Beyond Destiny ~ A Saga Of Timeless Love

19 ~ Blessing

"When I count my blessings, I count you twice. That's how much you mean to me."

Ruhanika

I carried a glass of milk, some nuts, and fruits into his chamber, my hands trembling slightly, not because of the weight, but because of his presence. Mahashivratri is a sacred fast, and while devotees can consume fruits, nuts, and dairy products, grains are strictly forbidden. I found him standing near the small altar in the living area, his broad back facing me, his posture commanding yet serene. In his hands, he held a silver Thal—an offering plate, gleaming in the dim light of the oil lamps.

He turned when he sensed my arrival, his eyes softening as they met mine. He didn't speak but motioned for me to come closer. My steps felt heavy, as though the air between us was thick with unsaid words. I set the fruits down on the table and stood before him, feeling a bit awkward, unsure of what was expected of me in this sacred moment.

Without a word, he dipped his ring finger into the Chandan on the offering plate, his movements slow and deliberate. He brought his hand to my forehead, applying a small streak of the fragrant sandalwood paste with a reverence that took me by surprise. For a moment, I was frozen. This was something my mother used to do, a tender gesture that felt both intimate and distant. After her, no one had performed this ritual for me. The weight of the memory pressed against my heart, stirring emotions I hadn’t felt in a long time.

He set the plate down carefully and reached for my left hand. His grip was gentle but firm, a contrast to the strength I had always associated with him. As he tied the Rakshasutra around my wrist, he began chanting mantras softly, the sacred syllables rolling off his tongue with sincerity. He is a devout follower of Mahadev, his faith unwavering. Watching him, I felt as though I was witnessing something profound, something beyond the physical realm. It was as if, in that moment, he embodied divinity itself, and though I had never been one to place my faith in God, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of awe.

When his eyes met mine, it was as though he could see every part of me—my strength, my fears, my vulnerabilities. A surge of emotions overwhelmed me. He wasn’t just the man I loved; at that moment, he became something more, something sacred. Without thinking, I knelt before him and touched his feet, an action that felt entirely out of character for me. I was never one to bow to anyone, but this wasn’t submission. It was respect, pure and simple.

The memory of his earlier transgression came to mind. He had crossed a line once, but he had apologized, recognized my autonomy, and treated me with respect. Respect—a simple thing, yet it’s what made me love him more than I could ever admit. He never saw me as an object or something to control; he saw me as his equal, as someone with my own thoughts, desires, and individuality. That was why, for the first time in my life, I bowed to someone.

“आपका स्थान हमारे ह्रदय में हैं, रूह।”
(Your place is here, in my heart.)

His voice was low, a murmur I almost didn’t catch. But I felt the words reverberate through me as I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. This was the moment I had waited for my whole life—to be cherished, to be respected, to be loved not as a possession, but as a partner.

"Don't remove this Rakshasutra," he added, his voice tender but firm. "You always fall into trouble; this will navigate you."

“I don’t get into trouble,” I protested, though we both knew that wasn’t true. I was clumsy, a magnet for chaos.

“True,” he replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “trouble falls on you.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his playful jab. His mood seemed lighter, teasing me like he always did when the tension between us eased. "I think you need to eat something. You're spouting nonsense because you're hungry," I quipped, trying to divert his attention, but he just raised his eyebrows in amusement.