✦ THE BEGINNING ✦
A cold wind drifted through the sacred mountains of Kedarnath, threading its way between jagged cliffs and ancient stone. This was no ordinary land. Faith here was not merely practiced—it was embedded into the very bones of the mountains. Every path, every rock, every echo carried the weight of untold centuries.
Legends did not sleep in Kedarnath. They watched.
Evening descended slowly, heavy with monsoon moisture. Clouds pressed low against the Himalayan peaks, staining the sky in muted shades of gray and gold.
Outside the sanctuary of the community temple. A modest crowd had gathered for the final prayer, their oil lamps trembling in the gathering dusk like captive spirits. Thick, cloying coils of incense smoke snaked upward, weaving a veil of sanctity.
Suddenly, the rhythmic peace was punctured by the frantic slap of bare feet against the dried ground.
From the dark mouth of the jungle path, two figures burst into the clearing. Arjun led the way, his chest heaving as he dodged low-hanging branches. The sharp, metallic scent of crushed leaves and damp soil trailed behind them.
"Faster!" Arjun hissed over his shoulder, his eyes darting toward the temple doors where the final hymns were already beginning to swell. "We're going to be late again, and the Pandit won't be merciful twice gopi!"
Gopi, trailing a few paces behind, let out a jagged snort of irritation. "It's always... your fault!" he wheezed, his face a vibrant shade of plum. "Every single day, some new mess, some new shortcut that ends in a swamp. I'm tired of being your partner in trouble, Arjun!"
Arjun didn't slow down, but a mischievous grin flashed across his face. He threw a dismissive wave over his shoulder. "Stop whining and move those leaden legs of yours, Gopi! Unless, of course, you'd prefer to give the priest a personal explanation for your late-coming in front of the whole village?"
Their arguments dissolved into a chaotic symphony of breathless insults—Arjun mocking Gopi's clumsy pace and Gopi cursing Arjun's reckless disregard for time—until their shared panic turned into a final, desperate sprint.
They collided with the heavy scent of sandalwood as they burst into the temple hall. With the practiced stealth of seasoned troublemakers, they wove through legs and prayer mats, ducking under the drifting clouds of incense. They slipped into the back of the temple crowd just as the final chant about to end, pressing their palms together and bowing their heads with such sudden, pious intensity that it seemed like they were already present here.
As the prayers concluded, the tension in the room began to unroll. Devotees drifted toward the exit, the rhythmic clang of the temple bell echoing softly as they departed. Slowly, the great hall emptied, leaving behind a heavy, hushed stillness.
At the head of the hall, framed by the flickering shadows of the inner sanctum, stood the priest.
He was a mountain of a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with a wild, silvered beard that seemed to flow into the tangled mane of hair framing his weathered face. Deep, old wrinkles carved paths around his eyes. A wide, knowing smile played upon his lips as he raised a hand, gesturing the remaining children to draw closer.
There was an air of sudden, electric gravity about him. He stood firmly, his presence commanding the space.
"Gather round," he urged.
"Tonight, I wish to tell you something that is not written in the common scrolls. I wish to tell you the truth about the stones beneath your feet."
Curiosity caught like fire instantly. The children shuffled forward, their whispers dying away as a ripple of excitement passed through the group. They leaned in, eyes wide and reflecting the golden glow of the lamps, waiting for the priest to peel back the first layer of a secret.
✦ THE TEMPLE MYSTERY ✦
Once the last of the children had shuffled into place, settling onto the cool stone floor, the priest began to speak.
He spoke first of the temple's architecture, his eyes tracing the saffron-yellow stone that rose around them. These were not merely walls; they were ancient sentinels.
Every crack and scar seemed deliberate, as though the structure itself had endured history rather than merely witnessed it.
Above them, the massive dome loomed quietly, faintly glowing in the dying light, like a relic abandoned by time.
"Look closely," the priest whispered, gesturing to the dizzying heights of the ceiling. "No one truly knows whose hands first laid these stones or when this whole structure was made."
