NOVEL NEXT Chapter 48: The Offering of Divine Grace
The temple courtyard, decked with marigolds, lotuses, and hibiscus blossoms, their petals now soft and muted in the afternoon light, buzzed with the soft hum of devotees' voices. The air was rich with the mingling scents of incense and freshly prepared payasam a creamy concoction of rice, milk, jaggery, and a hint of cardamom, emanated a sweet, heady aroma that was brought out to be distributed as prasadam, signalling that the ritual was over.
The priest, his face serene and hands steady, ladled the sacred rice payasam into bowls made of dried leaves. The golden raisins and cashews that adorned the sweet dish added a festive touch, their rich fragrance tantalising the senses of all the devotees that had fasted since daybreak.
Children, their eyes wide with excitement, eagerly received their portions. The first taste brought delighted smiles to their faces, the sweetness of the payasam spreading warmth through their small bodies. They savoured each spoonful, licking the leaf plates clean before shyly returning for more, their eyes pleading for another serving. Elders, too, enjoyed the payasam with quiet appreciation, nodding in gratitude as they relished the rich, comforting flavours.
Among the devotees, Prince Aryaman and Sanjaya also partook in the prasadam. Aryaman accepted his portion with a respectful bow. As he tasted the payasam, a smile of genuine pleasure spread across his face. The sweetness and warmth of the dish seemed to dissolve the tensions of the day, leaving him with a sense of peace.
Sanjaya, standing beside him, eagerly followed suit. His eyes lit up as he savoured the rich flavours, and he quickly finished his portion. With a playful grin, he nudged Aryaman, signalling his intent to go for a second serving. Aryaman chuckled, watching his friend's enthusiasm, and joined him in the line once more, both men blending seamlessly with the joyful throng of devotees.
Inside the sanctum sanctorum, the gentle flicker of oil lamps cast shifting shadows on the stone walls, bringing the intricate carvings to life. Compared to the humdrum of the courtyard outside, the sanctum was a haven of stillness. Svetavastra sat cross-legged on the cool floor, her silhouette barely discernible in the soft, golden glow. Her eyes were closed, her breathing deep and steady.
The carvings on the walls seemed to shift and change in the flickering light, ancient stories playing out in silent, sacred pantomime. They told tales of gods and demons, of battles fought and won, of duties accepted and fulfilled. In this sacred space, Svetavastra felt the weight of her own story, the path she was on, the choices she had yet to make.
"If I give you access to my powers, you are bound to protect these people through time," the local deity had said earlier. "Do you accept it?"
The question lingered in the air, the sanctum seeming to hold its breath, waiting for Svetavastra’s decision. It should have been an easy choice to make. She was in dire need of cosmic powers that could assist her in fighting the darkness unleashed upon this world.
The memory of the villagers’ joyful faces, their unwavering belief in the ritual, lingered in her mind like the fading notes of a song. She had seen their hopes, felt the warmth of their faith in the surging spiritual energy of the temple.
Their faith is a living thing, she realised, a resilient thread that binds us all. Am I not already bound by this responsibility?
Why do I hesitate? she wondered, her thoughts swirling like the smoke from the incense. The power would make me stronger, and more capable of protecting these people. Yet, the cost... the cost feels too high.
What am I afraid of? Is it the power itself, or the immense expectations that come with it?
The image of herself, bound by invisible strings, flashed in her mind. Each string a prayer, a wish, pulling her in different directions. She saw herself dancing to the whims of countless unseen hands, her autonomy slipping away with each gentle tug. The thought made her shudder.
I can't become a puppet, she thought to herself. I can't lose what makes me... free.
Her mind drifted to the faces of the villagers, innocent and full of trust. They looked at the local deity with hope and belief. But what would happen when their desires turned selfish? When the purity of their faith becomes tainted by human flaws? Would I be forced to grant every wish? she pondered. Even those born from greed or envy?
Her moral compass, always pointing towards the greater good, felt fragile in the face of such potential manipulation. My duty is to protect, to shield the world from evil, she thought, But if I become bound to their every whim, would I still be able to fulfil my duty?
You fear becoming a puppet, losing yourself to the whims of others, her inner voice reasoned. But what if accepting this power allows you to set boundaries, to decide how best to fulfill your duty? The power does not have to control you; you can control the power.
Her heart pounded with the revelation. The chains she feared were not new—they were part of her, forged from the same essence that made her who she was. Accepting the deity’s powers would not change the essence of her responsibility; it would only provide her with the means to fulfill it more effectively.
"You are not a vessel for their every desire," the local deity spoke affirming Svetavastra’s self-revelation. "You are a protector, a guardian. You can use this power to shield them from true threats, to guide them towards the greater good, without succumbing to their selfish whims."
Is this what it means to be a god? Svetavastra thought. To wield power with wisdom and restraint, to use it as a tool for protection and guidance, not for subservience.
She opened her eyes, looking around the sanctum, seeing the dancing shadows and feeling the weight of the ages upon her. The gods depicted on the walls had faced their own challenges, their own moments of doubt and fear. They had accepted their roles, not out of a desire for power, but out of a sense of duty, a commitment to the balance of the world.
Svetavastra took a deep breath, feeling a sense of clarity wash over her. The fear of being bound by obligation was overshadowed by the understanding that she was already committed to protecting the people. The power offered by the deity is a tool, a means to an end, not a shackle. It would only be a shackle if I let it corrupt me and if I am dependent on it for selfish reasons.
It was her own heart, her own sense of duty, that bound her to this path. This wouldn’t be an external imposition. The flickering flames of the oil lamps reflected in her determined and clear gaze as she said,
“I accept.”
prasadam - food that is first offered to a deity and then distributed to devotees blessed with the deity’s divine grace