Adultery The Ashram: The Desire for the Sacred Angels

[shailu4ever]

Prologue to The Ashram: The Desire for the Sacred Angels
 
Hidden deep within an unnamed forest and accessible only through controlled transport, this Ashram is designed to exist outside ordinary reach. There are no roads, no mobile networks, and no casual arrivals. The isolation is deliberate. It ensures that everyone who enters does so with preparation, surrender, and dependence. The Ashram presents itself as a sanctuary of renunciation, where silence is virtue and devotion is discipline.
 
Young men and women are recruited as Sevaks and Sevakis through spiritual circles, word-of-mouth, and carefully curated outreach. Preference is given to those who are unmarried, widowed, or living alone, individuals seeking meaning rather than escape. They are not coerced or overtly deceived. They arrive willingly, believing they have been chosen for a higher path.
 
Once inside, identity is slowly dismantled. Each recruit is given a new ashram name, replacing their original identity with assigned roles and titles. Personal belongings are surrendered, framed as symbols of freedom rather than loss. Days are structured entirely around ritual, prayer, service, and silence. Questioning is gently reframed as ego, while obedience is praised as spiritual maturity. Advancement comes not through understanding, but through visible surrender.
 
Hierarchy is central to the Ashram’s functioning. As Sevakis progress, they are elevated through symbolic promotions that feel sacred and earned. Simpler garments, deeper rituals, and closer proximity to inner spaces reinforce the belief that they are ascending spiritually. In reality, each promotion tightens dependence on the institution.
 
A significant function of this Ashram lies in its interaction with wealthy and influential devotees. These individuals are carefully selected, guided, and kept separate from one another, each made to feel singularly important. Before meeting the Swamiji or participating in higher rituals, devotees undergo elaborate purification processes conducted by trained Sevakis. These rituals are slow, immersive, and framed in ancient spiritual and Ayurvedic language, emphasizing healing, surrender, and inner cleansing.
 
The Sevakis are taught that serving the devotee is equivalent to serving the divine. The devotee ceases to be an individual and becomes a vessel of faith. This framing quietly dissolves personal boundaries without ever naming their removal. Everything is ritualized; therefore, nothing appears improper.
 
Financially, the Ashram operates through implied exchange rather than explicit transaction. Devotees offer substantial donations in return for access, privacy, and spiritual intimacy, though nothing is formally priced. The absence of overt commerce reinforces the illusion of purity. Money flows as offering, not payment, allowing the Ashram to generate immense wealth while maintaining moral authority.
 
The Sevakis are never told they are part of a monetized system. They are taught instead that they are chosen instruments of grace. Those who begin to notice patterns, quiet disappearances, inconsistencies, unspoken rules, are subtly isolated. No punishment is visible. No confrontation occurs. Silence simply absorbs them.
 
The Ashram survives not through force, but through belief.
 
When devotion replaces questioning, exploitation no longer needs chains.
 

-- oOo --

[shailu4ever]

Hi Friends,

 
If you are already reading The Swamiji and have continued into Chapter 3, you may skip this Story.
 
This story is intended for readers who have not read The Swamiji at all, or for those who started it earlier but did not continue up to Chapter 3.
 
The story you are about to read is completely independent and can be enjoyed on its own, without any prior knowledge of The Swamiji. 

It is a fast-paced narrative that follows the journey of an individual who arrives at the Ashram as a last resort and, through unexpected circumstances, rises to become the top Sevaki of the Ashram in a remarkably short span of time.
 
Please note that this work is entirely fictional. All characters, events, institutions, and situations depicted in this story are products of imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events or organizations is purely coincidental. This story is not copied from, inspired by, or intended to represent any real-life individuals or institutions.
 
I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. Your valuable feedback and thoughts are always welcome and deeply appreciated.
 
With warm regards,
 
-- Shailu
 
 
 

[shailu4ever]

Scene: The Arrival

 

The helicopter’s shadow slid across the forest canopy like a dark prayer.
 
From above, the forest appeared endless, a vast green ocean that swallowed roads, villages, and the very idea of civilization. The trees merged into a single breathing mass, ancient and indifferent. Below that canopy, hidden in a valley that appeared on no map, the Ashram waited.
 