"In the village, the temple's origin was a tapestry of contradictions. Every family carried their own fragment of the tale, passed down through the generations like a half-remembered dream whispered at bedside".
The stories drifted through the village like smoke—shifting, changing, and impossible to grasp. None could say where the myth ended and the truth began, and as the priest spoke, the children realized that they weren't just sitting in a building—they were sitting inside a mystery.
A child among them raised a hesitant hand and ask when—and why—such an enormous temple was built.
The priest paused, then smiled.
"According to legend", he said, "The temple was constructed during an age when devas and asuras walked openly upon Prithvilok—the world of humans. It was an era consumed by war. The asuras were cruel and merciless, tormenting humanity without restraint. Villages burned, lives were shattered, and fear ruled the land".
"To shield mankind from the encroaching rot," the priest continued, "the Devas raised this colossal sanctuary. These are not merely stones and mortar; the walls were woven with divine enchantments, imbued with a sacred resonance that no Asura could ever breach. In the darkest chapters of our history, when humanity seeked a shelter. thousands found refuge within this very hall".
"For centuries, this temple was the only shield humanity had against the night."
Among the huddle of listeners, Arjun and Gopi sat as though turned to stone. Their eyes were wide, shimmering with the reflected fire of the lamps, their breath held tight in their chests.
The priest's gaze fell upon Arjun, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Careful, Arjun," he teased softly, "I see your mind wandering into the clouds again. Don't get lost in the story before it's finished."
Arjun shook off the trance, his voice eager and low. "But Pandit-ji... where did they go? The Devas, the Asuras... what became of the war?"
The priest leaned in, his shadow stretching long against the walls. "To end the cycle of slaughter, the Great Powers divided existence itself. They fractured reality into three distinct realms. Devlok became the radiant kingdom of the gods. Asurlok became the sunless domain of the demons. And between them, like a fragile bridge of glass, lay Prithvilok—our world."
He explained that the Devas became the sentinels of the threshold, the gatekeepers ensuring that the corruption of the Asuras could never again spill into the mortal world.
Gopi's brow furrowed, his skepticism struggling against his awe. "But what are they truly?" he pressed. "These realms... where are they hidden?"
The priest's expression grew profoundly solemn. "Devlok is more than a home for the divine, Gopi. It is a fortress. A living barrier designed to keep the darkness at bay. For the Asuras to reach us, they would first have to tear through the very gates of Heaven. That is why it is guarded with eternal vigilance."
He gestured vaguely at the air around them, his fingers tracing a pattern in the incense smoke. "These worlds exist alongside our own, occupying the same universe but folded into different dimensions. They are veiled from mortal sight, hidden just beyond the reach of human perception—invisible, yet as real as the stone you sit upon."
Arjun's next question was quieter, heavier.
He asked who the asuras truly were—and why they hated humanity so deeply.
A heavy shadow fell accross the priest face, his eyes darkened.
"The tragedy began with Rishi Shukracharya," he began. "A sage whose wisdom once rivaled the stars. But when the time came to appoint a successor to the Saptrishis—the seven guardians of cosmic order—fate dealt a cruel hand. He was passed over by his own guru, Rishi Angirasa, in favor of Brihaspati."
The children sat breathless as the priest described the humiliation that had curdled into a venomous rage."On that day, Shukracharya turned his back on the heavens, swearing a vow of vengeance that would stain the mortal world forever. In his fury, he sought out the Asura clans, becoming their architect of ruin".
"He did not just seek divine power or maya(magic)," the priest whispered, leaning forward. "He reached into the very fabric of the void and grasped Dark Matter—the primal, hidden force of the universe. He fused his soul with it, becoming its eternal embodiment."
Through Shukracharya, the Asuras were invited to drink from this forbidden well. Those who pleased him were granted strength that could shatter mountains, but the price was their very essence. Empathy withered like burnt grass; mercy was extinguished. What remained were not just warriors, but devils—corrupted husks driven by a singular, dark will.
