen Akhil at the club, something had changed within her, as though her mind had crossed into a strange, magical realm she didn't fully understand. And now, standing there in the sunlight, she felt that magic growing stronger, pulling her deeper into a connection she couldn't yet name.
But how could he become a monk?Shivatmika's thoughts spiraled as she stared at Akhil, unable to look away. He stood there, wrapped in the embrace of Maharshi OmPrakash, and nothing about him fit into the traditional image of a monk. This young man, with his ethereal beauty—Gandharva beauty, as some would call it—seemed destined for something far beyond the ascetic life of a sage.
How could he be the same man who calmed a raging elephant in seconds? The same man who had thwarted an ambush against their company's general manager, Balachandran, a family friend? He was the one who brought Surya and his group, who had been raising arms against them, to justice. And wasn't he rumored to be one of the treasure hunters at Muthimala? There were whispers of him roaming the peaks late at night, as if searching for something no one else could see. How could someone with such attributes—the prowess of a warrior, the cunning of a strategist, and the heart of a protector—be content to live the life of a monk?
Shivatmika's mind buzzed with these questions, but her eyes never left him. There was something about Akhil, something beyond explanation. She remembered what her friends Neeraja and Selin had said, their words flowing with admiration. "Once you see him, you won't want to tear your eyes away," they'd told her. "Any girl would want to claim him."
They were right. His presence was magnetic, his eyes holding a power that seemed to reach into the very depths of her soul. It wasn't just his appearance—it was the way he moved, the quiet confidence he carried, the mystery that seemed to surround him like a cloak. Shivatmika felt drawn to him, unable to resist the pull, just as her friends had warned.
She had stepped into a world where reality and dreams blurred, and at the center of it all was Akhil Viswanathan—the man with the eyes of a Gandharva who somehow stood at the crossroads of warrior, sage, and something far more enigmatic.
Shivatmika found herself trapped in her own thoughts, unable to tear her gaze away from Akhil. The words of her friends echoed in her mind—you won't want to stop looking at him—and now, standing here, she understood their truth. Just the sight of him seemed to ignite something deep within her, a heat spreading through her body that left her breathless.
God...
Her breath quickened, and she realized she was parched, as if her very soul thirsted for something she couldn't name. The air around her felt heavy with tension, charged with an energy that was both exhilarating and overwhelming.
But how could this man—this Akhil Viswanathan, who had shaken the underworld heroes of the city to their core—fit into the spiritual path of enlightenment that her father had spoken of? The journey of Chidojwalan, the sage whose life her father had read about, seemed worlds apart from the actions of the man standing before her now.
Violence... to a monk? She grappled with the contradiction. How could someone capable of such decisive action, of taking down criminals and righting wrongs, also walk the path of a peaceful sage? Doubt seeped into her thoughts, darkening the edges of her infatuation with uncertainty.
"I'm here without informing you..."
Akhil's voice broke through her reverie, pulling her back to the present. She watched as he spoke to Maharshi Om Prakash, his tone respectful yet familiar. The others stood around them, observing in silent reverence.
Maharshi Om Prakash's smile radiated warmth as he spoke, his words carrying the weight of years of wisdom. "I have not yet been informed of any migration," he said, his eyes twinkling with a knowing light.
Akhil met his gaze, regret flickering across his face. "I was looking for you every time, wasn't I?" Maharshi's gentle question pierced through the distance between them, his tone both playful and profound.
"But your wanderings were never in vain," the sage continued, his voice a balm of understanding. "Every journey brings something new. New experiences... knowledge..."
Shivatmika watched Akhil, noticing how he tried to smile, though the effort seemed to weigh on him. There was something almost fragile about him in that moment, a vulnerability that stirred something deep within her.
"Even though I've been here for the past month," Satyanarayana Varma's voice interrupted the quiet exchange, "I was fortunate enough to see you today." His words carried a reverence, an acknowledgment of the significance of the moment.
Maharshi Om Prakash's smile deepened, as if recognizing the inner shift within Satyanarayana. "Hasn't the fickleness and doubt of the mind changed now?" he asked, his question a gentle probe into the depths of Satyanarayana's soul.
"God help," Satyanarayana murmured, his eyes drifting between Akhil and the Maharshi, as if searching for something greater than himself within their presence.
With quiet grace, Asha Devi stepped forward. She bent low, her hands folding in reverence as she touched her forehead to Maharshi Om Prakash's feet. The gesture was one of deep humility, a connection to the divine through the man who stood before them.
"Are you well, Mistress?" Maharshi Om Prakash asked, his voice soft with concern, though his eyes seemed to hold the answers already.
"Your blessing has always been with us," Asha Devi replied, gratitude lacing her words as she rose. She then turned to Akhil, her eyes softening as she approached him.
Ashadevi knelt before Akhil, her head bowed and hands clasped in supplication. She begged softly, "You must bless me too."
Shivatmika observed Akhil's eyes blaze with a fire that seemed almost tangible. His gaze was intense, and as he raised his right hand, he traced a deliberate seal of blessing in the air before closing his eyes with a serene expression. A smile touched Shivatmika's lips, though she couldn't help but wonder if this sacred gesture might yield to the darker inclinations that his hands had previously displayed. Could the blessing truly counter such hidden menace?
Satyanarayana Verma's voice cut through her thoughts. "You too, offer your respects to Guruji."
With reverent grace, Shivatmika approached Maharshi Omprakash and Akhil. She first performed Pada Namaskar, bowing deeply before Maharshi Omprakash. The venerable sage placed his hands on her shoulders and lifted her gently.
"Kumari, do you remember me?" Maharshi Omprakash asked, his voice warm with recognition.
"Yes, Guruji," Shivatmika replied, her voice steady. "I saw you some time ago..."
"We have come once more for the same reason," the Maharshi said, his gaze searching.
"I understand, Guruji... it seems my fate is entwined with this purpose."
Her attention shifted to Akhil, and she recalled how, just hours earlier, she had touched his feet at the club in a gesture of respect. Suppressing a smile, she bowed once again before him, touched his feet with reverence, and then stood, her smile lingering as she met his gaze.
Maharshi Om Prakash moved toward Father Gabriel, who stood on the sidelines, captivated and curious as he watched the unfolding scene with wide eyes.
"Dr. Gabriel, former professor of anthropology at St. Xavier's, Calcutta!" Om Prakash greeted, his smile a blend of recognition and warmth.
Father Gabriel's smile widened in response. "Dr. Om Prakash, the infamous Professor of Physics at the Calcutta Presidency!"
Their exchange was filled with an air of camaraderie and mutual respect.
"Don't be too surprised," Maharshi Om Prakash said, glancing at the crowd gathered around them, all mesmerized by the spectacle before them. "We were colleagues for many years in Calcutta."
Shivatmika, however, was not tuned into their conversation. Her thoughts were elsewhere, focused on the transcendent connection she felt between herself and Akhil. It was as if their bond was as instinctive and natural as a butterfly drawing nectar from a flower, a profound and unspoken understanding that transcended the physical realm.
Will continue...