Inside the helicopter sat five girls, pressed into silence by altitude, noise, and anticipation. They were all young, barely adults, their lives still soft at the edges. Some stared straight ahead. One clutched the strap of her bag as if it might anchor her. Another mouthed words silently, perhaps a prayer, perhaps a promise to herself.
 
The girl seated by the window pressed her palm against the cold glass.
 
She watched the forest blur into movement, into inevitability.
 
She had imagined this moment many times, arrival, revelation, clarity. Instead, she felt only a dull tightening in her chest, a sense that something irreversible was already underway. She could not have said why. She only knew that the farther they flew, the smaller her former life seemed, dissolving into the green below.
 
The pilot had not spoken since takeoff.
 
Neither had the woman seated opposite them, a Sevaki, older than the others by at least a decade. Her posture was upright, her hands folded loosely in her lap. Her face had learned stillness the way stone learns cold. Her lips moved in silent repetition, eyes closed, as though the helicopter itself were merely an interruption between prayers.
 
A Sevaki returning home, the girl by the window thought.
Or perhaps someone who had never truly left.
 
The helicopter banked sharply, and suddenly the forest opened.
 
A clearing.
A thin, silver river cutting through the valley.
And there, nestled in deliberate harmony with the land, the Ashram.
 
It was smaller than expected. Simpler. Whitewashed buildings with terracotta roofs, arranged in concentric circles around a central structure that could have been a temple or a hall. Stone pathways traced careful geometry. Gardens bloomed in disciplined abundance.
 
Everything was clean. Ordered. Intentional.
 
Beautiful.
 
That was the first trap, though none of the five girls understood it yet.
Beauty that looked like peace.
Order that felt like safety.
 
The helicopter descended, and the force of the rotors scattered marigold petals across the landing pad. From the buildings emerged women dressed in undyed cloth, their movements synchronized but unhurried. They did not wave. They did not rush forward.

[shailu4ever]

.

 

They simply arrived, like water finding its level.
 
When the door opened, the forest rushed in, cicadas, damp earth, wind, the distant cry of something unseen. Beneath it all was another sound, so soft it was almost missed: chanting, rising from somewhere deep within the Ashram. A low hum, older than language, vibrating faintly against the skin.
 
“Welcome, sisters.”
 
The voice belonged to a woman standing at the edge of the landing pad. She was barefoot, her head uncovered, her presence calm but unmistakably authoritative. She appeared neither young nor old, as though time had stopped making claims on her. Her eyes moved carefully across the five girls, not lingering, not rushing.
 
“I am Meera,” she said. “I will guide you to settling.”
 
Not orientation.
Not registration.
 
Settling.
 
The word landed quietly, and stayed.
 
One by one, the girls stepped down from the helicopter. Their bags were small, each holding a reduced version of a former life: a change of clothes, a notebook, perhaps a photograph folded and unfolded too many times. When the girl from the window stepped onto the ground, she noticed how the earth felt beneath her sandals.
 
Softer.
As though the forest had not entirely released its claim on this valley.
 
The older Sevaki from the helicopter walked past them without acknowledgment, moving toward the inner buildings with the certainty of muscle memory. Meera watched her go, then turned back to the five girls.
 
“This is your first time here.”
 
It was not a question.
 
She gestured for them to follow.
 
As they walked along the pale stone path, the gardens closed in around them, jasmine and tulsi, hibiscus and marigold, blooming in careful excess. The air was thick with fragrance and humidity, pressing against skin, slowing breath.
 
At the threshold of the inner circle, Meera stopped.
 
“This is the place where old names rest,” she said calmly. “And new ones begin.”
 
The girls stood in a line now, uncertain, attentive.
 
Meera moved before them, one by one, studying each face. When she spoke, she did so without ceremony, as though the act itself required no explanation.
 
She gave four names first. Each was spoken once, clearly, and received in silence.
 
Then she stopped before the girl from the window.
 
Her gaze lingered.
 
