Amrit arrived in his room at sunrise, body tired but heart alight. He planned to tell no one about the temple experience – how could he? Who would believe it? The locket he clutched was proof enough; its weight was real on his chest. He hid it in his desk drawer and began writing notes of what had happened in his journal – longhand, like the old sages did.
Over the next days, Amrit kept to himself more than ever. He helped Maya and Ashwin train, but he was quieter, more focused inward. His dreams remained vivid. Every night, the Outer cosmic giggle returned, now more urgent, like it had tasted fear from Satish. Amrit steeled himself each morning.
One late afternoon, as Amrit practiced alone on the empty athletic field with swirling orbs of light, a student from his electronics class came by. She was tall, with a slight grin – Devika, a keen but not particularly mystical type. She greeted him with a casual wave. "Amrit, right? You're a legend in our class for your last sem project. Just wanted to say, I'm glad you're here; we need guys like you."
Amrit nodded politely. "Thanks," he murmured. Something felt off, an icy flicker in her eyes. He shook the thought and continued his training. Devika watched for a moment, then said, "I didn't mean to bother you. Just…" She paused, lowering her voice. "You did something amazing at the temple. Heard about it. Some of us are curious."
Confused, Amrit frowned. "How did you hear that? The temple was off-limits."
She looked around quickly and whispered, "They found out. Rumors on campus. They think you opened something – but be careful. We're under surveillance. They're watching people like us."
"Who?" Amrit asked, putting out his lights and stepping away from the energy flowing around him.
"A group," she said, glancing around again as if not to be overheard. "A cult. Not many know, but I saw them in the Shiva temple after you guys left. They have masks, chanting something that made the grounds shake. I ran away."
Amrit's breath caught. Outer cultists? The mention of masks and singing that shook the temple. How could outsiders have accessed it so quickly? Devika showed no fear, only excitement now. "If there's a cult, maybe they're testing who's worthy? Maybe we should join them."
Amrit's body tensed. Even though he recognized Devika from class, her voice wasn't familiar. Her grin was too eager. The air between them felt to crackle. "I'm not interested," Amrit said flatly. "I'll be fine on my own."
Her eyebrows drew together. "You look tired," she said, deceptively sympathetic. "All that cosmic power usage… maybe you should listen."
Something flared within Amrit: suspicion. He stepped back. The air flickered around Devika. Was that dark energy in her eyes? It couldn't be. Yet her presence suddenly felt menacing.
In that instant, the realization struck him like a blow. Devika is not Devika. He had never felt such energy from her before. She wasn't the classmate he knew.
She laughed, a dry, hollow sound. The electronics student persona faded. Before Amrit, in the dimming daylight, took form a distorted face framed by black shadows – a monstrous grin revealing too many teeth. It was an Outer God's emissary wearing a familiar guise. She raised her hand, long nails dripping inky darkness.
Heart pounding, Amrit gathered his courage. "Stay away!" he yelled, pushing out a wave of light and air to knock her back. The sudden burst sent her staggering.
She hissed, disoriented but amused. "You won't refuse the truth forever, Amrit Kumar," she said, voice shifting between the human lilt and a deeper rumble. "You think yourself alone? But the systems of dharma fear the unknown. We know your power. We know your fears."
Amrit steadied himself. "Who are you?" he demanded.
"Names do not matter to us," she replied, stepping closer. "We serve Eternity's hunger. The Outer watching. You've woken a storm, boy. Soon you'll see."
As she spoke, Amrit felt cold tendrils snaking around his mind. Memories he valued twisted into guilt in his head. He staggered, gripping his temples. No... I won't let you in, he screamed in his mind, countering with his own mantra of equilibrium. He found focus in his breathing. He remembered Satish's pleading eyes, Radhika's hand on his shoulder. He would not be overcome by their whispers.
With a roar of will, Amrit pushed the tendrils away, and light flared around him. The emissary shrieked and dissolved into shadows that scattered by the wind he summoned. Leaves rustled violently; papers flew. Devika's form vanished, leaving only the rustling grass.
Amrit stood panting, the adrenaline draining. He blinked, unsure if the confrontation had even happened. He rubbed his neck. The locket under his shirt felt warm against his palm.
He realized now: the Outer Gods were not just stories or distant threats. They had reached out. Perhaps through Satish, perhaps through this student. They would try to manipulate. They knew his heart's doubts. But more important, Amrit realized he had stood his ground.
Though shaken, he was more resolved than ever. The cosmic horrors were real, and they were waiting. But Amrit had allies in memories and values. They would strengthen him.
That night, Amrit returned to the Shiva temple once more, even though it was barred to everyone now. He walked around its circular boundary and whispered an offering to Lord Shiva: "Om Namah Shivaya." The air stilled, and for a moment, a gentle echo of Shiva's name answered back. Amrit allowed himself a small smile.
Facing the night sky, he vowed: He would continue. He would uncover secrets of the subtle realms, gather knowledge from forgotten temples, and master the dharma within him. For Satish, for his friends, and for himself.
And when the Outer Gods come to claim their due, he would stand.
The night had long swallowed the IIT Madras campus in a cool, hushed darkness. Amrit Kumar, once a simple B.Sc. Data Science student, now sat cross-legged at the edge of reality — physically nestled within the tangled perimeter of the sacred Naimisharanya grove, but spiritually adrift, his soul flickering between worlds like a solitary diya in a storm.
He had left the hostel quietly that evening, not informing Ashwin or Radhika. There had been no need — the storm inside him roared louder than any voice outside.
The betrayal still burned.
