[3RD PERSON POV]
Inside the serene halls of the Dagadu Sheth Ganapati temple, the Aarti had ended not too long ago. A peaceful calm lingered in the air, with only a few devotees sitting quietly in meditation, their murmurs of prayer blending with the soft glow of the temple lights. Despite the late hour, a steady flow of people came and went, offering their respects to the deity.
Standing before the grand murti of Lord Ganapati, the head priest, Pandit Bhagwat, was deep in his work, his hands moving methodically as he prepared offerings. The flickering flames from the oil lamps danced on the polished floor, casting long shadows that added to the temple's sacred ambiance. Pandit Bhagwat's focus was unwavering, but after a moment, his gaze shifted to his son, Parth, who stood a little distance away, organizing the offerings.
"Parth, pass me those plates of prasad," Pandit Bhagwat called out, his voice soft but clear.
Parth Bhagwat, a 24-year-old man who had recently completed his MBA, nodded in response. His father's call snapped him from his quiet thoughts. Parth had always been dutiful, respectful of the temple traditions despite his education steering him toward a different path. He swiftly picked up the plates of prasad and handed them to his father.
The atmosphere remained tranquil, the soft hum of prayers and the gentle crackle of lamps filling the air. However, without warning, a sudden gust of wind rushed through the temple, far too strong for a closed space. It swirled through the sacred halls, making the bells hanging from the ceiling sway violently, their sharp ringing breaking the silence.
Parth looked up in surprise, shielding his face from the unexpected breeze. He felt a strange energy in the air, something otherworldly. His eyes instinctively moved to the grand idol of Lord Ganapati, his mind trying to process the unusual occurrence.
As if in slow motion, Parth watched the large garland adorning the neck of Lord Ganapati loosen, slipping free from the deity. The garland, laden with marigolds and jasmine, floated down through the air with an almost divine grace, carried by the wind.
Before Parth could fully register what was happening, the garland landed softly around his neck, its fragrance enveloping him.
The wind stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The bells fell silent, and everything returned to normal, as if the strange moment had never occurred. But Parth stood frozen, the garland around his neck, his breath caught in his throat. He could feel something stirring inside him—a strange warmth that spread from the garland and settled deep in his chest.
Parth stood still, his fingers brushing against the fragrant garland that had mysteriously fallen on him. He glanced at his father, Pandit Bhagwat, whose eyes were wide with a mixture of disbelief and joy. There was something in the way his father looked at him, as if he had witnessed a miracle unfold before his eyes. The other priests, too, had stopped their tasks, their gazes fixed on Parth, awe-struck and murmuring quietly among themselves.
Pandit Bhagwat's hands trembled slightly as he folded them together in reverence. His voice quivered with emotion as he looked toward the Ganpati murti, his lips curving into a grateful smile. "Thank you, Bappa. Thank you," he whispered repeatedly, his words heavy with gratitude.
Parth blinked, confused by his father's reaction. His heartbeat quickened, and he felt a strange pressure building in the air, like the weight of something larger than himself.
"Baba... what just happened?" Parth asked, his voice laced with uncertainty, his mind racing to understand the significance of the garland.
But his father didn't answer right away. Instead, Pandit Bhagwat moved swiftly, his movements purposeful. He reached for the shendur plate, sitting at the base of Ganpati's feet. His fingers dipped into the sacred red powder, and as he began to chant ancient mantras under his breath, Parth felt the atmosphere in the temple shift again.
Pandit Bhagwat approached his son, his eyes full of reverence as he carefully placed the shendur on Parth's forehead. The coolness of the powder sent a shiver down Parth's spine, and with it, a strange sense of calm.
"Baba," Parth asked again, his voice softer now, "please tell me what's going on."
Parth glanced at the other priests, all of them looking at him with the same intense gaze. His father's smile was calm, but there was a deeper emotion behind it—something like pride, mixed with awe.
"Parth," his father continued, still smiling, "the sudden wind, the bells ringing, and then the garland falling from Ganpati Bappa's neck onto you... this is no mere coincidence."
Parth frowned, trying to make sense of it. "What do you mean, Baba?" he asked, his voice hesitant.
Before his father could answer, one of the other priests, an elderly man with deep wrinkles and kind eyes, spoke up. "What your father means, Parth, is that your life is about to change. Something big is going to happen, and Bappa is trying to tell you that with this fallen garland. It's a sign."
Parth shook his head slightly, the logical side of his brain refusing to accept what they were saying. "No, Kaka," he said, trying to stay grounded in reason. "It's nothing like that. The garland just fell because of the wind. That's all."
