Chapter 4: From Heaven to Delhi, via Fox Mandir

The Heavenly Raja remembers!

If there’s one thing the Raja never forgets, it’s a grudge. He keeps score like uncles counting borrowed sugar.

Remembers very well!

The celestial court’s pettiness was legendary. They said the Raja had an elephant’s memory; I think he had a secret diary with all our misdeeds in red ink.

After discovering I’d been engaged to Aryan for two hundred years and hadn’t grown even a thread of affection, the Raja lost his temper!

He summoned the full council, making an example of me. Even the peacocks outside seemed to shrink from his glare.

He refused to admit it was his son’s fault, only picking at my flaws!

Typical! Aryan could freeze the Ganga with a look, but apparently, the cold engagement was my fault.

Three hundred years ago, he said: “If devas fall in love, the three worlds will fall into chaos!”

The law was strict—no love, no fun. Everyone nodded as if he was reciting the Gayatri Mantra.

With one sentence, he blocked eighty percent of sadhaks, leaving only a handful of heartless path sadhaks to ascend!

Many dreams died that day. In the corner, a young yaksha sobbed into his dupatta. I just bit my tongue like a good bahu holding back a retort at a family dinner.

Three hundred years later, he changed his mind:

“How can the heartless empathise with all beings? From now on, sadhaks of the heartless path can’t ascend!”

Oh, the celestial hypocrisy! What was virtue became vice overnight. I wanted to laugh, but the joke was on me.

As soon as he finished, everyone looked at me!

Suddenly, I was the centre of attention. Even the wind paused, waiting for drama. I did nothing.

I was the only acquired deva in the upper court, and the only one on the heartless path!

A one-woman show, with the spotlight burning. If only they knew how little I cared.

The Raja smiled at me: “The war goddess will surely take the lead in enforcing the new law, right?”

His voice was honeyed, every word a barb. I wanted to spit back, but diplomacy held me.

He wanted me to go to the mortal world, and only if I grew threads of affection could I return as a deva!

Just like that, my job was replaced with a quest worthy of a third-rate mythological serial.

Unbelievable!

Even the asuras wouldn’t have thought up such a punishment. I almost admired his creativity.

A brand new kind of malicious dismissal!

‘Paid leave,’ he called it. I called it ‘get lost and don’t come back till you fix your attitude.’

The Raja’s intention was to throw me down to earth, seal my powers, and leave my fate to luck!

No golden parachute, no secret blessings. Just me, stripped down, left to wander like a regular mortal.

Whether I could grow threads of affection or return at all depended on my luck!

Destiny, that moody aunty, would have the last say. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous.

But Aryan intervened and smoothed things over a bit!

To my surprise, Aryan—awkward Aryan—actually spoke up for me. Maybe he was tired of being the Raja’s scapegoat, or maybe he cared more than he showed.

So the matter changed from malicious dismissal to paid leave!

‘Aaraam ki chutti,’ as Dadi would say. Still, exile by any other name is still exile.

The Fate Keeper came to me with the book of fate, telling me to go to Delhi and find someone at the Malhotra mansion!

He arrived like a sarkari babu delivering a notice. The Book of Fate smelled of old sandal and ink. He pointed at my destination—Delhi, the heart of chaos, and the Malhotra mansion, where secrets bloomed like champa.

“The eldest Malhotra son is destined to marry you. Fulfil this bond! By then, you’ll surely grow threads of affection and return!”

He said it with the confidence of a marriage broker, but I saw the doubt in his eyes. A marriage? Easier than forty days of fasting!

Compared to starting sadhana from scratch, getting married sounded like a holiday!

I pictured lazy afternoons, silver cups of chai, and evenings spent gossiping. Not a bad punishment.

But I had a question!

No plan survives first contact with reality, and mine was no different.

“What if by then, I still haven’t grown any threads?”

The Fate Keeper choked, turning his head, then stiffly pretended he was just stretching his neck!

For a man with millions of destinies in his book, he was a terrible liar. His Adam’s apple bobbed like a frog in monsoon.

