[3RD PERSON POV]
[FEBRUARY 5, EARLY MORNING, 6 AM]
Inside the Dagadu Sheth Ganpati temple, the early morning light filtered through the ornate windows, casting a soft glow over the serene atmosphere. While not many devotees were present at this hour, a handful sat quietly in front of the majestic Ganpati murti, their expressions a blend of reverence and tranquility. A group of pujaris busily performed their rituals, their movements precise and practiced. Among them stood the head Pandit Bhagwat, Parth's father, who was noticeably distracted, glancing toward the entrance with a mixture of anticipation and impatience.
Parth, positioned beside his father and focusing on the rituals, noticed the fidgeting of the older man. "Baba, he's going to come," Parth reassured him, a smile playing on his lips.
"Don't worry, Baba," Parth continued, trying to ease the tension in the air. "They'll be here in five minutes. Why are you being so impatient?"
Before his father could respond, a warm voice broke through the morning quiet. "It's not just your Baba; we all want to see that boy you're talking about."
Parth turned to see his mother, busy arranging the offerings for the pujas. Her presence brought a sense of comfort, her dedication to the rituals a testament to their family's deep-rooted traditions.
Pandit Bhagwat chuckled, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. "Your Aai is right, Parth. After hearing so much about him from you, I can hardly wait to meet this young man. He's definitely not a normal boy—others are eager to meet him too."
Parth exchanged amused glances with the other pujaris, shaking his head in disbelief.
Nearby, the few devotees seated on the floor cast sideways glances, their interest piqued. Whispers traveled among them, speculation about this boy who had stirred such enthusiasm.
Suddenly, the temple fell into an almost eerie silence. The air, which had been still, began to stir with a cool and calming breeze, carrying the faint yet unmistakable scent of sandalwood. It wafted through the temple like a silent hymn, as if the very environment was shifting, transforming into something otherworldly. The devotees and priests, once absorbed in their own rituals, now found themselves drawn into this subtle change, as if the atmosphere had come alive with a divine presence.
And then, a soft, melodious voice broke the silence, wrapping itself around the temple's walls like the soothing notes of a flute. "I think we're on time," the voice said, each word carrying a gentle harmony that seemed to ripple through the air.
Heads turned toward the entrance, and what they saw next would be etched into their memories forever.
There, standing at the temple's entrance, was a young boy, no more than fourteen, yet his presence radiated something far beyond his years. His eyes, deep and mesmerizing, seemed to pull you in, as though they held within them the mysteries of the universe. A playful yet serene smile curved his lips, the kind of smile that instantly made you want to trust him, to follow him. His long, messy hair flowed with the wind, framing his face with an effortless charm that only added to his almost ethereal appearance.
On his forehead rested a simple yet striking tilak of Vitthal, marking him with a sense of divinity. He stood there, one hand on his waist, clothed in a loose, knee-length white cotton kurta—plain, unadorned, but in its simplicity, it was regal. Draped around him was a traditional white dhoti tied in the Maharashtrian style, with a small anga vastra thrown casually over one shoulder, fluttering slightly in the breeze. Around his neck hung a simple tulsi mala, but it was the peacock feather locket resting on his chest that caught the light of the rising sun, glimmering faintly, as if imbued with a quiet magic of its own.
The sun's gentle rays kissed his face, making him glow softly, like a vision pulled from the divine realms. For a moment, no one moved—everyone from the priests to the devotees, even Parth and his father, were captivated, as if caught in a spell.
It was as though the boy didn't just enter the temple—he became part of it, blending with the sacred energy that filled the space. The air seemed to hum around him, and the wind carried with it the unspoken knowledge that this was no ordinary moment. In the back of everyone's mind, they knew: this was not just a boy. There was something otherworldly about him, something ancient and wise, hidden behind that youthful exterior.
And yet, despite the profound awe he inspired, his smile remained easy, gentle, and his presence, though grand, was welcoming. As though all this magic was simply a natural part of him.
