Chapter 1 - The Past & Present of Village (Ramapuram)
_Ramapuram, 1998_
Near Vijayawada, Andhra Pradesh, lay Ramapuram — famous for two things: its warmth, and its _Pala Cova_. The milk sweet was legendary, but the village’s heart was the _Dasavatara Temple_ of Lord Vishnu.
A 387-foot idol towered over the sanctum, showing all ten avatars in one form. Strange for such a devout place — there wasn’t a public Shiva shrine in the village. Only Vishnu.
Krishna Prasad, the Zamindar, was why Ramapuram thrived. He built schools, fixed roads, and gave homes to farmers. If a girl’s family couldn’t afford her wedding, he paid. If a student needed work, he arranged it. People didn’t just respect him. They trusted him.
His wife, _Lakshmi_, matched him in kindness, but her eyes held a decade of silence. Ten years of marriage. No child. She had fasted, vowed, and walked barefoot to Tirupati and Srisailam.
Nothing.
One evening, at _Sandhya Vela_, they went to _Guru Viswanathan_ — head priest of the _Dasavatara Temple_, astrologer, and head of the Gurukulam where boys learned Sanskrit, the _Ramayana_, the _Mahabharata_, and the _Bhagavad Gita_. More than books, he taught them how to live.
At the gate, a student stopped them. “Purpose?” the boy asked. “We need Guru Viswanathan’s blessings,” Krishna Prasad said. A boy named Vamshi ran inside. Guru sat in meditation. He opened his eyes.
“Did Krishna Prasad and his wife come?” he asked. “Yes, Guru,” _Vignesha_ said. “Send them,” Viswanathan said.
They sat before him, hands folded. “Well, Krishna, Lakshmi,” Viswanathan said. “No, Guru. You know why,” Krishna Prasad said.
“The child. You still wait,” Viswanathan said. “Ten years. We’ve tried everything. How long must we suffer?” Krishna Prasad asked.
“Please, Guru. _Anything_,” Lakshmi said, her voice breaking. Viswanathan studied them, then left. He returned with nine small shells.
“Amma, shuffle these. Then both of you — throw them together,” he said. “Guru, there’s no public Shiva shrine here,” Krishna Prasad said.
“There is one stone in the Gurukulam store. Old. Worshipped. Shiva doesn’t need a temple to listen. Throw,” Viswanathan said. They threw eight. The ninth slipped.
Viswanathan picked them up and counted. Silence. Then: “Eight shells. That means four.” “Four? What does it mean?” Krishna Prasad asked.
“Four is the sacred number of Lord Shiva,” Viswanathan said. “But for _us_, Guru?” Lakshmi asked.
“A message from Shiva. You will have a son. Soon. Don’t worry about that. Just do one thing,” Viswanathan said. “Anything,” Krishna Prasad said.
“Go to Srikalahasti. To the _Vayu Lingam_. Stay four days. After that, Shiva will send you to a second temple. Stay two days. Then return. In _Vaisakha Masam_, between 5:00 and 5:30 AM, your son will be born,” Viswanathan said. “Which second temple?” Krishna Prasad asked.
“Lord Shiva will guide you. And remember — when darkness falls,
Lord Shiva and Vishnu will walk,” Viswanathan said, smiling. Lakshmi wept. Krishna Prasad touched his feet. They left lighter than they had been in years.
**_
_Two nights later, 10 PM. A storm._
A knock. Lakshmi opened the door to a soaked boy, maybe 15.
“Amma, I’m Vignesha. From Guru’s Gurukulam. May I come in?” the boy asked. They dried him and gave him milk. “Child, in this rain? Now?” Krishna Prasad asked.
“Guru sent me. You leave for Srikalahasti tomorrow. I’m going to tell you about the second temple,” Vignesha said. “Tell us, beta,” Lakshmi said, eager.
“On the first day at Srikalahasti, go to Kailasa Kona. A boy named Ayyappa will meet you. He’ll take you there,” Vignesha said. They fed him. He ate, chanted “_Om Namah Shivaya_,” and left into the rain.
“Two boys,” Krishna Prasad said. “One from the Gurukulam, one at
Kailasa Kona. Both named Ayyappa. Lord Shiva is testing us.”
