‘Really, old man?’ Yuvan scoffed. ‘Have you heard of science?’

‘Don’t differentiate between the two. The gurus that worshipped the gods were also scientists. That’s even by your modern certifications. Some of the foremost Western scientists that ever lived believed in god. The Upanishads have been credited by Schrödinger and Heisenberg. Lord Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita described the contemporary study of modern polarity, the negative balance of the subatomic realm, even the superstring theory. In fact, our study of planets and the sky has helped astronomers throughout the centuries.’

Aman’s sceptical mind took these words with a pinch of salt, though he wasn’t as vocal about it as Yuvan. He’d heard about godmen as silver-tongued as Ashwini who were full of hot air.

The acharya took a deep breath. ‘Our lesson for today. The ancient art of Atmayog is a privilege, a gift from the gods that allows us to understand his other children. It’s the ability to master your external distractions. And although its boon offers much, it also entails sacrifices. The smallest of these sacrifices is luxury. For it, one has to befriend discipline. With that in mind, your first session of Gurukul will see you sitting cross-legged.’ He waited until each of his students, even Yuvan, was sitting in the correct posture, with their backs straight, and then added, ‘But in order to succeed, this physical stance you currently occupy, with your eyes closed, cannot deter. Not slightly, no peeking or twitching . . . not until I ask you to.’

The instructions were clear: shut your mouth, shut your eyes and shut down all movement. Acharya Ashwini stood up and smiled at the unseeing faces of his nascent yogis. All eleven of them had their eyes closed.

For the next twenty minutes, Aman sat still, trying to stifle his yawns. It was getting difficult, but he was determined not to be the first to give in. At what point does this cease to be meditation and start becoming a nap?

Aman gingerly opened one eye. As he looked around, he saw that the other ten still had their eyes shut. The acharya was nowhere to be seen. Finally, Aman succumbed to the strain in his back and let go of his posture. Fayza had opened her eyes as well. Before too long, Aarti and her entourage, too, noticed the absence of the teacher and relaxed.

‘That’s Jagrav—don’t look—who’s approaching us right now,’ Fayza quickly whispered to Aman. ‘His father is some stinking-rich industrialist from Mumbai. And the person he was just sitting with is Savitri, a national-level boxer from Haryana.’

‘Have you two seen my smartwatch anywhere?’ Jagrav said. He had a big, shiny beard which, along with the wide frames of his designer glasses, hid most of his face. He didn’t bother waiting around once they gave no response, heading towards Ujal. But before he could reach him, Savitri’s strong arms had pulled him back to where he was sitting.

‘What use is it without battery? Here!’ Savitri drew Jagrav into a friendly yet firm headlock until his eyes were an inch away from her analogue wristwatch. Aman felt scared for Jagrav. Savitri had rugged arms that looked like they could strangle a boar. Her eyebrows were bushy and her skin pale. A ponytail fastened by fluorescent and red rubber bands ran to her hips. ‘Can you stop searching now, Jagrav?!’