The sacred silence of the moment was broken by the soft, melodic voice of a young girl who appeared behind the boy, accompanied by a small group. "Hari, what are you doing standing in the middle of the way? Move forward," she said with a gentle firmness that was hard to ignore. Her voice carried a warmth that tugged at the corners of the boy's smile.
Hari, still wearing that playful grin, turned his head slightly toward her. "Okay, be patient, Swara," he teased, the light in his eyes dancing with mischief.
The girl is Swara, radiated an elegance that perfectly matched the aura of Hari. She was a vision of grace in a traditional Paithani saree—a deep shade of royal purple, intricately woven with golden zari work that shimmered subtly in the early morning light. The richness of the fabric reflected not only her beauty but also the cultural heritage she carried with pride.
Her fitted blouse, simple yet elegant, matched the saree's color, allowing the fabric to remain the focal point of her attire. A delicate threadwork design on the back of the blouse added a modern flair to the otherwise traditional ensemble, hinting at her own balance between tradition and individuality.
Adorning her neck was a thushi, a classic Maharashtrian gold necklace that sat elegantly against her skin. The small gold beads glimmered softly, accentuating her graceful movements as she stepped closer to Hari. Her ears were adorned with traditional jhumkas, gold earrings with intricate detailing that swayed gently, catching the soft light with each step. And resting delicately on her nose was a classic Nath, a gold nose ring studded with small pearls and a red stone in the center—an essential piece of Maharashtrian beauty, adding both grace and power to her appearance.
Her wrists were adorned with a mix of green glass bangles and a few golden ones, their soft jingling sounds accompanying her every movement like an ethereal song. A thin gold kambarpatta, or waistband, rested around her waist, adding a regal touch to her look and enhancing the delicate draping of her saree. At the center of her forehead sat a small red bindi, simple yet striking, perfectly complementing the overall grace of her appearance.
Her hair was tied into a neat bun, adorned with fresh jasmine flowers. The sweet, floral fragrance of the gajra seemed to float around her, mingling with the sandalwood scent in the air, creating an intoxicating mix of tradition and purity. The white flowers in her hair added a soft contrast to the richness of her purple saree, completing the look in a way that felt effortlessly divine.
As the devotees and priests looked at the pair standing in the temple's entrance, a sense of awe filled the air. They couldn't help but be mesmerized by them, drawn in by their magnetic presence. Hari, with his playful charm and ethereal grace, and Swara, with her quiet strength and regal beauty, seemed to embody something more than just two young individuals.
In that moment, they looked like the living embodiments of Vitthal and Rukmini—divine figures stepping into the world of mortals, carrying with them a sense of destiny and purpose. Their effortless connection, the way they moved in harmony without even trying, made them appear as if they were made for each other, drawn together by forces far beyond human understanding.
Parth blinked, finally coming back to his senses. The sheer presence of Hari and Swara had cast a spell over everyone, but as the moment passed, Parth stepped forward, his smile warm and welcoming. Behind Hari and Swara stood their friends—Sidharth, Vishal, Lavanya, and Nandini—all dressed in traditional attire.
Parth approached Hari, his voice filled with a sense of quiet admiration. "You're on time, Madhav," he said. Hearing his words, Hari nodded, his smile still playful.
Parth's gaze then shifted to Swara, curiosity dancing in his eyes. "And she is…?" he asked, a hint of knowing in his tone.
Hari chuckled lightly, glancing at Swara before answering, "She's Swara—Sidharth's sister." He paused, then added with a mischievous grin, "But I didn't know her."
Swara's eyes widened in mock offense as she playfully swatted Hari's hand. "You're impossible," her actions seemed to say. Hari winced dramatically, clutching his hand as if she had dealt him a serious blow. "That hurt! Why'd you hit me?" he asked, his tone filled with a playful innocence that made even the onlookers smile.