“From now onward, your name is Ahalya,” Meera said.
“Here, you begin your new life with your new name.”
 
The name settled over her like a garment she had not yet learned to wear.
 
Ahalya.
 
She did not repeat it aloud.
She only nodded.
 
Meera turned and began walking toward the inner buildings.
 
Ahalya followed.
 
Behind her, the helicopter lifted again, its sound fading quickly into the forest. 

No one looked back.
 

-- oOo --

[shailu4ever]

Scene: Settling In
 

The Ashram was quiet, but not still. The air hummed with an energy too subtle to see but impossible to ignore.
 
The five new recruits walked in silence, their steps soft on the stone paths. Ahalya could feel the weight of the forest around them, the trees pressing in from all sides, ancient and watchful.
 
Above them, the sky was dimming, the last traces of daylight retreating into a thickening night, but the world inside the Ashram seemed untouched by time, untouched by anything outside.
 
They walked together, but each of the five girls was wrapped in her own world. Ahalya walked at the front, her senses heightened, every detail of the Ashram standing out in sharp relief.
 
The Sevakis they passed did not glance at them, yet Ahalya felt their gaze, not eyes, but presence, calm, focused, unwavering. There were no hurried movements, no unnecessary gestures.
 
They moved with purpose, like threads woven into a larger tapestry, their bodies part of the place, not separate from it. Their eyes were steady, their expressions serene, so unperturbed by the world outside that it was as if they had always existed here.
 
The path ahead split, and they turned into a courtyard. The ground was covered in soft, muted sandstone, and plants with names Ahalya didn’t know clung to the walls.
 
They were not ornamental, not exotic, just quiet, living things that had been allowed to grow into the place, merging seamlessly with the architecture, with the very air.
 
The fragrance of tulsi and hibiscus filled the air, but it wasn’t sweet in the way flowers usually were. It was a thick, herbal scent, grounding and suffocating, as though the earth itself had anointing to do.
 
Even the birds, who were seldom seen but heard often, sounded like part of the Ashram's heartbeat.
 
As they walked, the other Sevakis continued their tasks, unhurried, as if they were part of the same slow pulse.
 
Some were bending to water the plants, others moving in and out of the buildings, their movements synchronized, as if they had rehearsed them so many times they had become the Ashram’s quiet rhythm. 

[shailu4ever]

.

 
Each Sevaki had the same blank expression, a calmness that bordered on eerie, and yet Ahalya couldn't help but wonder how many had once been just like her, standing where she stood now, unsure, wide-eyed.
 
Ahalya felt the weight of her own nervousness. She tried not to show it, but the quiet of the place seemed to press in, making her feel as though her own thoughts were too loud. 

She glanced back briefly at the other girls.
 
One of the new girls, the one with the wide eyes, was walking a few paces behind, her face tight with anticipation. 

She caught Ahalya’s gaze for a moment, but quickly looked away, her shoulders tensing.
 
Another new girl, with the long dark hair, moved with a kind of purpose, but there was an edge of something unspoken beneath her composure.
 
The others were just as absorbed in the strangeness around them, caught in the same current that was slowly pulling them forward.
 
Meera led them without speaking, her presence almost like a force field, calm and certain. Her silence was steadying, but also, in its own way, unnerving.
 
There was a certainty in her step, a belief that this place, this moment, was where they were meant to be, that it was perfect as it was. And that, in itself, was what felt so off-kilter. Nothing felt forced here.
 
It was as though the very air conspired to make everything feel inevitable.
 
“There are no walls here,” Meera said, her voice calm, carrying effortlessly over the sound of the wind that stirred the branches above. “Gurujii says walls are for those who do not trust. We trust.”
 
Trust. 

Ahalya felt the word hang in the air like a question, a command she wasn’t sure she could answer. 

She glanced at the others, but their faces were hidden behind masks of composure, masks that hid whatever was stirring underneath.
 
She herself felt it, an edge of doubt, a gnawing awareness that something was happening underneath everything. 

Walls are for those who do not trust.

[shailu4ever]

.

 
“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.

[readersp]

Awesome intro Shailu ji!!!

