Adultery The Swamiji: The Ashram of the Sacred Angels

[shailu4ever]

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Her thoughts had softened, and the weight she had once carried, the heaviness of her past, the confusion of her own mind, seemed to drift away, like the first light of dawn dispersing the night. It was a sensation of floating, not fully anchored, but fully alive.
 
She learned the names of the other Sevakis, though conversation remained sparse. There was Priya, a woman who had been here for two years and moved with such economy of motion she seemed to expend no energy at all.
 
Priya’s grace was fluid, effortless, as if every action was an extension of the world around her. Her hands never faltered, even as she moved through the heaviest tasks.
 
Ahalya watched her sometimes, mesmerized by how her presence seemed to fill the space without ever overwhelming it.
 
Radha, middle-aged and sturdy, worked in the kitchen, her movements sharp, precise. She chopped vegetables with such focused attention it seemed as if each slice was a meditation, each cut a prayer.
 
Ahalya admired her hands, strong, capable, with the kind of surety that came from long practice. Radha seemed to be one with the task, each motion measured and deliberate, the steady rhythm of the knife echoing the rhythm of the Ashram itself.
 
Leela was quieter still, her presence more like a shadow, always there but never intrusive.
 
She tended the lamps each evening, moving from one to the next with a kind of care that suggested she was not just lighting a lamp, but nurturing a flame, a soul perhaps, or a part of herself that only she understood.
 
Ahalya caught glimpses of her gentle hands in the soft light, the way she would hold a lamp for a moment longer than necessary, as though feeling the vibration of the flame.
 
There was a tenderness in her touch that Ahalya found both calming and enchanting, as though Leela was capable of seeing something the others couldn't.
 
Kavya, however, struggled more visibly. She was the one who fidgeted, who moved too quickly, who seemed always to be out of sync with the gentle flow of things.
 
Her hands trembled as she tried to grasp the rhythm, but the motions came out awkward, as if she were performing each action in haste. She asked too many questions that no one answered, her voice tinged with anxiety, as though her mind couldn’t settle on one thing long enough to understand it.
 
It was clear that Kavya's unease wasn’t just about the work. It was something deeper, something that seemed to pull at her like an invisible weight. Her movements were erratic, like the wind when it first starts to rise, a promise of chaos yet to come. 

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