_The next day_, they reached Srikalahasti by 2 PM. The shrine didn’t stand. It _breathed_. This was the _Vayu Lingam_. Air given stone.
For three days they prayed. On the fourth night, they found Kailasa Kona. Cliffs, water, and a silence that pressed on the chest.
A torch. A boy’s voice: “Leaving, Krishna Prasad and Lakshmi, without meeting me?” the boy asked.
“Who are you? How do you know us?” Krishna Prasad asked, startled. “I’m Ayyappa. I live here. I’m to take you to the second temple,” the boy said.
“Doesn’t matter. First, see Shiva. Only then can we go,” Ayyappa said. “Where? It’s dark,” Krishna Prasad said.
“Close your eyes. Chant _Shiva_ and _Vishnu_. With your whole heart. If you’re worthy, you’ll see them together,” Ayyappa said. They obeyed. Ten minutes passed. Then — light. “Open,” Ayyappa said.
Before them stood _Artha-Shiva-Narayana_ — half Shiva, half Vishnu. Divine. Terrifying. Real.
And night was gone. The gorge looked different. They walked half a kilometre. A shop. A board in Kannada. “Lakshmi… we’re in Karnataka,” Krishna Prasad whispered.
“Where’s Ayyappa?” Lakshmi asked, panicking. Gone. A man, maybe 25, walked up. Calm. Certain.
“Krishna Prasad sir? Lakshmi amma? I know about your ten years. Srikalahasti. This place,” the man said. “Who _are_ you?” Krishna Prasad asked.
“Ayyappa told me everything. He had work. He asked me to take you to the second temple, and then home,” the man said.
Too shocked to argue, they followed. He lodged them and fed them. Months later, in Ramapuram, Lakshmi fainted. _Hospital._
“Congratulations. You’re going to be a father,” Dr. Vasundhara said. Nine months later, the first boy was born. _21 days later, Gurukulam:_
“The elder one. Born 2:55 PM, January 28th. _Poorva Phalguni_. Leo. Pick a name,” Viswanathan said. Five chits. They chanted and picked one.
Viswanathan smiled. “You have chosen the name of fury:
_Parashurama_.
The one with a mane who tears demons at thresholds.” Krishna Prasad and Lakshmi froze.
Then, after two years, a second boy was born. He was named _Dharani_ by Guru Viswanathan. Earth. Steady. Protector. Born May 27th, Pisces. Years passed. The elder drank the _Gita_. The younger memorized it.
Both joined the Gurukulam. Vedas, manners, discipline. Then the _Ramayana_, the _Mahabharata_, and the _Gita_. One son drank it.
The other read the same words, but his eyes went elsewhere.
At 16 and 18, their education was done. But Krishna Prasad was afraid. The boys were too different. And Guru Viswanathan had told him something that iced his blood.
He couldn’t tell Lakshmi. Not with her laughing with them like that. He would wait. The _Dasavatara Festival_ was in five days. He would tell her after.
_*_
_2016 The Festival_
Ramapuram’s August-September _Dasavatara Festival_ drew thousands. Plays, dances, and the Dasavatara Temple. That five days before it began, the village broke. _Prajapati’s House, Forest Edge_
Prajapati, Krishna Prasad’s friend, was a US-returned doctor. He wanted to build a free hospital. His wife, Chandrakala, was lost to black magic. She chanted in graveyards at midnight and tried to teach her children about tantric rites. No doctor could reach her.
On one _Amavasya_, she went to the graveyard between Ramapuram and Malappuram. She heard chanting — from _under_ the earth. A stone door opened. A woman in black stepped out, holding a severed head. Four men and an old man stood behind her.
“Someone’s here. Bring her,” the woman said. It was _Surotama_, 24, beautiful as a blade. Her father, _Meghanadhan_, stood with her.
They spoke in Malayalam. Chandrakala understood.
“We found her. You can use her to get your powers back,” Surotama said to her father. “Sure?” Meghanadhan asked. “Yes. She’s not mad.
She wants this,” Surotama said.
Surotama lied and said she would teach her after a ritual. Chandrakala saw through it. “You’ll kill me in that chamber and teach my ghost?” Chandrakala said.
