Nayan's POV

Today, our temple is abuzz with anticipation as Sadhna Thakur, our temple's most significant trustee, is paying a visit. The atmosphere crackled with activity, a stark contrast to the tranquil mornings I'm accustomed to. My father, as is his routine, rose at the ungodly hour of four, but what's unusual is that he retired to bed much later than usual, around two in the morning.

He's been overseeing preparations for the langar, following Thakur memsahib's instructions diligently. But today's visit is different from the usual ones—it's about the future of our temple.

For months now, my father has been plagued by loan sharks who lent him seventy lakhs for fortifying the temple against the encroaching river. The interest they're charging, a staggering twenty-four percent, is suffocating. We had to take this loan urgently because the temple was starting to suffer from the river's advances. Despite our pleas, government banks turned us away, citing political reasons. Saving the temple became our sole priority.

This temple means everything to me; it's been my entire childhood. I've been cradled in the embrace of Mahakal and Mata Parvati since infancy. Watching my father conduct rituals as the chief priest, I imbibed the essence of devotion. My mother, who was a devout follower of Shiva until she passed away from cancer when I was fifteen, instilled her reverence in me.

By the tender age of three, I could mimic the rituals of Shivji's Puja, and by twenty-one, I mastered Linga Puja, Maha Shivaratri Puja, Pradosha Puja, Navagraha Shanti Puja, and Atma Linga Puja.

I've always wanted to learn Maha Rudram Yagya, one of the grandest form of worship to Mahadev, but my father has always refused, promising to teach me when the time is right. I often wonder when that time will come. But his recent refusal felt different—there was an unspoken significance in his words, a sense of purpose behind his denial.

Returning to today's preparations, it's already six in the morning, and I've completed my customary bath in the holy river by our temple. For attire, I've chosen a simple royal blue saree, opting for minimal jewellery as usual—just a delicate gold string around my neck and the gold ear cuffs I've worn since I was twelve. I put a touch of kajal beneath my eyes, and loosely gathered my hair, now dry, into a bun with a few strands framing my face, adorned with a fresh gajra as always. My feet are already adorned with mahavar, a tradition I've followed since my teenage years. Gajra and mahavar are essential elements of my attire.

With one last glance in the mirror, I headed towards the temple to oversee the preparations.

Author's POV

The temple adorned itself with beautiful garlands of fresh datura, stretching from the entrance to the sanctum where the Shiva linga stood majestically. The workers had diligently cleaned the floors and walls since dawn, preparing for the day ahead.

As Nayan made her way towards the temple's vast kitchen, where the mahabhog was being prepared, she couldn't help but notice the uncharacteristic emptiness of the temple. Usually bustling with devotees, today it felt deserted, devoid of the usual energy of worshippers arriving freshly bathed and dressed for their offerings to Shiva.

Outside, the entrance was guarded by SPGs. It was no surprise; after all, the wife of the ex- chief minister was visiting. But Nayan despised this practice. No one should have the authority to prevent others from worshipping their god, regardless of their status or influence. Sadly, this was the harsh reality of the world—the powerful always enjoyed unnecessary privileges and advantages.

Setting aside her inner turmoil, Nayan focused on her responsibilities. She ensured that the fragrance of the kheer was exquisite and that the perfect amount of ghee had been added. Satisfied with the preparations, she proceeded to the main chamber of the temple to perform her daily ritual—the Linga Puja.

With reverence, she offered milk, datura flowers, and heartfelt prayers to the deity before making her way to meet her father.

Nayan's POV

My father appeared noticeably stressed about memsahib's visit. It was unlike him to shout at the workers, his usual calm and kind demeanor replaced by agitation. The tension etched on his face was palpable, reflecting the weight of the temple's future hanging in the balance.

The workers could sense the gravity of the situation. Today would determine whether our temple would be forever seized by the loan sharks or rescued by Sadhna Thakur.

"Calm down, baba," I murmured as I approached him, gently massaging his shoulders.

He turned to see me, a wide smile spreading across his face. I bowed down to touch his feet, seeking his blessing. He patted my head tenderly, then pulled me into a warm embrace when I straightened up.

"I hope everything becomes fine soon," he whispered, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Memsahib will help us, baba. Soon everything will be back to how it was," I assured him, trying to ease his worries.

"I don't know, Nayan beta. Sadhna Thakur gives off a bad aura whenever she visits the temple. I don't feel good about her energy. As if...as if she is some kind of a demon," he confided.

"She does, baba. But she is our last hope. Only she can help us," I reasoned, emphasizing her importance.

