Chapter 7: The Healing and the Mystery

7

While treating his wounds and prolonging his life, I swept his entire body with spiritual power more than once.

In the dimly-lit chamber, the air heavy with the scent of eucalyptus oil and camphor, I ran my hands over his broken form, channeling my energy with care. A disciple brought a brass lota of water and placed it at my side. In the background, the soft chanting of a healing mantra drifted through the room, lending a sense of calm to the tense scene. The other disciples watched from the doorway, their faces drawn with worry and awe. The only sounds were the slow ticking of the old wall clock and the rhythmic hiss of the incense stick.

But I found nothing.

Only a fragile spiritual channel ran through his limbs and bones, and a faintly beating heart.

He had succeeded in foundation building.

But I had definitely heard the wail and the roar.

More and more disciples gathered, my apprentices crowding around anxiously, asking:

"Guruji, will little junior brother be alright?"

"What exactly happened?"

Their voices overlapped, some on the verge of tears, others trying to keep up a brave front. Someone quietly brought a brass tumbler of water, placing it beside me with trembling hands.

I shook my head to assure them all was well, then placed a Shatya-Healing tablet in his mouth.

The tablet dissolved quickly, a faint glow spreading from Kiran’s lips. I uttered a short blessing, and the disciples bowed their heads, murmuring silent prayers to their chosen deities.

"I have preserved his heart vessel. Once he takes the tablet, he will recover."

But just as I finished and was about to leave, on a sudden impulse, I split off my astral self to examine his injuries once more.

I scanned his whole body.

Finally, I stopped at his brain.

This…

What is this?

Probing his mind, I discovered a remnant of an insect’s limb.

No mistake—the bloodline resonance told me: this was of the insect race. And it was closely related to my own bloodline.

But there was something else in his brain. And it had easily killed and devoured the sticky worm.

I continued probing.

Until, in an inconspicuous corner, I glimpsed a fleeting golden tail.

What was that?

My astral self trembled violently—that was the terror one feels only when facing mortal peril.

Just as I tried to probe deeper, my eldest disciple Arjun’s voice suddenly called:

"Guruji, Vaidya Sharma from Aushadhi Valley has arrived."

With this interruption, the golden tail vanished without a trace.

I could only give up and withdrew my astral self.

Vaidya Sharma is the finest healer in Aushadhi Valley, his medical skills unrivalled. Perhaps he could find something.

But the result disappointed me.

Even Aushadhi Valley’s best could find nothing amiss.

After all was settled, I instructed my disciples: "Arjun, Meera, you two take Kiran back to his quarters. He needs to recuperate."

Meera, ever gentle, tucked the sheet around Kiran, while Arjun nodded solemnly and signaled for the younger disciples to clear the way. They moved quietly, as if carrying a wounded prince from a myth.

"This incident was due to his unique constitution. He attempted foundation building too hastily, absorbing too much spiritual energy and rupturing his channels."

"Let this be a lesson to all disciples."

"Sadhana is the road to moksha; you must advance step by step, never seek quick results."

All the disciples bowed in unison.

"We will remember, Guruji."

The crowd gradually dispersed.

I watched as Kiran was carried away by two disciples, lost in thought.

A single monsoon raindrop splashed on the stone outside, as if the mountain itself was weeping in relief. My heart felt lighter, yet filled with questions.

I knew I was not mistaken.

A path to salvation has appeared.

But there are still too many mysteries.

I must observe a while longer.

So I stand once more atop Mahameru, gazing into the mist. The prayer flags snapped in the wind, carrying my doubts and hopes into the swirling mist below. My mind races with hope and dread, and the old wind stirs the prayer flags above my head. Kiran may yet become the turning point for us all. But in Bharat, as every sadhu knows, only time will reveal what seeds have truly taken root.