10-01-2026, 12:47 AM
Scene: Becoming
“You will spend this week learning the rhythms of the Ashram,” Meera said, her voice quiet but firm. “Not through instruction, but through participation. We do not teach here. We show, and you absorb. Like learning to swim, no amount of explanation replaces the water.”
Her eyes moved slowly over the five new girls, resting briefly on Ahalya, who felt the weight of her gaze in her chest. Then, without waiting, Meera turned and gestured for them to follow.
Ahalya’s heart beat with a low, steady thrum in her chest as she moved. Outside, the morning air had begun to warm, the mist turning golden under the sun’s rising gaze. It hung in the air, a delicate veil, softening everything it touched.
The light moved around them, filtering through the trees, dancing along the edges of leaves and grasses.
Meera led them to a garden, an expansive space behind the kitchen.
Rows upon rows of vegetables, herbs, and flowering plants stood in perfect, silent alignment. The air here smelled of damp earth, of fresh basil and thyme, of something green and raw. The earth felt alive beneath her feet, as if it too breathed with them.
“We tend this together,” Meera’s voice slid through the warm air. “Each morning after meditation. Three hours. The work is simple: weeding, watering, harvesting. But we do it with attention. Every movement is practice. Every breath is prayer.”
She knelt slowly, with an ease that looked almost like grace. The way her body sank to the earth, like a natural part of it, made Ahalya’s chest tighten. Meera reached down with both hands, her fingers sliding gently around the base of a weed.
She pulled it from the soil, her movements smooth, deliberate, the earth parting like soft flesh. She examined the roots, as if considering some secret within the dark soil, and placed it in her basket with care, a ritual of precision that took no more than thirty seconds.
And yet, it felt like she was performing surgery.
“Begin,” Meera said softly, her voice like a quiet wind.
The five new Sevakis spread out among the rows, each kneeling carefully beside their assigned bed. Ahalya found herself at a patch of tomatoes, the small, dark green plants heavy with fruit, their vines weaving into each other.
“You will spend this week learning the rhythms of the Ashram,” Meera said, her voice quiet but firm. “Not through instruction, but through participation. We do not teach here. We show, and you absorb. Like learning to swim, no amount of explanation replaces the water.”
Her eyes moved slowly over the five new girls, resting briefly on Ahalya, who felt the weight of her gaze in her chest. Then, without waiting, Meera turned and gestured for them to follow.
Ahalya’s heart beat with a low, steady thrum in her chest as she moved. Outside, the morning air had begun to warm, the mist turning golden under the sun’s rising gaze. It hung in the air, a delicate veil, softening everything it touched.
The light moved around them, filtering through the trees, dancing along the edges of leaves and grasses.
Meera led them to a garden, an expansive space behind the kitchen.
Rows upon rows of vegetables, herbs, and flowering plants stood in perfect, silent alignment. The air here smelled of damp earth, of fresh basil and thyme, of something green and raw. The earth felt alive beneath her feet, as if it too breathed with them.
“We tend this together,” Meera’s voice slid through the warm air. “Each morning after meditation. Three hours. The work is simple: weeding, watering, harvesting. But we do it with attention. Every movement is practice. Every breath is prayer.”
She knelt slowly, with an ease that looked almost like grace. The way her body sank to the earth, like a natural part of it, made Ahalya’s chest tighten. Meera reached down with both hands, her fingers sliding gently around the base of a weed.
She pulled it from the soil, her movements smooth, deliberate, the earth parting like soft flesh. She examined the roots, as if considering some secret within the dark soil, and placed it in her basket with care, a ritual of precision that took no more than thirty seconds.
And yet, it felt like she was performing surgery.
“Begin,” Meera said softly, her voice like a quiet wind.
The five new Sevakis spread out among the rows, each kneeling carefully beside their assigned bed. Ahalya found herself at a patch of tomatoes, the small, dark green plants heavy with fruit, their vines weaving into each other.
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