Adultery The Ashram: The Desire for the Sacred Angels

[shailu4ever]

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“Trust In what?” Ahalya asked, before she could stop herself, her voice barely a whisper. 

It felt like the question had been asked before, many times, long ago, by someone other than her.
 
Meera stopped walking, the air around her seeming to still. 

The moment stretched out, filling the space between them with expectation.
 
Her gaze met Ahalya’s. Meera didn’t answer immediately. She simply stood there, unmoving, as if the world itself had momentarily paused.
 
“In surrender,” she said at last, her voice quiet but filled with an undeniable force. 

“When you surrender completely, what is there to protect yourself from?”
 
The words fell between them, and for the briefest instant, Ahalya could feel the eyes of the other girls upon her, though none of them spoke. 

Their presence behind her was palpable, each of them listening, absorbing, becoming part of the question.
 
But this wasn’t a question that anyone could answer aloud. It was one Ahalya would have to answer alone, deep within herself, far beyond reason.
 
Before she could speak, the chanting rose, louder this time, vibrating against the stone, filling the air with a presence that felt too large for the space it inhabited. 

They had reached the central hall, and Ahalya froze at the sight of it.
 
The hall was vast, open on all sides. The walls seemed to dissolve into the surrounding greenery, and the roof, supported by massive carved pillars, felt more like a canopy than anything manmade.
 
At the center, a large, low altar sat, its surface bare, yet exuding an overwhelming calm. The sound of the chanting came from within the hall, but there were no singers, only women, seated in rows, their heads bowed.
 
Their voices, low and resonant, moved together in perfect harmony, one voice blending into the next, like a single living entity.
 
At the front of the hall, on a simple cushion, sat Gurujii. His appearance was plain, silver hair tied back, simple white cloth, but there was a gravity to him that made him seem larger than life.
 
His eyes were closed, his posture perfect. He did not direct the chanting, he did not command it. He simply sat within it, as if he were the still point around which everything else turned.