Guided by the Rishi's cold brilliance, the Asura tide surged outward, a plague of shadow that began to unravel the peace of the universe.
In a hushed voice, Arjun asked whether they had ever returned to the human world.
"The legends tell of Great Invasions," the priest whispered. "Horrors that stained the very fabric of time. Each time the veil was torn, the Asuras brought a tide of pure, unadulterated hatred. They did not come to rule; they came to extinguish."
He leaned into the lamplight, his shadow looming large. "Whenever they breached the gates, humanity broke. Beneath their merciless oppression, the spirit of man withered, and the laws of nature began to unravel. The universe itself sank into an endless misery—a darkness that didn't just hide the light, but tried to erase the very memory of it."
"Yet each time—when hope had fully perished—salvation arrived".
A hush fell over the temple as priests voice grew deeper and resonant with each words spoken.
When the Great Darkness finally threatened to swallow the cosmos whole," the priest murmured, his voice rising with a sudden, melodic power.
"A divine call vibrated through the very foundations of existence. It was a plea for mercy that reached the highest heavens."
He raised a weathered hand, "From the heart of that call, a single ray of blinding light erupted—an Avatar. Born of celestial will and mortal flesh, the savior descended not just to fight, but to shatter the chains of suffering and stitch the tattered threads of dharma back together. Where the darkness had been absolute, the Avatar became the dawn".
The sharp, stinging crack of the priest's palms meeting echoed through the temple courtyard like a thunderclap, shattering the silence. Startled, several children jumped, their eyes wide as they were pulled back from the blood-soaked plains of the story to the present. The priest glanced at the lengthening shadows, his expression tightening as he realized how dark the twilight had become.
"Home! All of you, now," he commanded, "The sun is dipping low, and tonight is no ordinary dusk. The Chandra Grahan—the lunar eclipse—begins soon. When the moon bleeds, the veil between worlds thins to a thread. The ancient hungers of the Great Darkness grow restless; they wander Prithvilok freely, looking for those foolish enough to be caught in the open."
A bundle of uneasy silence followed, but it was quickly punctured by a sharp, derisive snort.
Gopi stood up, dusting the dirt from his knees. "A bit of shadow on the moon and suddenly the woods are full of demons?" he scoffed, "Really, Pandit-ji? We aren't the toddlers who used to hide behind your robes anymore."
The priest's eyes narrowed. He pointed a long, bony finger toward the jagged silhouette of the jungle road. "Is that so? Then perhaps you'd care to prove your newfound manhood. If the eclipse is merely a shadow, walk the forest path tonight, Gopi. Alone."
A chorus of mocking whistles and jagged laughter erupted from the group.
"Him? Alone?" one boy jeered, poking Gopi in the ribs. "He'd be halfway to the next village before the moon even turned grey!"
"Careful," another piped up, his voice dripping with mocking concern, "last time Pandit-ji told us about the Pretas, Gopi left a puddle on the temple floor. He's probably got his 'bravery' leaking out of his boots right now!"
A roar of laughter followed, loud and cruel, echoing off the stone walls. Gopi's face turned red, clenching his jaw silently as humiliation burned behind his eyes. He stood rigid, trapped in the suffocating heat of their ridicule.
"Enough," the priest said. He placed a steadying hand on Gopi's shaking shoulder, his expression softened. "I was merely jesting, boy. True bravery isn't found in a fool's errand; it reveals itself only when the world demands it of you."
With a final, dismissive wave of his hand, he sent them off. The children scattered, their voices rising in a cacophony of receding giggles and lighthearted banter as they raced toward their home.
But Arjun did not race.
He walked with a slow, deliberate stride, his gaze fixed on a point far beyond the village gates. While the others spoke of ghosts and shadows, Arjun felt a strange, cold humming in his marrow.
High above, the jagged, snow-dusted peaks of the Himalayas stood like silent sentinels. The air grew unnaturally still, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
And somewhere, far beyond the reach of human sight, in the hollow places between the stars... something had begun to listen.