But Swara didn't answer right away. Instead, she gently took hold of his arm with both hands, the playful energy between them shifting into something softer, something that spoke of an unspoken bond. She looked at Parth, her smile warm yet confident, and said, "We're friends." Her words were simple, but the way she said it carried weight, as if it wasn't just about friendship, but something deeper—something that didn't need to be said out loud. She seemed like she wanted to say more, but stopped herself..
Parth nodded, his smile widening as he gestured towards the inner part of the temple. "Please, come, Madhav," he said, his voice carrying a mix of respect and familiarity.
As Hari approached Pandit Bhagwat, the atmosphere in the temple shifted again, thick with reverence and anticipation. He paused just a few steps away, a gentle smile playing on his lips, his eyes reflecting a calmness that seemed to resonate with the sacred space around them.
But before anyone could comprehend the profound moment unfolding, Pandit Bhagwat dropped to his knees, tears glistening in his eyes. The sight was unexpected, leaving the onlookers momentarily speechless. He reached forward, touching Hari's feet with both hands, a gesture steeped in tradition and deep respect.
"I never imagined in my life that I would be fortunate enough to see you," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "What good deeds have I done to deserve this moment, to have you—Madhava, Vitthala, Panduranga—standing here before me?" His words poured out like a heartfelt prayer, each syllable infused with reverence.
The temple fell silent, the soft rustle of offerings and the gentle sound of wind through the leaves becoming a backdrop to this sacred exchange. Hari stood still, his smile unwavering, though a flicker of surprise crossed his features at the Pandit's overwhelming reaction.
"My heart is overwhelmed with gratitude," Pandit Bhagwat continued, his voice thick with emotion. "My life feels truly blessed, and I am fulfilled just by your presence."
Tears streamed down his cheeks, each drop carrying years of devotion and longing, as if he had been waiting for this moment all his life. Hari, feeling the weight of the moment, gently placed a hand on Pandit Bhagwat's shoulder, encouraging him to rise.
Hearing this, Hari smiled playfully, a lightness in his tone as he gently said, "What are you doing, Kaka? Get up! You're older than me. We are just mediums; He is within you and me. We just have to see it with pure hearts, and today you see it." His words were laced with warmth, a sincere attempt to bridge the gap between reverence and familiarity. "You are my friend's father; please don't embarrass me by touching my feet. Please, Kaka, get up."
As Pandit Bhagwat processed Hari's request, a look of understanding washed over his face. With a smile, he rose to his feet, folding his hands in a gesture of prayer, his heart swelling with gratitude. "Thank you, Madhav," he replied, his voice steadying.
At that moment, he turned to his wife, who had been standing in awe, witnessing the exchange. "What are you doing? Come here quickly!" he called out, his tone infused with urgency and affection.
His wife, coming back to her senses, approached with a reverence that mirrored her husband's. She moved with grace, her movements fluid yet filled with a sense of reverence that marked the air around them. As she reached Hari, she instinctively took the pallu of her saree and placed it on her head, a traditional gesture of respect.
She lowered herself to touch Hari's feet, her movements slow and deliberate, reflecting the depth of her reverence but before she could bend down even slightly, Hari gently stopped her, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Please don't do this. You are Parth's mother, which means you are also like a mother to me. A mother's duty is to give blessings, not to touch feet."
His words hung in the air, light yet profound, causing her to pause. She looked into his eyes, seeing a wisdom and sincerity beyond his years. "You call me mother; that's tough for me," she replied, her voice thick with emotion. "I have already received your blessings."
The moment felt heavy with unspoken connections, the bond of familial love intertwining with reverence and respect. Hari's smile broadened, illuminating the warmth in her heart.
As she stood there, the other pujaris, who had been eager to follow the same respectful gesture, hesitated, glancing at each other. They were struck by the way Hari had disarmed the traditional customs with his gentle humility. They, too, wanted to show their respect but felt a pull to the energy radiating from him.