“Well, if you can’t... you shouldn’t be unable to...”

His voice faded. Even the ceiling fan seemed to pause.

In the end, he said, as long as I married Young Master Kabir, it counted as completing the trial—whether I grew threads or not!

A technicality! The heavens loved loopholes as much as any Delhi babu.

Pretty relaxed conditions!

I could hear Dadi: “Beta, just get married. Everything else will sort itself out.”

Just the Fate Keeper’s neck didn’t look relaxed!

He kept peeking behind me, nervous as a mouse at Holi.

I glanced where he kept looking!

I expected a celestial messenger, maybe a disapproving yaksha. Instead...

Hmm?

What’s that?

A blue gulmohar branch?

The memories rushed back, uninvited. Even the scent of gulmohar can be dangerous when your heart’s on the line.

After three hundred years, returning to the mortal world, I was all emotions!

The first thing that hit me was the smell—dust, sweat, frying samosas, and distant incense. It was overwhelming and comforting, like an old quilt in winter.

Mainly, I was annoyed at how unreliable those born-immortals were!

All their promises of smooth landings! Instead, I arrived with a thud, no instructions, no welcome. Just the distant cry of a channa hawker.

According to the Fate Keeper, I should have been the cousin seeking refuge at the Malhotra mansion!

I’d even rehearsed my lines—“Arrey, tauji, so nice to see you!” But fate had other ideas.

I thought the focus was on ‘cousin’!

I pictured family gossip, awkward intros, endless cups of tea. Fate had mischief in mind.

Didn’t expect the focus was on ‘seeking refuge’!

My only refuge was the open road, with not a friendly face in sight. Should I laugh or cry?

When I opened my eyes, I was in wild mountains, the only shelter a fox spirit mandir!

The forest buzzed with cicadas, the air thick with rain. At the clearing’s edge stood a tiny mandir, paint peeling, steps crowded by curious langurs.

For some reason, I really didn’t want to enter that mandir!

Instinct, or maybe memory, made my feet itch to run. I circled it twice, weighing my options. Fox spirits were never up to good.

So I walked away, heading down the mountain, planning to ask in the town below how far it was to Delhi!

The path wound on and on, stone steps slick with moss. I tied my hair up, determined not to look back.

But I didn’t expect the mountain to be so deep!

The trees towered, their roots snaking over the path. My slippers gave up, and soon I was barefoot.

I walked till night, still lost in the forest!

Light faded, jungle sounds grew louder. Fireflies danced above, and somewhere, a wolf howled.

Not only did I not escape, I ended up back at that fox mandir!

It was as if the mountain itself was playing tricks. My pride ached, but my stomach ached more.

My stomach growled, and I eyed the fresh fruit on the offering thali!

Bananas, guavas, pomegranates—glistening in the oil lamp’s flicker. Hunger doesn’t care for ceremony.

After a while, under the fox idol’s gaze, I took the fruit!

“Forgive me, devta,” I whispered, reaching out. Hunger had made me break rules before.

“This fruit doesn’t look sweet, I’ll help you try it!”

If only all my crimes were so considerate. I took a bite, juice running down my chin.

Fox idol: “...”

If idols could talk, this one would scold me properly.

That one try, and I ate them all!

Hunger is the best sauce. When I looked up, not a single fruit was left.

I have to say, they were really sweet!

A shiver ran through me—was it the sweetness, or a warning?

I know foxes can’t become devas, and fox idols can’t possibly be self-aware!

I told myself this again and again, but it felt like an excuse. The air was thick with a sense of being watched.

But eating all the offerings in front of the idol and not leaving a single bite, I still felt a bit embarrassed!

My cheeks burned, and I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting a scolding from the heavens themselves.

So I picked up the red chunni on the thali, shook it out, and covered the idol’s head!

There! Now it’s not in front of the idol anymore!

I patted the idol’s foot, muttering, “Bas, ab khush?” before curling up in a corner, clutching my now-happy stomach.