The morning light slanted through the window, spilling softly across the wooden floor as Ishaan reached Chapter 15 of his book She Who Became My Guru. The garden outside his Himachal home lay bathed in a serene, misty glow. The silence was not empty—it felt watchful, as if the trees themselves leaned in to listen.
His fingers slowed over the pages as the words awakened the images, not from memory, but as though the past had arrived, knocking gently at the doors of the present. It wasn’t just reading—it was reliving.
After years of earthly veterinary practice, Ishaan Sharma, now a quiet yet inwardly glowing man in his forties, found himself standing at the threshold of an unimaginable transition. An official letter from the Interplanetary Veterinary Alliance confirmed his posting to a lunar animal research center. The moon colony, once a scientific fantasy, had now grown into a peaceful sanctuary of learning and experimentation.
Ishaan didn’t hesitate.
With Vedika by his side, and their children—twelve-year-old Diya, a budding stargazer with a laugh like chimes in the wind, and five-year-old Ruhan, mischievous and wide-eyed—they climbed into their family space vehicle. The personal space car hummed quietly like a purring cat, its dashboard filled with soft-glowing panels. It wasn’t like boarding a rocket—it was more like taking a road trip through stars.
They flew over the Earth’s atmosphere, past its blue cocoon, then slipped into the milky silence of space. The children giggled at the floating toys and bubble-like drinks. Vedika leaned back, silent, her eyes filled with shifting light. Ishaan looked at her, her form silhouetted against the cosmos. So much had passed between them, and yet something had begun to flower anew in the silent understanding they now shared.
While Ishaan, Vedika, Diya, and little Ruhan floating through the velvet stretch of space in their cozy family space car, the journey felt more like a celestial vacation than a relocation. They made joyful halts at floating restaurants shaped like glowing lotus petals, where gravity played tricks and food gently orbited plates. Parks hung like magical bubbles in space, filled with soft, bouncing air-cushions and starry swings. In one dome, Diya danced in zero gravity while Ruhan giggled, chasing space bubbles. Vedika clicked pictures, and Ishaan, for once, let his heart soak in the joy—his family’s laughter echoing gently in the silence of the stars.
The Earth became smaller and smaller. And then— the moon rose, not from a horizon, but from deep within Ishaan’s chest.
As they descended toward the lunar habitat nestled on the inner curve of the Copernicus Crater, Ishaan felt an inexplicable shift. A presence.
His ancestral guru.
Not Myra. Not anymore. That image, once so blinding in its charm, now gently dissolved like moon mist in morning sun. Myra’s contemplation had dimmed day by day ever since they left Earth’s pull. And now, in this ancestral land—Pitru Loka as whispered by ancient texts—the guru of his bloodline seemed to reawaken.
“I don’t know why,” Ishaan said to Vedika one night after settling in, looking out the porthole at the glowing expanse, “but I feel like this is where he used to sit. Like… like the moon cradled him.”
Vedika smiled, wrapping a blanket around Diya who had fallen asleep on the reclining seat nearby. “Then maybe that’s why you’re here—to sit where he once sat, and see what he once saw.”
They had not brought their pasts with them. That chapter had gently closed back on Earth, in those quiet talks and opened hearts. Now, they were not trying to belong to each other. They simply were.
The moon colony was unlike any place Ishaan had imagined. Not silver, not sterile. It was alive in silence. There were bio-domes filled with blue-green vegetation, and soft artificial gravity gardens where animals from across galaxies were studied and healed. Ishaan worked at the Interplanetary Veterinary Research Lab under the mentorship of Dr. Laisha, a gentle lunar woman whose calm voice reminded him of Anjali’s—the same silence that did not demand, only listened.
There was something oddly freeing about space. You couldn’t carry your emotional baggage here; the void simply wouldn’t let you. It burned it away.
Gagan pinged him through interspace once with a cheeky message: “From Pine Crest School to Pet Moon School! Proud of you, space monk!”
Even Mr. Dutt sent a message, his voice aged but firm. “You always walked differently, Ishaan. I’m glad to see where that path led.”
Vinod, still sharp and full of data, had sent him a detailed analysis on lunar soil effects on quadrupedal muscle composition.
Govind had recently retired. Ranjana, now a joyful grandmother, had laughed during a video call, saying, “You always belonged among stars, Ishu.”
Yet, despite these distant voices, the moon had given Ishaan something he didn’t expect—stillness without loneliness.
One moonlit evening, while watching Diya draw little constellations on the frosted window, and Ruhan pretending to be a gravity-cowboy, Ishaan suddenly found himself thinking of Pine Crest School again—not the bricks or the uniforms—but the boy he was. The one who had stared too long at stars. The one who’d first heard Myra’s name like a bell inside the cave of his being.
“Myra was the flame,” he thought, “but Dada Guru was the wick.”
The insight struck not like lightning—but like moonlight. Gentle, cool, sure.
A few weeks later, while meditating in the transparent lunar chapel—a place designed for spiritual silence regardless of one’s faith—Ishaan had a vision. His grandfather, seated calmly on a rock, looking out over a field of light. Not a word spoken, but a hand raised in benediction. That was all. And everything.
He rose from that meditation with tears in his eyes.
Not sorrow.
Not joy.
Just… release.
Vedika met him in the corridor. She didn’t ask what he had seen. She only held his hand.
“I’ll cook tonight,” she said softly. “Even if the ingredients taste like moon potatoes.”
He laughed. “As long as there’s Earth masala, I’ll survive.”
Life on the moon was not perfect. But it was perfectly theirs.
They had adjusted to shifts in gravity and the delays in messages from Earth. Diya had made friends with a Martian girl named Nyra. Ruhan had adopted a small, shape-shifting pet that squeaked like a rubber duck. Vedika had started teaching yoga to fellow colony members—her classes were known for laughter and unexpected wisdom.
And Ishaan—he worked. He healed. He listened to animals who didn’t speak with words. Sometimes he sang ancient mantras while tending to injured lunar wolves. Sometimes he simply sat with them in silence, and they seemed to understand.
Slowly, imperceptibly, his sense of Self expanded.
He was no longer the seeker who needed fire to burn his doubts. He was the fire. He was the moon.
As Ishaan turned the last page of Chapter 15, the clouds over his garden lifted. A cool wind rustled the leaves. The birds were quiet, as if listening.
He closed the book slowly, placing it on his lap.
The wind carried the scent of earth and pine.
Somewhere in the sky, the moon waited.
Demystifying Kundalini 