The amber sun lazily kissed the mountaintops as Ishaan Sharma, now in his early fifties, sat at his favorite hillside retreat. A small tea stall nearby whistled a nostalgic tune, mingling with the pine-scented air. A familiar worn-out book rested on his lap—She Who Became My Guru. He wasn’t just reading it; he was reliving it. Each page moved not as print and ink but as a breathing echo of his past.
As the breeze gently flipped the paper, his eyes met the title of the next chapter—
An Earthly Union.
And the story flowed back into him like a forgotten dream stirring awake.
Years ago, after the cosmic intensity of Pine Crest and the silent wound left by Myra’s absence, Ishaan had found himself burning—not from pain, but from an overwhelming inner fire that refused to settle. No mantra, no meditation seemed to douse the intensity. His mind, often serene, was now flooded by Myra’s image—her laughter, her silence, the light she had once become within him.
It wasn’t romantic longing—it was something deeper, yet dangerous. A kind of spiritual ache that refused to dissolve.
His family began to worry.
One of his close relatives, noticing his silent decline, suggested an arranged match. A girl named Vedika—a poised, kind, and independent woman from a distant connection in the extended family.
Ishaan had never met her before. And with his inner fire still unextinguished, he wasn’t in a space to be picky or romantic.
So there wasn’t much waiting time for Ishaan to select the best match, as usually happens in selective arranged marriages where one tries to choose the best fit like picking out the right attire from a bundle. He simply agreed—more out of exhaustion than enthusiasm.
He didn’t do it for love. He did it like one reaches for water in a forest fire. A survival instinct. A hope that maybe this earthly bond would balance the heaviness of his unending contemplation. It wasn’t a step toward love, but a strategy of defense.
The marriage happened quietly, almost too quickly.
Vedika entered Ishaan’s world with her soft grace and subtle wisdom. She didn’t expect fireworks. But neither did she expect the coldness that followed.
For months, Ishaan remained aloof. Not cruel—but disconnected. He didn’t even realize it at first, but Vedika could feel it in the way he’d look through her instead of at her.
And then, slowly, his detachment turned into quiet control.
Not by intention—but by inner pressure.
He began instructing her on how to arrange things, how to speak, how to pray, how to carry herself in front of guests. He wasn’t trying to dominate—but the fire of Myra’s haunting presence was still flickering in his mind, making everything else appear dimmer, duller.
Myra’s image—mystical and radiant—had become his subconscious standard. And though he never spoke her name, the echo of her presence made Vedika feel as if she was being compared to a goddess she couldn’t see.
Unintentionally, Ishaan became a little dictator in the household, ruled not by ego but by the ghost of contemplation still clinging to his inner vision. He didn’t know how to shut it off.
One day, after a quiet argument over something trivial, Vedika packed her things and left for her mother’s house.
She didn’t shout. She didn’t cry. She just left—with dignity and silence.
That evening, Ishaan sat alone. The room was clean, calm, and lifeless.
And that’s when it hit him.
The stillness was not peace—it was punishment.
He looked around and found her slippers still near the mat. Her unfinished book on the side table. Her half-written grocery list on the fridge.
And then something inside him cracked open—not loudly, but like dry earth splitting quietly before rain.
He realized he had pushed away a person who had entered his life with nothing but sincerity. Not because he didn’t care—but because he hadn’t healed. Although he let her rest at her birthplace for a week, the very next week he went there himself, unable to bear the silence of her absence. With a softened heart and humbled spirit, he gently apologized for his behavior and requested her to return home, not out of duty, but because her presence had unknowingly become a part of his healing.
Standing in the threshold of her childhood home, he looked at her and said, “I was wrong. Not in words, but in spirit. I never meant to hurt you. I think I was punishing myself… and you got caught in it.”
Vedika looked at him—not angry, but unsure. Still, something in his eyes made her return.
Not out of fear. But hope.
After that turning point, a quiet shift entered their lives.
The distance between them became a bridge rather than a wall.
Yet, for years, neither spoke of their past love stories. It was an unspoken agreement—not out of fear, but because the moment hadn’t yet arrived. They lived with greater ease, greater respect. Still, there was something unsaid—something resting quietly between them.
Then one day, much later, something unexpected happened.
Ishaan experienced another glimpse of awakening—this time, not alone under stars or beside lakes, but through Vedika herself.
It wasn’t dramatic. It was tender. A look she gave, a phrase she whispered, something about her presence cracked open another layer of his being. And in that silent opening, he felt his purpose with her had somehow been fulfilled.
After awakening with Vedika — even stronger than before — the game turned over. He dismissed many people’s idea that Mayra would have been the best match for him, for now he believed Vedika was the best match. With her help, he had attained the highest awakening, which meant that his real aim was centered on awakening; all other goals were secondary. It was not only with him, but in fact, awakening is the real and final aim of everyone.
And it was only then, after that soft awakening, that the past could be shared.
One evening, sitting quietly on their rooftop beneath a golden sky, Ishaan turned to her and said, “There was someone in my life. She helped open something in me… I never understood what it was, but it changed me forever.”
Vedika smiled gently and said, “There was someone in my life too. It ended peacefully, long ago… but he shaped a part of me.”
They didn’t ask too many questions. They just listened.
And in that honesty, something melted. As if the past, which had been frozen in their silences, finally began to flow.
From that moment onward, something precious shifted.
They began allowing each other to live more freely—without pressure or expectations. There was still respect, still care—but no more invisible bondage.
They loved each other now in a new way—legally together, yes, and within human boundaries—but spiritually free. As if they were testing the truth of unforced love.
In those days, they reconnected with a few old companions—not to return to their past, but to dissolve it completely. To free themselves from the invisible layers of conditioning that silently shaped them.
A strange and beautiful thing happened.
Their love deepened—but in a completely unexpected way.
They didn’t become romantic in the usual sense. But they became truly loving.
Without attachment.
Without dependency.
They remained together but detached—loving each other without asking, needing, or expecting anything.
Now, as the last light of dusk dimmed across the sky, Ishaan closed the book softly and placed it against his chest.
The deodars swayed above him like old monks whispering prayers.
He smiled—not with pride, but with peace.
What began as a marriage of necessity had become a love beyond all conditions.
Not because they held on—but because they finally let go.
And in that letting go, they found a bond that no fire could burn.
Demystifying Kundalini 