The climb was sharp. Stone dug into skin.
The Saadhak’s feet bled, but he didn’t slow.
He was pulled now — not by logic, not by map —
but by a voice only silence could carry.
By dusk, he stood at the cave’s mouth.
Inside, skulls.
Hundreds. Lined like ancient manuscripts on forgotten shelves.
Some cracked, worn by time.
Some painted with fading vermilion.
Some still moist — fresh, as if the breath of the departed lingered.
At the center sat a figure —
half-man, half-shadow, draped in bones.
Kapali.
He did not greet.
He did not blink.
He simply picked up a skull,
held it close to his ear,
and laughed.
Not cruel. Not mad.
Just… timeless.
“This one,” he chuckled,
“claimed he found God in a spreadsheet.”
“That one,” he mused,
“thought lust was love until silence became her name.”
“And this one prayed for heaven — yet missed the miracle of breath.”
He tossed the skull aside like a fallen leaf, then picked up another.
The Saadhak stepped forward, heart tightening.
Kapali finally looked up.
Eyes like dying moons — pale, waning, holding secrets.
“You think I collect death?” he asked, voice low.
“No. I collect unfinished thoughts.”
He pointed to the Saadhak’s chest.
“You brought one. I can smell its weight.”
The Saadhak hesitated.
What thought?
What death?
Kapali stood slowly.
Reached behind his back, pulling out a small skull —
childlike, glowing faintly blue in the dim light.
The Saadhak gasped.
He remembered.
That dream. That voice.
“Why didn’t you come back for me?”
The boy he once was.
The questions left unanswered.
The grief buried deep.
“Every seeker must return for the child they abandoned,” Kapali said.
“Otherwise, even God will feel like a stranger.”
He placed the glowing skull in the Saadhak’s hands.
It was warm. Alive.
Then—
It crumbled to ash.
The Saadhak wept.
But not from sorrow.
From release.
Kapali’s lips curved into a knowing grin.
“Good. You’ve spilled something sacred.
Now you can carry nothing.”
Around them, the skulls began to whisper.
One word, rising and falling like a chant:
“Vairaag…”
“Vairaag…”
“Vairaag…”
Not mere detachment.
True freedom.
Kapali turned away.
“Go now, Saadhak. To the one who wears green and storms.”
“She waits with her back to the moon.”
“Her name is Maatangi.”