‘I need a minute. My feet are burning!’ Aman sat down, like Mata Kritika had taught him, and tucked his feet into the insides of his thighs, the warmest area of his body. This allowed him to meditate briefly and internally heat himself. He soon felt the blood coursing through his legs. Aman realized how much Vanyasa had changed him. A little over a year ago, he had been layering himself in sweaters and shawls to battle the January cold in Delhi.

Once the snow was cleared from their chosen spot, Idhika placed all the twigs and pine sticks to make a bed for the fire. Then, she collected a few bark shavings and dry grass—tinder—and shaped these materials like a huge green cotton ball. With a large branch, using her hard nails, she cut a V-shaped notch into it, and tucked the branch under her feet. The tinder was placed beside it. Picking up another stick, she placed it into the V-shaped notch and started spinning it, rolling the stick between her palms. After almost a minute, the friction brought on a thin glow from the notch. Sparks!

Aarti rushed to pick up the tinder and place it over the embers. Idhika gently blew on it and laid it on the bed of twigs.

In the valley, fire had always been blue. But the rocks embraced the odd redness of this fire, which brought to Idhika’s mind the lal bicchu. ‘Now tell us, Jagrav,’ she said with a deep sigh.

The wind had started to pick up. The rest of the Souls gathered around Jagrav, gradually finding comfort in their island of heat. In fact, it was also an island of light, for, in the moonless night, the surroundings far from the fire were pitch black.

Jagrav pinched the scar on his temple, from when Payal had punched him. ‘It was at dawn today that the Sabha and Samiti convened. All the chiefs and over a hundred Vanyasis had gathered by the Assembly to see off this decade’s batch of recruits.’

He paused and stood up, away from the fire. Then he crouched to the ground, appearing shorter than he was, and started recounting Sanaka’s address to the crowd: ‘There, on a pedestal, he stood, probably because that was the only way he could have been seen.’ He tapped his foot in frustration, imitating Sanaka, who always did that as a signal indicating everyone should settle down. ‘As all in Vanyasa know,’ Jagrav said in a low voice, mimicking Sanaka, ‘our reserves of Madhu are running low.’

Idhika gritted her teeth while Savitri started handing out pears and apples. Jagrav continued in the same voice, ‘And this has put the divine tree and Atmayog both in jeopardy. Over the years, Madhu has served the purpose of some of our most revered rituals, and without it, Vanyasa will wither. The valley’s continued existence is a testament to the fact that the Mahayatra, the most ancient of our rituals, has never failed before.’