[Pvzro]

Very nice plz continue

[shailu4ever]

.

Ahalya’s breath caught. There was something too quiet about him. 

Too undisturbed. It made her feel small, insignificant, as if the entire hall had already seen all of her thoughts and cast them aside.
 
“He leads evening meditation,” Meera whispered, her voice barely audible over the rising hum of the chant. “You all will join tomorrow. Today, you rest. You settle. You release what you carried here.”
 
Release what you carried here. What did that even mean? Was it just the bag she’d brought with her, or something deeper, something unseen, waiting to be shed?
 
They moved from the hall in silence. The gardens bloomed around them, but the air had thickened, become more oppressive.
 
Ahalya could feel the weight of the Ashram pressing in from all sides, and it was hard to breathe without feeling like she was somehow drowning.
 
Meera led them to a small, simple building at the edge of the inner circle. Inside, each room was bare, just a mat, a window, and nothing else. No personal belongings. No adornments.
 
“This is yours,” Meera said, her voice still calm, still unwavering. “We eat at dawn and dusk. We work between. We pray always. Questions?”
 
Ahalya felt the words vibrate in her chest. She had a thousand questions, a thousand doubts, and yet, looking at Meera, at the simplicity of the room, all of them faded away. The stillness was heavy, pressing against her, squeezing the words back into the silence.
 
“No,” Ahalya whispered, feeling as though the word was not hers to speak. It had already been chosen for her.
 
“Good.” Meera placed a hand on Ahalya’s shoulder, warm, but deliberate, a quiet seal. “You are safe here. You are seen. You are held.”
 
Meera moved to the next girl, repeating the gesture with the same calm assurance. When she left, the room was emptier than before, and Ahalya’s heart felt heavy in her chest.
 
She walked to the window. The forest stretched before her, dark and dense, as though it had no beginning and no end, just an endless sea of trees. Somewhere, deep within the Ashram, the chanting continued, growing fainter with each passing second, but still present.
 
Ahalya closed her eyes, and in the quiet, she could feel something begin to shift within her.
 
She had not yet realized it, but this would be the last moment she would ever truly feel like herself. The Ashram would slowly, inevitably, take everything she had brought with her.
 
The forest whispered. The Ashram waited.
 

-- oOo --

.

[shailu4ever]

Awesome intro Shailu ji!!!

Hi Readersp sir

Thank you for your compliments. Your encouragement means a lot to me. I’m excited to continue the story and hope you enjoy what’s coming next.

With warm regards

-- Shailu

[shailu4ever]

Very nice plz continue

Hi Pvzro 

Thank you for your compliments and encouragement. I’m glad the story resonated with you, and I look forward to sharing the next part soon.

With warm regards

-- Shailu

[shailu4ever]

Scene: The First Silence
 

The sun dipped low behind the forest, the sky briefly catching fire in streaks of amber and crimson before it sank entirely into the trees.
 
The day seemed to surrender in its final moments, and with it, the Ashram was bathed in an almost ethereal glow, half-shadow, half-light, as if the very land exhaled in a moment of reflection.
 
Inside her room, Ahalya unpacked her bag with a deliberate, slow grace that seemed to stretch the minutes, her fingers brushing over the contents with the reverence of a sacred ritual.
 
Each movement was measured, almost poetic, a young woman on the verge of something monumental. Three cotton kurtas folded neatly, an unadorned journal still mostly blank, the pages untouched and awaiting new truths.
 
And then, the photograph, her mother’s smiling face, ten years gone, captured in a moment of joy. The creases in the corners whispered the passage of time. Ahalya hesitated as she placed it carefully on the windowsill, the photograph a final tether to the world she’d left behind.
 
There was something about the act of placing it there that made her feel, for a moment, untouchable. She wasn’t just another recruit, she was still her mother’s daughter. She was Ahalya, perfect, radiant, standing at the very threshold of her adult life.
 
Would personal items be allowed here? The thought crossed her mind, but it was quickly dismissed. Unspoken rules had a way of becoming the strongest kind of control. Still, the photograph remained, a small rebellion, or perhaps a reminder of who she was before the Ashram could consume her entirely.
 