Satish — a friend, a mentor, a shadow of what could have been light. His corruption, the lies, the manipulations, the unspoken wounds left in his wake — they had driven Amrit to the edge of revenge. And that very edge was dangerous. One wrong step, one breath of hate too deep, and he could fall — not into death, but into a far worse transformation: into someone like Satish.
So he had come here, not to grow stronger in power, but in spirit.
Naimisharanya was no ordinary forest. Hidden behind the biological sciences department and fenced off by rusted wires, it existed more in legend than in schedule-bound student life. A piece of myth, buried under banyan shadows. Vedic texts once described it as a gateway to the inner Lokas — the subtle realms where time curled upon itself and devas whispered in wind.
Tonight, Amrit had come to listen.
The grove breathed around him.
In the distance, owls hooted with an eerie wisdom. Leaves rustled with the murmurs of a hundred unseen presences. The breeze carried the fragrance of wild jasmine and something more ancient — petrichor tinged with sandalwood and forgotten chants. The earth below his folded knees pulsed faintly. As he inhaled, he allowed the vibrations to travel up his spine, aligning his breath with the subtle energies of the land.
"Om… Soham…" he whispered with each exhalation. "I am that… I am."
Then silence.
It came first as a drop, then a downpour — not of rain, but of memory.
Visions spilled forth.
Satish, smiling beside him in the first-year data structures lab, offering to help debug Amrit's code. Satish, defending a poor hostel worker during an inspection. Satish, slowly becoming distant. His eyes — once clear — becoming clouded with ambition, secrecy, and something darker. The Satish that begged for release even as he struck Amrit down with betrayal.
"Why didn't you save me…?" a voice whispered in his ear.
Amrit jolted. The forest was still — no human sound, only the shriek of a faraway bird and the eternal rustle of leaves. Yet the voice had been real — as real as his pain.
"You cling to vengeance," the voice echoed, "but forget the soul behind the sin."
A shimmer of golden-blue light rippled in the air before him. From the bark of an ancient tamarind tree stepped a figure — massive, glowing, half-cloaked in mist. Towering seven feet, his skin was the color of molten bronze, hair cascading like black riverwater down his shoulders. His eyes glowed with a calm fire.
"Yaksha…" Amrit breathed, bowing instinctively.
"I am Vaitara," the guardian replied, voice deep as thunder rolling over the Himalayas. "Warden of this grove, Keeper of Karmic Threads."
Amrit stood still, breath caught between awe and fear. Yakshas were known to be fierce protectors of sacred spaces — neutral beings who enforced dharma not by emotion, but by cosmic necessity.
Vaitara stepped forward and extended a palm. "You seek clarity. But first, face your heart."
And with that, the world twisted.
Amrit stood now in a dreamscape — a version of the grove frozen in time, drenched in moonlight. Before him stood Satish — not corrupted, not monstrous — just human. Just broken.
His eyes brimmed with tears.
"Amrit," Satish said, falling to his knees, "I didn't know what I was doing. I thought power would save us — protect us from the mediocrity that kills dreams. But it changed me… twisted me…"
Amrit stepped back, heart thudding. "You betrayed us. Lied. People suffered. Why should I forgive you?"
Satish looked up, eyes hollow. "You think forgiveness is for me? It's for you — so that your soul doesn't become another weight in Nirriti's game."
The scene flickered. Satish now appeared burning — consumed in slow, spiritual flame. From his mouth rose a chant in reverse, like a mantra spoken backward. He screamed, "Join me! Or you'll never be strong enough!"
Amrit's fists clenched. A thousand urges battled within him — destroy this echo, curse it, abandon it.
But instead… he sat.
He sat before the vision of Satish and closed his eyes.
"I release you," he whispered, not in forgiveness, but in letting go. "I will carry your memory, not your burden."
A sudden breeze blew across the grove. The vision shattered like broken glass underfoot. The forest returned — Vaitara now smiled.
"You chose peace over pride. That is the mark of a true seeker."
From his sash, the Yaksha pulled a scroll — ancient, gold-edged, made not of paper but of a thin, glowing bark that hummed with pranic energy.
"This is the Pranayama of the Infinite Breath," Vaitara said. "Composed by sages who walked between Lokas. Few are worthy."
He handed it to Amrit. The scroll felt warm, alive. As he unrolled it slightly, luminous Sanskrit verses shifted on the page, revealing instructions not just in breathing, but in perception — how to modulate one's inner wind to walk invisible paths between worlds.
"You must strengthen the breath," Vaitara continued, "for what lies ahead is not of this Earth alone. And remember — the line between justice and vengeance is as thin as a whisper in the wind."
Before Amrit could speak, Vaitara faded, his form dissolving into drifting lotus petals of light.
Hours passed.
The sun's first rays cut through the canopy above, illuminating the grove with golden warmth. Amrit stood, breath steady, scroll tucked safely inside his satchel.
He felt different.
Not lighter — but clearer. As though a storm had passed and now the path ahead shimmered with terrifying purpose.
He didn't yet know what awaited in the shrine, the shadows, or the soul of his former friend. But one thing was certain — his foundation had changed. No longer driven by pain, but by dharma. A dharma deeper than textbooks and systems — the dharma of cosmic balance, of a soul aligned with its truth.
That night, back at campus…
As he passed through the empty corridors of IITM, walking past the dim lights of the Department of Humanities, Amrit noticed a glimmer beneath his feet — a brief shimmer like moonlight on water. The ground pulsed softly.
The scroll in his satchel stirred.
He paused.
"Another mystery…" he whispered.
He followed the glimmer toward the old library basement, where unknown to him, buried beneath layers of stone and memory, the Lost Shrine of Sarasvati waited — filled with whispers of karma, knowledge, and the next trial that would shape the boy into a being worthy of walking among gods.