Surotama blinked. Chandrakala walked away. “I’ll learn myself, even if it kills me.” _Amavasya, two days later_
Chandrakala found a book: _Burial Yakshini Mantra_. Chant 60 times, offer a 7-day-old corpse, gain power.
Prajapati took the children to town for festival shopping. At 10:30 PM, Chandrakala began the ritual with a little girl’s body.
_Malik_, Krishna Prasad’s worker, saw it through the window. Malik had served the house for 15 years. No one looked twice at a quiet man. He ran to Krishna Prasad.
Villagers stormed the house and dragged Chandrakala out. They tied her to a banyan tree.
Prajapati returned. “What’s happening?” Malik told him. Prajapati begged and fell at Krishna Prasad’s feet. “She’s a witch. Kill her tonight, or her magic will doom us,” Guruji said.
“Guruji, how can you kill her?” Parashurama, 18, stepped forward.
“You are a child. Stay out,” Guruji said.
“Please. She’s ill. Look at her children. Have mercy,” Krishna Prasad said to Guruji. “Support him, and you leave this village,” Guruji said.
Krishna Prasad couldn’t watch. He took Parashurama and Dharani, 16, and walked away, a helpless human being.
They cut Chandrakala’s tongue and hanged her. She died cursing them. Her spirit rose under the same tree. _Surotama_ waited.
“See? You said you’d learn alone. Now you’re dead. And your husband helped kill you,” Surotama said. “What?!” Chandrakala cried.
Surotama showed her a vision: Prajapati plotting with the villagers.
Fake. But grief doesn’t check facts.
“He never loved you. He had another woman. You were in the way,” Surotama said. “Where is he? I’ll kill him!” Chandrakala said, broken.
“First, power. Sacrifice your children to the Yakshini,” Surotama said. “My children?! Never!” Chandrakala said. “Then no revenge.
No power,” Surotama said.
The Yakshini feeds on maternal grief. Chandrakala’s was an ocean. On Kartika _Amavasya_, she killed her own children before the Yakshini. And became something else.
_15 days later. Festival Night, 10 PM_ Bandits attacked, led by _Manoj Singh_ — Malik’s real name. They burned Krishna Prasad’s house. “Lakshmi, take the boys. We have to run!” Krishna Prasad shouted.
The back door slammed open. No plan. No time. Four shadows. One house burning. They ran.
Manoj Singh saw the escape from the gallery. No words. Just a cut of his hand. “Bring them back. All of them.”
The forest swallowed them. Seven bandits behind. Four lives ahead. Krishna Prasad, Lakshmi, and their two boys ran through thorns and fear.
Breath too loud. Dark too close. And then — her grip went light. One small hand slipped from Lakshmi’s.
Lakshmi stopped breathing. “Prasad...” “What?” “Our son. He’s not with us.” Behind them, the trees moved wrong.
That wasn’t wind. That was men. Krishna Prasad looked into the black. Then one son is still holding him.
Two seconds. That was all he got. His jaw locked. He turned away from the dark. Silence.
And ran toward the _Dasavatara_. With one son’s hand in his... and the other son’s name tearing at his throat.
Bandits broke in. A lion’s roar shook the stone. A man — whose hair held a river, whose throat held poison — cut them down. “Uncle, who are you?” Dharani asked.
“Many names. Call me Sir. I’m the undefeatable force. The Protector,” the man said. “How do you know my name?”
“Your father knows me very well, child. Krishna Prasad saw that man closely but could not remember him. Then he whispered: ‘I am Shiva. I know why you were born.’”
“Take care of them. In 10 years, he will return. To honour your faith. To end the darkness.”
Krishna Prasad and Lakshmi looked at the son beside them, One hand that should have been holding another was empty, the other son’s name tearing at their throat. The three of them fled to Hyderabad.
_*_
_Now_
Chandrakala wants the village dead. Surotama wants Sanatana
_Dharma_ broken. Manoj Singh wants power through fear. And Dharani, who lost everything in one night, must face all three.