Seeing Hari stop everyone who attempted to touch his feet, they slowly retreated, understanding the unique moment unfolding before them. The nearby devotees were equally captivated, their eyes wide in astonishment. What they were witnessing was unlike anything they had experienced before. It was as if a spark of divinity had illuminated the temple, forging a connection that transcended the ordinary.
The murmurs of disbelief rippled through the crowd, and though Hari remained blissfully unaware of the impact he was making, the events of that morning would spread like wildfire. The essence of humility, love, and respect he embodied would soon be talked about, whispered in the hearts of many, elevating him to a figure of admiration within community.
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[HARI'S POV]
After the unusual conversation with Parth's father and mother, I couldn't shake the feeling that everyone was looking at me oddly. But I pushed the thought aside and focused on Parth's father, Pandit Bhagwat, who stood smiling in front of me. "So, everything is ready? Should we start the puja?" I asked, my voice bright and cheerful.
"Yes, Madhav. Everything is ready. Please come with me," Pandit Bhagwat replied, his smile warm and inviting. I nodded and followed him as he began to guide us toward the puja area. Today was February 5, the day of our café opening, and we had come to the Dagadu Shait Ganpati Temple to perform the puja, seeking blessings for our business to run smoothly.
As we walked, I felt a gentle nudge at my side. Swara, her curiosity evident, leaned closer and whispered, "Hey, Hari, what just happened? Why is everyone looking at you and me?" I turned to her, a playful smile tugging at my lips. "How would I know what's going on? Maybe they're just amazed by your beauty," I teased.
Swara shot me a scrutinizing look, her brow furrowing in thought. "Why do I feel like you're hiding something from me?"
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Why would I hide anything from you?" The way she peered into my eyes made my heart race a bit, but I kept my demeanor light, flashing her a reassuring smile.
Her gaze softened, but I could sense her determination to dig deeper. If anyone were to wonder what was happening, I thought, perhaps it was time for a little flashback to clear things up.
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[3RD PERSON POV]
[YESTERDAY IN HARI'S SCHOOL]
In Hari's classroom, Kulkarni Ma'am sat at her desk, checking assignments as the soft chatter of students filled the room. Suddenly, the bell rang, signaling the end of the period. She glanced up at Hari and said, "Hari, can you help me carry these notebooks to the staff room?"
Hari rolled his eyes slightly, but a playful smile tugged at his lips. "Okay, Ma'am," he replied, standing up from his bench. He stacked the notebooks in his arms and left the classroom, the door clicking shut behind him.
As soon as Hari left, Swara quickly leaned over to Yash, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Hey Yash, what were you and Hari talking about earlier? Something about tomorrow?"
Yash raised an eyebrow, suspicion crossing his face. "Why are you suddenly being nice to me? This isn't normal." He crossed his arms, leaning back in his bench. "I'm not telling you anything."
Hearing Yash's smug response, Swara's expression shifted instantly. Her eyes flared with anger as she snapped, "You pig, Yash! I'm asking you nicely, and you're acting smart? Are you going to tell me, or should I make sure you regret it?"
Yash swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of her gaze. "Okay, okay! I'll tell you," he stammered, hands raised in mock surrender. Swara's fiery look softened as she calmed down, crossing her arms expectantly.
"Tomorrow, Hari's not coming to school," Yash finally revealed.
Swara frowned. "Why?"
Yash hesitated, then added, "He said it's his friend's shop opening. Hari even invited me to come."
Swara's eyes widened. Her thoughts raced—tomorrow was her brother's café opening too. Could it be...?
"What kind of shop?" she asked, her voice sharp with curiosity.
"A café," Yash replied casually.
Hearing Yash's words, Swara stiffened. "Do you know who this friend is and where the café is?" she asked, her voice betraying a mix of curiosity and concern.