"I know, beta. That's why I'm seeking her help," he replied.

We broke the hug and exchanged smiles.

"Don't worry, dad. Everything will be sorted soon," I assured him.

"Yes, but honestly, Nayan, I've a bad feeling," he admitted.

"Don't say that, baba! We can't afford to lose the temple at any cost," I insisted.

"Yes, yes. Shubh shubh sochte hain," he agreed.

(Let's think positively.)

"Ye hui na baat!" I cheered, then went off to oversee the rest of the preparations.

(That's the spirit!)

Author's POV

As the clock struck nine in the morning, a procession of black SUVs pulled up in front of the Mahakal Temple. Another troop of SPGs swiftly emerged from the vehicles, opening the door of the central SUV.

A woman in her early fifties stepped out, dressed in a simple black cotton- silk saree. Her lips were painted with dark-red lipstick, and a large maroon bindi adorned her forehead. Her voluminous black hair was messily tied into a bun, with a few white strands framing her face.

Balancing a large brass plate adorned with offerings—coconut, milk, aparajita flowers, bhang leaves, sandalwood-scented candles, ghee, and honey—she made her way towards the grand entrance. Unfortunately, her foot landed on a large boulder, causing her to sprain her right ankle.

"Ahhh!" she exclaimed in pain, almost stumbling.

Jyoti, her personal servant, quickly rushed to her aid, supporting her arm to prevent a fall.

Heat surged through every fiber of her being, fueled by the humiliation of her misstep.

"This temple should be reduced to rubbles," she muttered through gritted teeth.

Closing her eyes tightly for a moment, she tried to quell her anger. A dangerous smile slowly crept onto her lips as she continued towards the entrance stairs, where Prakash Acharya, the chief priest of the temple, stood alongside his daughter Nayan Acharya to welcome her.

"Pranam, Sadhna ji!" Prakash Acharya greeted with folded hands in a namaste.

Nayan mirrored the gesture, bending down to touch Sadhna's feet respectfully. As she straightened up, Sadhna's fingers lightly brushed her right cheek, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Ati sundar!" Sadhna whispered audibly, causing Nayan to shyly lower her gaze. Her heart raced. The touch sent a jolt through her body, stirring every cell within.

(Very Beautiful)

"Andar aye, Sadhna ji." Acharya ji welcomed her showing the way leaving Nayan lost in thoughts.

Her eyes said something, and it didn't seem good. I felt as if I was being drawn into a dark enchantment, as if she was trying to cast a spell on me.

She brought the rudraksha bead tied around her right wrist to the level of her forehead and touched it there, then mirrored the gesture on her chest. Every time she felt negativity creeping in, she performed this ritual.

Then she proceeded towards the chamber of Mahadev where the Navagraha Shanti Puja was set to perform as per Sadhna's intructions.

As the ritual began, Nayan forgot the negative feeling and indulged herself into performing the rituals dedicatedly.

Navagraha Shanti Puja serves as a ceremonial practice aimed at pacifying the nine celestial bodies, known as Navagrahas, as per Vedic astrology beliefs. It's conducted to mitigate the malefic effects of these planets might have on one's life and to seek their favorable blessings for abundance, and achievement.

The ritual culminated with an arti ceremony, followed by the presentation of kheer prepared by the temple, which Sadhna offered to Lord Shiva.

"Ask your daughter to meet me in the third chamber."

Sadhna instructed Acharya ji, who was distributing the Prasad leaving him bewildered by the unexpected request as she proceeded to the designated chamber where she and other temple trustees typically convened for meetings.

What does my daughter have to do with the temple?

"Baba, should I go?" Nayan sought her father's permission.

"I'm not comfortable with it, beta. I'll come with you," he responded.

"Don't worry, baba. I'll handle it," she reassured her father, who reluctantly nodded in agreement.

INSIDE THE THIRD CHAMBER

"Pranam, memsahib," Nayan greeted, bowing respectfully as he entered the room.

Sadhna, exuding an air of haughty indifference, reclined on a wooden chair, her gaze piercing as she regarded Nayan with disdain.

"Mandir bachani hai sach mein?" she queried, her tone laced with icy skepticism.

"Ji, memsaab," Nayan replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of determination and trepidation.

"Jo bolungi wo karegi kya?" Sadhna pressed, her voice sharp and cutting.

"Main... main kuch bhi karne ko taiyaar hoon, memsaab. Bas aap mandir bacha lein," Nayan pleaded earnestly, his eyes reflecting a mix of desperation and hope.

"Thik hai. Dasi banja humare bete ki?" 

˜”*°•°*”˜