Chapter 14: The Lesson of Three Fingers

The morning I woke up, my head still heavy, the sounds were the same footsteps, hurried
whispers, and the soft hum of machines. Doctors were still coming in and out of Bade
Ustaad’s room. The scent of medicines and sandalwood hung together strangely in the air.

The disciples had now started listening more to Angira. He was trying hard to keep everything
together. Some whispered he was over-involved with everything now, especially with Lila.
Last night, someone said Angira tried to touch Lila when she was resting. I wasn’t there, but
the whispers spread like wind in dry grass.

Chhota Ustaad had gotten into a verbal fight with Angira about it. Angira had said he was only
helping, and Chhota didn’t push further but since then, something had broken silently
between the two. They didn’t fight again, but there was cold air between them.

Chhota was still limping, his hand still bandaged tightly. But he kept coming back to Lila’s
room.

Later, the three of us Chhota, Angira, and I went inside to see Bade Ustaad. His body looked
so still under all the tubes and wires. Doctors stood like guards. They didn’t let us come close.

Then, quietly, we bowed and saluted him together, as was our way.

We knew, looking at his condition, that expecting a reply would be too much to hope for. But
as we raised our heads, we saw his fingers move three of them rising gently in response.

That one gesture spoke everything he couldn’t say.
That day, we learned something that won’t leave us in this lifetime
“It’s not the condition of the body, but the nature of the soul that answers with manners, with
calm, even in the face of death.”

It wasn’t just discipline. It was his truth. Bade Ustaad was not just a master of tantra, he was a
master of being.

But as we stood there, Ustaad rolled his eyes toward us. Slowly. With effort. He didn’t speak,
but it was like his gaze was calling.

He was pale. His chest moved slowly. I wanted to run to him, hold his hand. But we were told
to step out.

Outside, I noticed the politician had arrived again with gifts, again with the same air of
control. But today, he didn’t even look at Chhota. He spoke only to Angira, as if Chhota didn’t
exist.

Chhota stood quietly. He didn’t say anything. But his eyes followed the conversation.

When the discussion ended, Chhota walked toward me. His voice was low, but full of
something new. Respect.

“Vivek,” he said. “We should start talking about your throne ceremony. You are Ustaad ji’s
choice now. We need to make it worthy of him.”

I had no reply. I just looked down. He waited. Then without saying more, he turned toward
Lila’s room.

I stayed outside. But the door wasn’t fully closed.

I heard Chhota’s voice he was helping Lila sit up, adjusting her pillow. She was in pain, but she
kept saying she could manage. I could hear the strain in her breath.

“Why did you come out to the battlefield?” Chhota asked, softly.

“I couldn’t let them hurt you,” she replied, her voice trembling.

There was a pause. Then I heard Chhota again.

“Whatever happened last night... about Angira... it was a mistake. He didn’t mean anything. I
had gone for a bath and change. He was just helping.”

There was silence.

Then I heard Lila’s voice cold, distant.
“Still. He touched me without asking.”

She turned her face away. The room became quiet again.

Later, as I stood outside thinking, the manager and the politician came to me.

The manager was smiling this time. His voice had become softer around me.
“Vivek, your photo will come in tomorrow’s newspaper. With the politician.”

“They’ve already printed today’s article. You’re officially called the Throne’s Chosen. The
ceremony... we’ll need to fix a date soon.”

I didn’t say anything. My mind was still stuck in the hospital room.

I didn’t feel ready. But the world was already moving as if I had arrived.