But his father wasn't convinced. He placed a firm hand on Parth's shoulder, his eyes filled with a gentle but unshakable belief. "Remember my words, Parth," Pandit Bhagwat said softly. "There are things in this world we don't fully understand. Just because we don't see or grasp them doesn't mean they aren't real. Everything happens for a reason, even if we can't see it right away. And I am certain—what happened here today has a reason."
Parth felt a shiver run down his spine, the weight of his father's words sinking in. The temple, once calm and peaceful, now felt charged with an unseen energy.
Parth was about to respond to his father when his phone buzzed, breaking the sacred atmosphere of the temple. Frowning, he pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. A new email had arrived. Curious, he opened it, his eyes quickly scanning the message.
As he read, his expression gradually shifted from confusion to something more serious. His brows furrowed, and a strange sensation stirred in his chest.
Noticing the change in his son's face, Pandit Bhagwat asked, "What's wrong, Parth?"
Parth hesitated for a moment before responding, his voice low and puzzled. "This email… it's strange, Baba. There's no sender's name, just a small image of a peacock feather at the bottom. It says that I need to meet someone at the BAPS Shri Swaminarayan Temple in Narhe on the 14th of January, the day of Makar Sankranti. At 6 pm, exactly. But... there's no explanation. Just a time and place."
He looked up from his phone, feeling the weight of the situation settle around him. "Who would send something like this?"
His father's expression softened into a knowing smile, the same calm belief he had shown earlier returning to his eyes. "It seems," Pandit Bhagwat began slowly, "that what I was feeling is true. This isn't just a coincidence, Parth. It's the beginning of your journey."
Parth looked at his father, trying to absorb the gravity of his words. "My journey?"
Pandit Bhagwat nodded, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and mystery. "Yes, Parth. Everything that has happened—the garland, the wind, the email—it's all connected. Bappa's blessings have set things in motion. And now, it seems that you are being called to take the next step. Perhaps this is the start of something much larger than you can see right now. You need to go to that temple, Parth."
Parth swallowed hard, the weight of his father's words pressing down on him. Despite the strangeness of the email, a part of him felt drawn to it—like an invisible thread was pulling him toward this unknown meeting. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone, or something, was calling him.
"I feel it too, Baba," Parth said quietly. "Like I have to go, like this is where I'm meant to be."
His father smiled again, placing a hand on Parth's shoulder. "Then follow that feeling. Trust it. Sometimes, life brings us to crossroads we don't understand, but it's in those moments that we have to listen to what our heart tells us. It seems... it's time for you to find your Madhava."
"Madhava?" Parth echoed, surprised by his father's choice of words.
"Yes," his father replied, folding his hands in reverence before Ganpati Bappa. "Every Arjuna must find his Madhava, the guide who will walk with him on his path."
Parth stood in silence for a moment, staring at the Ganpati idol, its peaceful face now seeming more alive, more connected to his fate. Slowly, he folded his hands and joined his father in prayer, bowing his head as they both offered their thanks to Lord Ganpati.
"Ganpati Bappa Morya," they whispered in unison, their voices filled with devotion and a sense of purpose.
As they finished their prayer, Parth felt a calmness settle over him. Whatever this mysterious journey was, whatever awaited him on the 14th of January, he knew one thing for certain—he was ready to face it. The night outside the temple was still, the air thick with possibilities.
_________________
Inside the house of Kothrud MLA Aditya Deshmukh, Swara lay on her bed in her bedroom, her plush teddy bear clutched tightly in her arms. The soft glow of her iPhone 5s illuminated her face as she listened to "Koun Tujhe" playing on YouTube. The melody flowed through the room, wrapping her in a blanket of emotions. As the song ended, she felt a familiar flutter in her heart.
She picked up her phone and opened her photo gallery, scrolling until she found a picture of Hari. A soft smile crept across her face as she gazed at him, the boy who unknowingly captured her heart. "Idiot Hari," she murmured, shaking her head playfully. "You really think I wouldn't recognize your voice? When I heard that girl talking about the singer—long hair, super cute, and handsome—I knew immediately it was you."
Swara rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling as a wave of determination washed over her. "There's no way anyone could be more handsome than you," she said, her voice dripping with affection. The image of giggling girls claiming they wanted to be his girlfriend flickered in her mind, and her smile turned into a pout. "They have no idea that I'm going to be your girlfriend."
She thought about her grandmother's words—how true love always finds a way. Just like Rukmini waited for Vitthal, Swara believed she would find her way to Hari. The memory of their first encounter at Shri Swaminarayan Temple flooded her thoughts. The way he had smiled at her, the warmth of his laughter—she could never forget it. "You probably don't even remember that, idiot," she said softly, her heart aching a little.