Yash, sensing the urgency in her tone, quickly replied, "I don't know who the friend is, but the shop is on FC Road. The opening's at 7 PM. It's called Flute and Foam."
Swara's heart skipped a beat. Flute and Foam. That was her brother's café! She gasped, muttering to herself, "That's definitely Dada's café... but how does Hari know him? And they're friends? Since when?"
A wave of confusion washed over her. What was she going to do now? Her mind raced with thoughts.
"Why isn't Hari coming to school, though? Our classes are in the morning," she asked, still trying to piece things together.
Yash shrugged and replied, "He's going to the Dagadu Sheth Ganpati temple with his friend in the morning."
'The temple too?' Swara thought. 'So Hari is going to the temple with Dada... But does Hari even know I'm Sidharth sister?'
Her heart raced. Part of her wanted to go with Hari, to be by his side for the puja, but she needed confirmation. 'I'll ask Dada when I get home' she decided.
As soon as school ended, Swara rushed home, her mind still buzzing with questions. The moment she stepped inside, she headed straight to her room, took a quick shower, and changed into comfortable clothes. Her heart was racing as she walked toward the hall.
In the living room, her brother Sidharth sat on the sofa, typing away on his laptop, engrossed in work. On the other side, her grandparents, Yamunabai and Martand Deshmukh—or Dadasaheb as everyone respectfully called him—were watching an old Marathi movie starring Dada Kondke. Swara's parents were nowhere in sight, which meant this was her chance.
She quietly sat next to her brother, glancing at him. He didn't look up from his screen. She took a breath, trying to sound casual. "Dada, can I ask you something?"
Without looking away from his work, Sidharth smiled. "Of course, what is it?"
Swara felt a flutter of nerves in her chest as she asked, "Who's coming with you to the temple tomorrow?"
Sidharth, still focused on his laptop, casually replied, "My partners and friends, of course."
Swara pressed on, her voice betraying a hint of tension. "I mean… the names?"
He finally paused and looked up at her, smiling. "Oh, you want names? Sure. Parth, Vishal, Lavanya, Nandini… and Madhav."
At the mention of "Madhav," Swara's heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, she blurted out, "Madhav isn't his real name, is it? Is it Hari Gadkari by any chance?"
Sidharth's face shifted into a brief expression of surprise, clearly not expecting her to know. Meanwhile, across the hall, Swara's grandparents, who had been quietly watching their movie, exchanged knowing glances. Her grandma smiled softly, nudging her husband. "Did you see that? Did you see the look in Swara's eyes?"
Her grandpa chuckled, a twinkle in his eye. "Yes, after two years, we finally learn the name of the boy she's been thinking about."
Swara's grandma beamed, her voice full of warmth. "I told you, it's always about a boy. Our little Swara is growing up."
Swara's grandpa leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin forming on his face. "I should ask Sidharth about this boy," he murmured thoughtfully.
Her grandma, quick to act, placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Not now," she whispered with a knowing smile. "Let Swara go to her room first." Dadasaheb nodded, silently agreeing, and they both shifted their focus back to the conversation between their grandchildren.
Sidharth, still caught off guard by Swara's insight, blinked in surprise. "Wait... how do you know that?" he asked, genuinely curious.
Swara, trying to keep her tone casual despite the growing tension in her chest, smiled. "He's my classmate."
"What?!" Sidharth's surprise deepened. "I didn't know! That's great... but also surprising. Madhav is your classmate? I had no idea he was studying at your school!"
Swara gave a soft laugh, trying to mask her nervousness. "Yep, we're in the same class."
There was a brief pause as Sidharth absorbed this new piece of information, his expression still one of disbelief but now with a smile tugging at his lips. Then Swara, emboldened by the conversation, quickly asked, "Dada... can I come with you tomorrow to the temple?"
Sidharth looked at her, his surprise fading into warmth. "Of course you can, Swara," he said, smiling. "I'd love for you to join us."
