Chapter 4 Mahadeva
Meera stepped forward, breath caught, and said in short breaths, "This is… Lord Shiva's mark."
"It's Mahadev's yantra. This is a Shiva shrine… hidden for who knows how long."
Dadi Kaushalya crossed herself and whispered,
"We should not disturb this place."
"We're not disturbing it," Dhruv said.
"We're being led here."
A low rumble echoed beneath their feet as he pressed a palm against the stone. A rock section shifted inward, revealing a sloping entrance beneath the earth.
Without hesitation, Dhruv stepped inside. People also entered cautiously along with Dhruv.
Inside, the cave opened into a vast hollow chamber lit by shafts of golden sunlight from cracks above. At the center stood a majestic statue of Lord Shiva in a meditative pose, untouched by time.
Not a statue—no, not just a statue. It was something more. A representation of divinity carved with such reverence that the very air around it felt sacred.
Shiva sat in perfect meditation, one hand resting on his knee, the other holding the trident. His third eye gleamed with a gemstone that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat.
The air hummed with energy.
And then, the people fell to their knees.
"Mahadeva," whispered one, tears streaking down his dirt-smeared cheeks.
Meera dropped beside Rudra and bowed low.
"Help us, Lord," she cried.
"Save your children."
Others followed, their pleas rising in unison, a chorus of desperation and faith.
Then, as if in response, Shiva's third eye blazed. A searing white-gold light radiated through the chamber, and the very stone trembled.
A low, grinding noise echoed from behind the statue. A hidden doorway, flush against the rock wall, cracked open.
All people simultaneously looked over the rock and saw a crack hidden by the rock. All the people gather around the crack.
No one spoke.
Then Dhruv stood and said, "With me."
Dhruv took the first step. The corridor beyond was narrow, lined with murals depicting warriors bathed in light, striking down demonic beasts with their bare hands. As they walked, the glow from the murals illuminated their path.
They emerged into a sanctum. Scrolls and tablets lined the walls, stored in stone alcoves. Weapons of strange design—blades, staffs, rings, gauntlets—were mounted along the walls, untouched by time.
When they emerged into the inner sanctum, gasps of awe filled the air.
Behind the door, a narrow corridor led deeper underground.
Dhruv entered first, sword ready. Inside, they found what could only be called a sanctum—a place of lost knowledge.
Meera stepped forward, her eyes wide, and said, "These symbols… they speak of spiritual energy… 'Prana', 'Kundalini', 'Bindu Chakra'…"
Meera approached a scroll, brushing dust from its surface. Her eyes widened as she read.
"Dhruv," she whispered.
"This... this is knowledge from before time. Look. 'The path of the inner sun, the opening of chakras, the awakening of prana.' These are techniques for absorbing spiritual energy."
Dhruv read aloud from one scroll:
[ In the Age before the Age, when the stars walked the Earth and Bharat knew no steel, only spirit, the world was rich with spiritual force. Our people harnessed this energy, not through machines, but through the breath, the will, the sacred arts. But when Earth's essence waned, the people left. These scriptures remain a seed of revival. Those who awaken may reclaim what was lost. ]
"They left this for us," he said.
"Whoever they were, they knew we'd need it one day."
Dhruv picked up a blade unlike any he'd seen. It thrummed with silent power.
An elder woman stepped forward, clutching a scroll, and said, "Here. It also says their people left Earth when its spiritual energy declined. But they planted these seeds for us to find. They knew one day, the power would return."
Jatin looked from the scrolls to Dhruv and asked, "What does this mean for us?"
Dhruv turned, face lit by the golden glow and replied "It means we have a chance. These teachings can make us stronger. Maybe not all of us can become warriors, but each of us can awaken something."
A murmur spread among the people. Hope, fragile and flickering, began to grow.
"We start tonight," Dhruv said.
"Tomorrow, we begin learning."
"Everyone can absorb spiritual energy to some degree. It depends on talent, yes. But with practice, even those with little natural ability can become strong."
A heavy silence followed. Then Meera stepped forward, raising her hand.
"Then let us begin."
And with that, the group accepted Dhruv as their leader. They collected the scrolls, stored the ancient weapons, and returned to their hidden refuge, where training began.
When they returned to the ruins that night, transformed by what they had seen. Within the broken shell of a once-grand hall, they created a makeshift dojo.
Meera cleared a space for meditation and healing; Dhruv drew training circles into the dirt. The ancient scrolls were treated like sacred texts, read aloud each evening by firelight.
As the scroll's text was in Sanskrit, only Dadi Kaushalya and Meera knew about it, and Dhruv knew only a little bit. So the work of translating landed upon them.
The training began with breath.
"Breathe in through the navel," Dhruv instructed.
"Visualize the energy moving up your spine. Hold it. Now release."
Some struggled. Others wept as the tension of days melted from their shoulders. Children imitated their parents, mimicking the poses, giggling until they too felt the subtle shift of energy.
Jatin approached Dhruv after a session and said "I felt something. Like warmth, in my chest. Is that it?"
Dhruv smiled and replied "That's the beginning. Keep practicing."
Meera taught the healers, her hands glowing faintly as she demonstrated energy manipulation. "Feel the wound," she said, placing her hands over a gash on Dadi Kaushalya's arm.
"Draw in energy from your breath, then flow it outward."
As the days passed, the group changed.
Under Dhruv's guidance, they trained each day. Breathing exercises, stances, and mantras from the scrolls. The children learned faster than the adults. Meera taught healing arts from the scriptures, guiding hands to manipulate life energy.