NOVEL NEXT Chapter 49: So It Shall Be
The air hung heavy with incense, curling in languid spirals that wove through the temple's sacred space. Acharya Parama moved with practiced grace, his robes trailing behind him, still fragrant from the sacred rituals. He handed out the last of the prasadam, his voice a gentle murmur as he offered blessings to the devotees.
Anasuya stood beside him, her sari rustling softly as she shifted her weight. She leaned in close to Parama, their hushed conversation filled with the kind of intimacy that spoke of years spent together, weathering countless rituals and ceremonies. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the intricate patterns on the edge of her sari as she waited for her husband to finish his work.
Aryaman, regal in his bearing yet humbled by the solemnity of the temple, walked with purposeful strides toward the priest. His cloak swayed with each step, His eyes, usually clear and focused, now held a flicker of urgency.
Just as he reached Acharya Parama, a flicker of movement caught his eye. He turned, his gaze drawn to the sanctum sanctorum. Emerging from the shadows was a figure of ethereal beauty—the water fairy from the lotus pond. Her white silk saree with its red border shimmered in the dim light, each step she took graceful and fluid as if she glided on air.
Aryaman's breath caught in his throat as he beheld the water fairy. Her presence seemed to command the very elements around her, an ethereal aura enveloping her form. Memories of childhood stories whispered by his nursemaid came rushing back—tales of spirits and deities that protected the natural world. He felt a strange connection, as if her gaze pierced through his very soul, revealing secrets he had yet to uncover. The shimmering hues of her saree, the delicate grace of her movements, and the serene yet enigmatic expression on her face captivated him. It was as though time itself had paused to honor her presence.
"Arya!" a voice broke through his trance. Aryaman felt a firm hand on his shoulder, the familiar grip of his trusted advisor. "We must speak with the priest about the fallen city," Sanjaya urged, his tone insistent.
Aryaman turned to Acharya Parama, who now looked at him with calm, expectant eyes. The weight of his duty reasserted itself. With a final, longing glance towards the retreating figure of the fairy, Aryaman squared his shoulders and addressed the priest.
"Acharya Parama, we need your counsel. The border city has fallen, have there been any unusual occurrences over the past few days?" Aryaman's voice trembled slightly, betraying the weight of his emotions. He recalled his last visit to the border city, a vibrant place bustling with life and laughter. The marketplace where merchants traded goods from distant lands, the schools where children learned under the shade of ancient trees, and the temple bells that rang out prayers for prosperity—all were now silenced. The thought of those familiar faces, now lost to the chaos, filled him with a deep, aching sorrow.
Parama's serene expression darkened, the gravity of Aryaman's words sinking in. Beside him, Anasuya whispered a prayer, her fingers tightening around the edge of her sari.
The priest hesitated, his eyes darting to Anasuya for a moment. He felt the weight of Aryaman's plea, the prince's earnestness piercing through his own fears. "There have been... unusual occurrences, my friend. But I do not know much." Acharya Parama's mind raced, recalling the ancient texts and oral traditions passed down through generations. The green light had always been a harbinger of turmoil. He remembered the stories his grandfather had told him, of a time when the world was engulfed in a war between gods and demons, the sky painted with the ominous glow of the green light. It was a symbol of impending chaos, a warning that history might be on the verge of repeating itself.
Aryaman stepped closer, his voice laden with emotion. "Acharya, I need to know what happened. When I walked into that city, it was an empty shell. Lives destroyed, homes abandoned. Please, tell me what you can."
The emotion in Aryaman's voice seemed to move Parama. The priest sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "All I know is this: a green light shone continuously over the city for several days. Then, one day, it vanished."
"A green light?" Aryaman asked, puzzled. "Why is that significant?"
Parama's eyes grew distant, as if recalling a story from long ago. "Many centuries back, a similar light was seen. It was before the Great War, a time when gods and demons fought relentlessly for many decades. That light was considered a bad omen, a herald of chaos and destruction."
Aryaman's face hardened. "Then we must be prepared. Whatever this omen signifies, we cannot allow history to repeat itself."
Parama nodded solemnly. "If you seek more answers, I suggest you visit the palace archives in Arang. There, you might find records from the time of the Great War that could shed light on this mysterious green light."
“How do you know I would find information at the palace archives, Acharya?” asked Aryaman.
“My cousin works there, Arya,” said the priest. “His name is Gopala. You can consult him, take my name. He will surely help you.”
Aryaman bowed to him saying many thanks and touched the priest’s feet seeking blessings.
“Tathastu.”
Tathastu - Blessing meaning “So it shall be.”