A single, clear note rang through the air, a bell calling them into the evening dinner and ritual. The chanting, which had been a low hum in the background, ceased.
 
The silence that followed was all-encompassing, heavy in its weight. It pressed against her ears, around her chest, as though the very act of stillness was a test she wasn’t sure she was ready to take.
 
And yet, in the quiet, Ahalya could hear the rhythm of her own pulse, the beauty of stillness in a world that never stopped moving.
 
Footsteps echoed in the corridor, the soft rustle of fabric brushing against skin, the quiet procession of those who would become her sisters. The air seemed to grow thicker, more oppressive, as though the Ashram itself was waiting for them, watching them with quiet patience. 

[shailu4ever]

.

They stepped out of their rooms one by one, five new recruits, their youth and uncertainty wrapped in a delicate aura of hope.
 
Ahalya was the first to move. She didn’t stride, nor did she linger. Her steps were poised, effortless, like a dancer who had practiced every motion for years, but with none of the tension of someone who was aware of how carefully their body had been honed.
 
She wasn’t just tall, she was elegant, her figure perfectly proportioned, like a sculpture still in the process of being admired by the world.
 
The curve of her neck, the delicate arch of her back, the grace in every step, she moved with a kind of natural beauty that made everything around her seem to pause. She wasn’t self-conscious, nor did she need to be.
 
She was simply Ahalya, the embodiment of youthful beauty and confidence at eighteen, unblemished and full of promise.
 
The others followed her, their steps more uncertain. Kavya, a girl with wide eyes and delicate features, kept glancing nervously at Ahalya, as if she couldn’t quite understand why this tall, radiant girl seemed so completely at ease.
 
The others moved with the awkwardness of girls who were new to this world, their shoulders stiff, their gazes darting between the stone path, the gardens, and the towering buildings.
 
Ahalya moved ahead, not because she sought attention, but because it came to her, drawn to her the way the sun is drawn to the horizon, natural, inevitable.
 
Her grace stood out amidst the quiet chaos of the newcomers, and the older Sevakis, women who had lived through countless routines in this space, watched her with barely concealed interest.
 
There was something about the way she carried herself that made her stand taller than her years.
 
Her skin seemed to glow under the fading light, and her eyes, deep, almond-shaped, with a wisdom she hadn’t yet earned, held an aura of someone destined for something greater than herself.
 
As they entered the hall, the simplicity of the space seemed to fold around them, heavy with history and ritual. Long rows of thin mats covered the floor, brass plates placed in perfect symmetry.
 
The air was charged with the stillness that only true ritual could evoke. The Sevakis moved with quiet precision, their bodies slipping into place with a seamless rhythm. Ahalya took her place at the edge of the back row, not out of humility, but because it felt right in the order of things.

[Pvzro]

Wow keep it erotic very nice to read it please continue

[shailu4ever]

Wow keep it erotic very nice to read it please continue

Hi Pvzro

Thank you so much for your compliments. I’m really glad you enjoyed the tone and flow of the story. I’ll continue writing and it will be very erotic, for sure. 

I hope the upcoming parts keep you equally engaged.

With warm regards

-- Shailu

[shailu4ever]

.

 
The girls behind her sat awkwardly, their movements stiff with nerves. Kavya, still unsure of herself, leaned closer to Ahalya, her voice a barely audible whisper.
 
“First day?” she asked.
 
Ahalya turned toward her, her gaze calm, unruffled. Her presence alone was enough to settle the young girl’s nerves, though Ahalya said little. Her serenity was enough to dissolve the tension that others carried.
 
“Yes,” Ahalya replied softly. The word was simple, but it carried the weight of her transition, the quiet surrender of everything she had known. It was the first step toward something larger, something unknown.
 
Before Kavya could respond, Meera entered the hall, followed by Gurujii. His presence washed over the room like the tide, not with power, but with the quiet certainty of someone who already knew everything he needed to know.
 
His face was serene, his movements deliberate. He was ageless, somewhere between fifty and sixty, but time had little power over him. Ahalya couldn’t help but notice how his calm strength mirrored the tranquility of the space.
 
