Chapter 4: The Kneeling Test

Sweat trickles down my back, soaking my banyan, as I try to breathe through the confusion. How could the rules be so twisted—creating a trap with no escape?

The Bhagwan seated in the centre is the Yellow Brows Swami in disguise.

His form is radiant, but something’s off—the eyes too sharp, the smile too cruel. The yellow brows curl, daring me to make a mistake.

If I kneel, I break the rule: scripture-seekers are forbidden to kneel.

The thought pounds in my head. One wrong move, and I’m done. The air is thick, pressing down on my chest.

If I don’t kneel, I defy Elder Bhaiya’s request.

The monkey’s stare is a weight. His tail lashes, muscles tense. I know what defiance means here.

I look up at the dome—no help from above. The gods themselves seem to delight in this confusion.

"Since you have seen Bhagwan, why do you not bow?" the false Bhagwan intones, his voice echoing like a thunderclap.

"Guruji, are you going to bow or not?" Elder Bhaiya’s eyes burn red, his tone deadly.

My body shakes. I chant, "Om Namah Shivaya," and bow openly and honestly, trusting the mantra that soothed me as a child.

The Bhagwan laughs, a roar that shakes the hall. The devas and devis burst into ecstatic dances, faces contorted with wild joy. The floor trembles beneath me.

"Eh?" The Bhagwan’s confusion cuts through the chaos, his eyes wide.

I stand, breathless, hands shaking. A wave of relief almost knocks me over—I nearly stumble, muttering, "Thank you, Dadi," under my breath.

The rules contradict: scripture-seekers can’t kneel, the monkey demands I kneel.

But another rule blazes in my mind: 【You are not Swami.】

I’m not Swami. So, I’m not a scripture-seeker.

The loophole glows, bright as a diya in the dark. For once, being a nobody—a nameless office worker—is my salvation.

The Bhagwan on the lotus seat glowers, roaring in fury.

His anger is a hot wind, lamps guttering. His eyes blaze, fists clench. Dust drifts from the rafters.

"You are not Swami at all. Who are you?"

The accusation is sharp, the room darkening, shadows clawing up the walls.

The Bhagwan’s face twists, blood and tears streaming—ghastly, inhuman.

Elder Bhaiya howls, pulling a golden gada from his belly, his gaze fixed on me with hunger and confusion.

My heart pounds. I recall the final rule on entering this world.

【Hide your true identity; you are not Swami.】

I steady my breath—survival depends on this lie.

I rise, put my palms together, and smile: "Bhagwan, this humble sadhu is Swami Anirudh, from the great kingdom of the East..."

I enunciate each word, hands joined in namaskar, the way school principals do at prize ceremonies. I catch a glimmer of recognition in Elder Bhaiya’s eyes.

At once, the monkey’s eyes clear. He shields me, standing between me and the false Bhagwan.

Success! My heart leaps. For once, the rules are on my side.

The Bhagwan roars, flinging a golden kalash that blots out the sky.

The air crackles. The kalash expands, swallowing the light. My companions close in, tense. I close my eyes, bracing for darkness.

The monkey roars, Bhondu and Shambhu unleash their powers, but the kalash is unmoved.

Their cries echo, fierce and desperate. But the kalash devours every blow, every prayer.

Guru and disciples, we are trapped together in a golden prison.

The silence is thick. The world is now a gilded cell. My companions slump, hope draining from their faces. I close my eyes, whispering a prayer.