FORGOTTEN WHISPERS

Chapter 1: The Morning Encounter

Somnath, 6th June, 2024
Somnath Temple, The Heart of Devotion

Har Har Mahadev!

The sound of the powerful chant echoed through the air as the sun bathed the Somnath Temple in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows on the stone floors. The air was filled with the soft scent of marigolds and sandalwood, carried by the gentle breeze that rustled through the trees. The temple was alive with the sounds of bells ringing in rhythm with the prayers of devotees, the air vibrating with peace and devotion.

In the heart of the temple courtyard, Tara stood with her hands folded in prayer, her eyes closed in reverence. The soft rustling of her Anarkali gown echoed in the quiet space as she whispered to herself, “Har Har Mahadev,” her voice a delicate prayer that seemed to echo within the temple walls. The jhumkas on her ears twinkled softly, a gentle sound that blended with the rhythmic clang of the bells overhead.

Beside her, her best friend Anjali stood with a smile, watching her with affection. “Tara, aaj toh bilkul alag lag rahi ho,” Anjali said with a playful grin. “Thoda nritya toh karo Shivji ke liye.”

Tara chuckled softly, her eyes fluttering open as she turned to her friend. “Agar tum ne kah diya toh… Shivji ka naam lekar hi karenge.” With a teasing smile, she gently lifted her hands in prayer again, before beginning to move, her feet lifting gracefully from the floor in a fluid, graceful dance.

The temple drums started to play in rhythm with her movements, the sound of the beat mixing with her voice as she began to sing. “Namo Namo Di Shankara, Bholenath Shankara, Jai Tirobhanath, Sambhu he Shivaya Shankara…” Each word was an offering, each movement an act of devotion.

Her body swirled through the air, her jhumkas jingling in a soft, delicate rhythm. Her eyes were closed, her heart lost in the devotion of the dance. Tara moved with an ethereal grace, as though the divine himself was watching, her spirit intertwined with the rhythm of the temple, her soul one with the prayer she had been raised on.

Her every gesture seemed to reverberate through the temple, as if the world paused to witness her devotion. Her hands moved like the petals of a flower in the wind, her feet tapping the ground with an almost unearthly lightness, her eyes closed in perfect concentration.

At that same moment, not far from the temple gates, Ekansh stepped out of his sleek black car, his dark suit fitting perfectly on his tall, commanding frame. Ekansh wore a sharp, tailored black blazer,. The blazer hugged his broad shoulders and trim waist, creating a silhouette of elegance and strength. Beneath it, he wore a white, crisp shirt with the sleeves rolled up slightly, showing off the veins in his arms, and paired it with black trousers that fit him impeccably. He moved with confidence, each step a reminder of the power he held in the underworld.

His dark, tousled hair gave him a slightly rugged yet refined look, and his intense, sharp eyes scanned his surroundings with practiced, cold precision. He was a man of the world, and his every movement reflected that—controlled, powerful, and intimidating.

Ekansh had just come from an important business meeting, his mind still heavy with the affairs of the underworld. His presence was undeniable, a force that could not be ignored. As he walked through the street, his eyes roamed aimlessly when suddenly, a soft melodic voice caught his attention. It was pure, filled with such devotion that it made him pause for a brief moment. His gaze shifted toward the temple.

“Who...?” he muttered under his breath, drawn to the sound, the soft hum of her voice stirring something in him he hadn’t felt in years. His eyes narrowed as he moved closer, his steps slow, deliberate. The voice called to him, wrapped in a strange mix of vulnerability and strength. His usual guarded demeanor, honed by years of surviving the underworld, seemed to crack slightly as he continued to follow the voice.