Chapter 6: The Foundation Ritual

6

It has been two weeks since the matter of seeking a tablet at the Sabha Hall.

The days passed in a blur of monsoon rains and distant thunder. The peak was often wrapped in mist, making the world below feel like a forgotten dream. Yet, beneath the calm surface, I sensed the tension coiling tighter with each sunrise.

Kiran’s act has gone on long enough.

I must take action.

I chose a day when purple clouds filled the sky and summoned Kiran.

The air crackled with the promise of a storm, streaks of lightning racing across the horizon. The other disciples huddled under the awnings, whispering about omens and fate.

I brought him to the summit of Mahameru, pointed to the heavens, and said:

"Today, purple clouds rise from the east. It is a rare time of abundant spiritual flow, your best chance for foundation building."

My words were heavy with tradition, echoing the prophecies of our ancestors. The wind tugged at my robes, carrying the scent of wet earth and impending change.

"Take out the tablet and swallow it. I will personally protect your path today—you are sure to succeed."

A flicker of hesitation passed across Kiran’s face, but he still took out the tablet and swallowed it.

Then, he sat cross-legged and began to meditate. His heart pounded wildly, images of his mother warning him against the ways of the world flashing before his closed eyes. A half-remembered lullaby from his village echoed in his mind, blending with the storm outside. He folded his legs carefully, arranging his hands in a mudra. His eyes closed, breath slowing, he looked every bit the devoted sadhak. But I watched closely, searching for the tremor in his fingers, the tension in his jaw.

I was curious—what would he do next?

If he succeeded in drawing prana, he could not escape the sticky worm’s control. If he failed, his secret would be exposed and he would surely die.

Three hours passed.

I sensed the world’s spiritual energy gathering, the air thickening around us. That meant foundation building had begun.

Kiran’s forehead was slick with sweat, his eyelids half-open and unfocused—clearly, his consciousness was slipping.

Next…

What will you do?

By the sixth hour, Kiran had already fallen unconscious, and the sadhana was at its final stage.

Gathering prana in the nabhi, transforming prana into spiritual channels—this is foundation building.

Once this step succeeded, he would formally enter the Pravesh stage.

Of course, he would also be unable to escape the sticky worm’s control.

The outcome seemed set…

I truly was muddleheaded. How could a mere child overturn a mountain?

Just as I was about to give up hope, Kiran suddenly began convulsing.

My own spiritual power grew restless; I knew the sticky worm was anxious, afraid of something.

Then, the bones on his left side began to crack, spiritual power surging toward him.

The sticky worm did not want him to escape and was trying to force him to complete his foundation building—the sticky worm wanted his power.

Just as I was reeling in shock, Kiran’s face—half determined, half twisted with rage—began crawling toward the edge of the cliff.

I did not stop him.

I want to see what will happen.

He struggled to the edge, and without hesitation, leapt off.

Was he…

Committing suicide?

While I stood stunned, a crashing sound echoed from the valley below. But amid the impact, I clearly heard other sounds: a sharp, shrill wail… and a dignified beast’s roar.

The echoes rolled up the mountainside, mingling with the thunder. Somewhere, a peacock called in alarm. The disciples, scattered along the lower paths, looked up in confusion and fear. I stood there, a hundred questions swirling in my mind, my heart pounding as if the gods themselves were drumming a warning.

But as the echoes faded, a single question thundered in my mind—had I just witnessed the birth of a legend, or the end of a prodigy?