As Meera and Gurujii moved toward the front, the room rose in one synchronized motion. Ahalya, elegant in her fluidity, rose with them, feeling the collective shift of energy around her. The others, still finding their way, stood with slightly more hesitation.
 
But in the stillness, it was Ahalya’s presence that drew the most attention.
 
When Gurujii finally spoke, his voice was soft but commanding, and it seemed to seep into the air around them.
 
“We welcome new sisters today,” he said. His words were like drops of water falling into a deep well. The ripples would stretch far beyond them.
 
“You have not come here. You have arrived.” His voice was a brushstroke, delicate yet unmistakably powerful, carrying an air of something ancient. The words filled the space, moving through them all like an incantation.
 
Ahalya felt the weight of the words, a quiet acknowledgment of her arrival. She had not come here with a decision in mind. She had simply arrived, as if she had been called here long before she even knew what was happening.
 
The silence that followed was profound, pressing into her chest, making the world outside her fade entirely. The metaphor Gurujii spoke, “shaped by the water, not the stone”, settled around Ahalya’s heart like an ancient riddle.
 
She was to let herself be molded, formed, as she moved deeper into this world.
 
The ritual began. Older Sevakis moved in perfect harmony, rising from their mats with practiced elegance. The five new recruits followed, their steps measured now, as they felt the weight of their new names and the quiet but firm authority of Gurujii’s gaze.
 
As they moved toward the kitchen, Ahalya felt something stir deep inside her, a knowing, almost inherent, that the Ashram was already at work shaping her. She wasn’t just part of this world. She was born to belong here.
 
The lanterns glowed softly as night settled over the Ashram. The forest around them had turned black and impenetrable, but the Ashram stood like a lighthouse, steady, unyielding.
 
Ahalya’s beauty, her elegance, her presence, her very being, was now part of the grand rhythm of this place, destined to blend with it, to be shaped by it. And the world around her, already starting to weave around her, was watching in silence, waiting for her to fully

-- oOo --

[shailu4ever]

Scene: The First Meal and the First Bonds

 
The evening sun hung low, barely a sliver of gold left before it sank into the thick veil of the forest. The Ashram, bathed in a fading amber light, seemed to hold its breath as the day wound down.
 
The air felt softer now, almost as though the land itself had exhaled, relaxing into the coolness of twilight.
 
Inside the dining hall, quiet reverence took root. The meal that awaited them was simple: plain rice, dal, boiled vegetables, and warm chapatis. There were no lavish spices, no adornments of flavor.
 
Yet, in its simplicity, the food felt nourishing, each portion equal, each serving measured with the same precision that governed every other aspect of the Ashram.
 
Ahalya, though new, moved with a grace that seemed completely in harmony with this place. She carried herself with a quiet elegance that turned even the mundane into something significant.
 
The tall, poised figure of an 18-year-old, full of life and radiance, sat slightly apart from the others, her movements effortless as she took her seat. She wasn’t self-conscious; she didn’t need to be.
 
Her beauty, a quiet but undeniable presence, hung in the air like a fragrance no one could ignore.
 
The four other girls, Kavya, and the others, sat beside her, a little more hesitant, their eyes downcast and their shoulders stiff, as though they carried invisible burdens. All young, youthful, innocent but hesitant, as it was their first day in the Ashram.
 
Ahalya felt their eyes flicker toward her but didn’t acknowledge them directly.
 
Her attention remained on the rhythm of the Ashram, on the soft symphony of movements around her, the sound of cloth rustling, the gentle clink of serving spoons, and the steady rhythm of forty women eating in synchrony.
 
For a moment, she closed her eyes, letting the simplicity of the meal settle over her. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now.
 
The day’s journey, the helicopter, the weight of what was happening to her, had all distracted her from the gnawing emptiness in her stomach.
 
But now, as she took a slow bite of rice and dal, the warmth spread through her, grounding her in a way that felt new, centered, alive.

[shailu4ever]

.

 
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. 

[rajesh93]

Nice Start Shailu

Keep it coming.