_*_
_2016 “Lakshmi Nilayam”_
_Present — Rajendra Nagar, Hyderabad_ Raghunath stopped the car. Krishna Prasad and his family stepped out. The nameplate read:
_Lakshmi Nilayam_ _A gift from your husband, Krishna Prasad. Happy Birthday, Lakshmi._
Lakshmi touched the letters. Her knees gave way. “What… what is this, Prasad?” Lakshmi whispered.
_Flashback — Phone, 4 Years Ago_
“Raghu? How are you, brother?” Krishna Prasad asked.
“Good, amigo. You? How’s my sister?” Raghunath asked. “All good. Lakshmi and the boys are fine,” Krishna Prasad said. He paused.
“Need a favour.” “Tell me,” Raghunath said.
“Build a house. In Hyderabad. Next to yours,” Krishna Prasad said.
“For?” Raghunath asked.
“Lakshmi. She never asks. Her birthday is coming. I want to surprise her,” Krishna Prasad said.
“Done. Consider it ready,” Raghunath said, grinning. “Thanks, Raghu,” Krishna Prasad said.
“One thing — name on the papers?” Raghunath asked. “Lakshmi’s.
Always,” Krishna Prasad said.
_Present_
Lakshmi was on the pavement, tears in the dust. Prasad knelt beside her.
She touched the letters. _Lakshmi Nilayam_. Four years of waiting, carved in stone. And she broke. Not loud. Not dramatic.
She just folded on the pavement, as if ten years of waiting had finally caught up to her. Krishna Prasad sat in the dust with her.
“I built this for your smile, Lakshmi,” he whispered. “Not for this silence.” He wiped her tears with his thumb.
“Three days before your birthday... and we came with one son instead of two. Forgive me.”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “But I promise you. I will walk through fire, through hell, through every shadow in this country... to bring our boy home.” Raghunath didn’t offer words. He offered his hand. Lakshmi took it.
“From today,” Raghunath said, “you grieve as a sister. From tomorrow, you fight as my sister. No more ‘you’. It’s ‘we’ now. And ‘we’ will find him.”
“Thank you... Anna,” Lakshmi choked. And just like that, _Lakshmi Nilayam_ gained three more people. Six months later:
A brother who refused to let her break. A brother-in-law who was already family. And a nephew who would carry both their hopes.
_*_
Soon, Krishna Prasad searched for a college for Dharani. There he met Mahesh Singh Rao Borli Chauhan — Raghunath’s son.
_First Meeting_
“Mahesh, come here,” Raghunath said. “Yes, Dad,” Mahesh said.
“This is Dharani. Be friends,” Raghunath said. Dharani offered his hand. Mahesh stared. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Two minutes.
Dharani’s hand dropped. His face grew hot. “Sorry. I was thinking,” Mahesh said, finally. “About what?” Dharani asked.
“If we could be friends. Logically. I don’t rush it,” Mahesh said. He paused. “The answer is yes. Brother.” He took Dharani’s hand.
Firmly.
“One rule. Be honest. ‘Always’” Mahesh said. “Same,” Dharani said.
Dharani walked home off-balance. _That’s just how he is._
_8 PM, That Night_
A knock. Dharani opened the door. Mahesh, soaked. “Mahesh? Now? What?” Dharani asked. “Son, is everything okay?” Lakshmi called from the kitchen.
Krishna Prasad shared a knowing look with Mahesh. “Nothing’s wrong, Aunty. I need to talk to Dharani,” Mahesh said.
“About?” Dharani asked. “The handshake. I owe you an explanation,” Mahesh said. “You apologized,” Dharani said.
“Listen. People want me because my dad’s rich. Or because I top exams. They don’t last. So I test. I wait. I see if they stay,” Mahesh said. “And?” Dharani asked.
“You didn’t. You stood there. Hurt. But you stayed. That’s rare.
That’s why I trust you,” Mahesh said.
“You could’ve said that earlier,” Dharani said. “Bad at emotional timing. Good at logical timing,” Mahesh said, grinning. “Then I’m your opposite. Deal?” Dharani said, laughing.
“Deal, amigo,” Mahesh said. They hugged. Raghunath and Swarna Priya walked in and stopped.
“Look. Like Rama and Lakshmana,” Swarna Priya said to Krishna Prasad and Lakshmi, smiling.
