Adultery The Swamiji: The Ashram of the Sacred Angels

[shailu4ever]

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Kavya, sitting beside her, ate with a small, hesitant grace, her body still curled inward as if she were shielding herself from something unknown.
 
Ahalya noticed, of course, the subtle way Kavya’s shoulders folded, her hands trembling slightly as she held the spoon.
 
Was she frightened of the Ashram, or was it something deeper? What was she protecting herself from? Ahalya thought, but said nothing.
 
The meal ended as quietly as it began. The same women who had served the food now moved with practiced precision, collecting the plates without a word. Gurujii rose, and without prompting, every woman in the hall stood with him.
 
The movement was fluid, effortless, like the Ashram itself was breathing in unison with them.
 
As Gurujii pressed his palms together in the traditional gesture of gratitude, Ahalya, without thought, mirrored the motion. Her long, graceful fingers met together as if guided by instinct, her posture relaxed, but regal, standing taller than all those around her.
 
The others followed her, their actions more hurried, less certain, but there was no rush here. There was no need for it.
 
Gurujii’s gaze moved over the room, a subtle sweep that never lingered but seemed to touch everyone in the room at once. His calm presence filled the hall. He didn’t need to speak loudly; his quiet authority spoke for him.
 
Ahalya could feel it, a soft, penetrating weight, as though every word he spoke held the weight of years, centuries of unspoken truth.
 
“We eat now,” he said, his voice low, yet clear, and with it, the room seemed to breathe again, exhaling a shared, collective sigh of satisfaction.
 
Meera’s voice broke the silence as she spoke to the newcomers.
 
“Sleep now,” she said, a hint of warmth in the calmness of her tone. “Tomorrow, we begin properly. Tonight, rest. You do not need to understand yet. Understanding will come through doing.”
 
Her words wrapped themselves around Ahalya like a soft cloak, a gentle reminder that no one expected them to know everything immediately.
 
No. The Ashram would shape them, quietly, patiently, like the slow and inevitable flow of water over stone.
 
The five recruits, still young, still unsure, followed Meera as she led them out of the hall. 

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