Swara stood up from the sofa, her heart lighter than before. Smiling, she said, "Thanks, Dada," before walking toward her room.
As soon as she disappeared down the hallway, Dadasaheb's tone shifted. His voice, once warm and teasing, grew serious. "Sidharth, who is this Hari boy?"
Sidharth froze, his grandfather's sudden gravity catching him off guard. "He's my friend, Ajoba," he replied, his voice steady but laced with nerves.
Dadasaheb's sharp gaze fixed on him, unrelenting. "I'm asking for the truth, Sidharth. I see respect in your eyes when you talk about him, not just the usual friendship. What's really going on?"
Sidharth swallowed hard. His heart pounded in his chest, but he knew he couldn't hide the truth any longer. It was Hari himself who had once told him, "Some truths need to be shared with those who'll understand." And if anyone would understand, it was his grandparents.
Nodding, Sidharth took a deep breath and began. "Ajoba… Aaji… Hari isn't just any boy. He's something… extraordinary." He explained everything, from how Hari had been the silent force behind their café's creation, to his mysterious talents that allowed him to hack into government databases and SBI systems with ease. He spoke of the way Hari carried himself—calm, composed, almost otherworldly for someone his age.
As Sidharth revealed the details, his grandparents' expressions shifted from curiosity to astonishment. They listened quietly, taking in every word. By the time Sidharth finished, Dadasaheb was stroking his chin thoughtfully, his face lit with intrigue.
"A truly extraordinary boy, huh?" Dadasaheb murmured, his eyes gleaming with interest. "So he's the one behind the café… and even managed to do things that would baffle most adults? Genius, for sure. But more than that, there's something about him, isn't there? A presence. If he continues this path, he's destined to be a great man in the future. I'd like to meet him. Let's meet him tomorrow at the opening."
Sidharth's grandma, who had remained silent until now, suddenly smiled, her gaze distant as though she were seeing something far beyond the room. "Not just extraordinary," she said softly. "The way you describe him, it feels as if Vitthala himself is standing before us. There's something divine about that boy. I really want to meet him."
Sidharth nodded, relieved that his grandparents understood. Tomorrow was going to be more important than he could've ever imagined.
Back in her room, Swara couldn't stop smiling like an idiot. Her heart fluttered in excitement as she quickly opened her wardrobe, pulling out her new dress and saree, along with the matching jewelry. Holding the saree in front of her, she stood in front of the mirror, her reflection staring back at her.
"Will this look good? Will Hari like it?" she muttered to herself, eyes filled with anticipation. She quickly tried another dress, then a different saree, holding each one up and turning side to side. Just as she was about to settle on another piece, a knock at the door startled her.
Swara panicked, stuffing the clothes and jewelry haphazardly back into her wardrobe before rushing to the door. She opened it to find her grandmother standing there with a soft smile.
"Aji? What's happened?" Swara asked, a little nervous. Her heart raced, hoping her grandma hadn't seen her fussing over clothes in such a frenzy.
Her grandmother's eyes twinkled as she peeked over Swara's shoulder, noticing the pile of sarees and jewelry on the bed. "Ah, I see someone is deciding what to wear tomorrow," she teased gently.
Caught red-handed, Swara's cheeks flushed pink. She nodded, smiling sheepishly. "Yes, Aji."
Her grandmother's smile widened as she stepped closer. "Would you like some help?"
Swara's eyes lit up immediately, excitement replacing the earlier embarrassment. "Really, Aji? You'd help me?"
Her grandma chuckled warmly. "Of course, my dear. Let's find something perfect for you."
With that, Swara's grandmother stepped inside, her presence comforting and reassuring. Swara felt a sense of relief wash over her. She hadn't realized how much she needed her Aji's wisdom and support until that moment. Together, they began going through the clothes, with her grandmother offering suggestions, reminiscing about how she used to dress when she was younger.
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