“God gave me two sons after all,” Lakshmi said, tears in her eyes. Krishna Prasad looked at them — Mahesh’s hand still on Dharani’s shoulder, Lakshmi’s eyes wet. “You’re right, Lakshmi,” Krishna Prasad said, voice low.
“If Raghunath and I could stand like brothers through fire... then these two will stand like that too. Not by blood. By choice.” _*_
_College Years — Osmania_
Two months later, Raghunath got Dharani into Osmania. Mahesh and Dharani became inseparable — lectures, notes, movies, and 2 AM chai. Brothers by choice.
_Osmania University: Second Year_ Dharani took Political Science.
Mahesh took Philosophy.
“Philosophy? You’ll argue for a living?” Dharani asked. “Better than arguing with corrupt people. You’ll need me when you’re ACP,” Mahesh said. “When. Not if,” Dharani said. “See? Officer already,” Mahesh said, smirking.
They topped their class. Mahesh chose Andhra University for his MA in Philosophy. Dharani started preparing for the UPSC.
_AU Selection Day_ Mahesh burst into Dharani’s house. “I got in!
Merit list!” “Andhra University?!” Dharani said, jumping up.
“Yes!” Mahesh said. “May Saraswati stay on your tongue,” Lakshmi said, blessing him.
“Thanks, Aunty. Dharani, what about you?” Mahesh asked. “UPSC.
I want khaki,” Dharani said.
“Then it’s ‘Yes, Officer’ from now on,” Mahesh said, mock saluting.
_One year later, Andhra University, second year_
Two months later, Mahesh left for Vizag. Dharani stayed, buried in books. Calls dropped. Messages went unread. _Debate Competition_
Dharani slipped into the back row. On stage: Mahesh Singh Rao Borli Chauhan, in a black blazer, leading the “Logic Team.” Opposite him: a girl with sharp eyes and a sharper voice. Placard: _Aparna Viswakarma, MA Psychology, Team Lead – Emotion._
Topic: _Logic vs. Emotion — What Should Lead Human Decisions?_ The hall was packed. Judges: Prof. Ramachandra and two others.
“You said logic prevents war. Fine. But who signs peace treaties? Humans. Crying. Guilty. Not equations,” Aparna said. Applause.
Mahesh didn’t blink.
“Treaties happen _after_ analysis — casualties, trade, resources. Emotion starts wars. Logic ends them,” Mahesh said. More applause. Dharani grinned. _Missed this._
“Logical analysis gave us the atom bomb. Emotion — regret — stopped the next one. Logic builds the gun. Emotion makes you hesitate,” Aparna said. The crowd _oohed_. Mahesh nodded, with respect.
“Good hit. But you confuse logic with amorality. Logic asks, ‘What’s the outcome?’ Morality asks, ‘What’s the _right_ outcome?’ Logic plus ethics — that’s wisdom. Pure emotion? That’s your mother refusing chemo out of fear. Love killing her,” Mahesh said. Silence.
Aparna’s jaw set.
“My mother did refuse chemo. For six months. To see me graduate. She did. Then she died. That was her _choice_,” Aparna said, quietly. “Logic would’ve bought maybe one more year of pain. She chose dignity. Don’t call that ‘love killing her.’”
The hall went dead quiet. Mahesh’s face fell. “Aparna… I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” Mahesh said, softly.
“You couldn’t have. You were doing your job — that’s debate. Mom would’ve liked that you didn’t pull the punch,” Aparna said. She paused. “So yeah. We’re good.”
Mahesh’s shoulders dropped. Not from forgiveness. From being _understood_. “Thanks. For real,” Mahesh said, with a small nod.
“One minute for closing statements. Aparna first,” Professor Ramachandra said.
“Logic is a knife. Emotion is the hand. A knife alone cuts nothing. A hand alone can’t defend. You need both. But if I have to choose what makes us human — I choose the hand. A world of pure logic euthanizes the weak, aborts the imperfect, and jails the depressed. Efficient. And dead inside,” Aparna said, standing. Thunderous applause. Dharani clapped the hardest.
“She’s right. Logic is a knife. But hands shake. They get tired. They get bribed.