As she lay there, lost in thought, the world outside her window seemed to fade away. but all she could focus on was the vision of Hari. "I'm patient, you know," she continued, speaking to the picture as if he could hear her. "I'll wait for you to see me, really see me. Just like Rukmini waited for Vitthal. It's only a matter of time."
The thought made her heart race with excitement and anxiety. She imagined the possibilities—the two of them together, laughing and sharing secrets.
With a sigh, Swara pulled the teddy bear closer, finding comfort in its softness. She replayed the song in her mind, letting the lyrics resonate with her feelings. "I'll make you see me, Hari," she whispered, a determined smile gracing her lips. "Just wait and see."
As Swara tucked her phone away, she was startled by a knock on her bedroom door. Quickly, she composed herself and opened the door to find her older brother, Sidharth Deshmukh, standing there. At 23, he was already armed with an MBA in product management, but his father, Aditya Deshmukh, had other plans for him—politics. Sidharth, however, had no interest in the family legacy, a fact that weighed heavily on both him and their father.
"What?" Swara asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and annoyance.
"Dinner is ready. Aai calling you," he replied, his voice flat but laced with a hint of warmth.
Swara nodded and stepped out of her room, closing the door behind her. But just as she was about to walk away, Sidharth's voice stopped her.
"Why are you looking so happy?" he asked, a slight furrow forming on his brow.
Caught off guard, Swara turned to face him. "Nothing," she said, her cheeks flushing slightly as she quickly brushed past him. She didn't want to share her secret just yet.
Sidharth let out a soft sigh, his shoulders drooping as he followed her down the hallway. He could tell something was up with his sister; her smile was infectious and a stark contrast to the usual tension in their home. But Swara was fiercely independent, often keeping her thoughts to herself.
As they walked toward the dining room, Sidharth studied her. She was so full of life, and it frustrated him that he couldn't seem to connect with her the way they used to when they were younger. He wanted to know what made her so happy, but he also respected her space.
"Seriously, Swara," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "If you're planning a party without me, I want in!"
She chuckled softly, glancing back at him with a playful smirk. "You're not invited, Mr. MBA. It's an exclusive event."
"Exclusive, huh? I see how it is," he teased, finally cracking a smile.
"Just wait," she thought to herself, glancing sideways at Sidharth. "One day, you'll see what I see."
As they entered the dining room, the comforting chatter of family filled the air. Swara's eyes lit up at the sight of her grandparents, who were already seated at the table alongside her parents. The warm aroma of the evening meal wafted through the room, and the familiar sound of clinking cutlery brought a sense of home.
Taking their seats, Swara and Sidharth joined the lively conversation. Just as dinner began, Aditya glanced over at Swara with a curious smile. "So, how's school?" he asked, his tone light and friendly.
"Everything is going good, Baba," Swara replied, her face brightening. She loved sharing her small victories with her father.
"Good, good," Aditya said, nodding approvingly. "Any plans to change schools this year?"
Swara's expression shifted slightly, her brow furrowing with irritation. "How many times do I have to say it, Baba? I don't want to change schools. I feel happy and comfortable there," she insisted, her voice firm yet tinged with a hint of frustration.
Aditya raised his hands in mock surrender, a playful smile on his lips. "Okay, okay! As long as you're happy." He reached over to ruffle her hair affectionately, and Swara couldn't help but smile despite her annoyance.
"Baba, come on!" she laughed, swatting his hand away, but the warmth of his gesture melted any irritation she felt.
"Just making sure my little girl knows I care," he said, winking at her.
Across the table, her grandparents exchanged knowing glances, the kind that spoke volumes. They had seen Swara grow from a quiet child into a vibrant young girl, full of dreams and determination.
As they continued with dinner, the conversation flowed easily—talk of school events, family plans, and stories from their childhood. Swara listened intently, her heart swelling with affection for her family. Each laugh and shared memory felt like a thread weaving them closer together.
Aditya's gaze shifted to Sidharth, whose expression had suddenly darkened. "Sidharth, did you think about what I told you yesterday about joining politics?" he asked, his tone a mix of hope and insistence.
Sidharth didn't reply. He focused intently on his plate, pushing his food around. The tension in the room thickened, the atmosphere shifting from casual to uncomfortable.
"Sidharth, I'm talking to you," Aditya said, his voice rising slightly.
Before he could continue, Sidharth's grandpa raised a hand. "Aditya, not at the dinner table. Let's eat in peace," he said firmly, his authority instantly quieting Aditya.
Reluctantly, Aditya nodded, and the room fell into a quieter rhythm. The only sounds were the clinking of utensils and the occasional murmur, but the unease lingered like an uninvited guest.
Just then, Sidharth's phone buzzed, cutting through the silence with an email notification. He looked up, his brow furrowing as he glanced at the screen.
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