Thanks to Savitri’s analogue wristwatch, which she had expertly hidden, Aman learnt of the turn of the year well in time and, on New Year’s Eve, spent a night stargazing with Fayza. She told him about her family, that she was an only child and, because she’d been homeschooled her entire life, how happy she was to have company her age in the valley. Shortly after that, the cold temperatures peaked. Everyone could tell the weather had turned—the sweet kiss of autumn giving way to a wintery punch. It was in the bite of those raw and icy winds that Aman felt the days rush past.

The numbness of the cold tore through the Dronagiri woods until it pushed up the mute shield of the Seven Hills and spread through Vanyasa. Pandayam Tal, too, looked bluer. The trees were naked, stripped of leaves, lying bare like the residents of Vanyasa. The bazaar was buzzing as ever, fuelling industry through the sale of bags, clothes and bowstrings made from spun fibre obtained by hemp cultivation. The eleven students were regularly given lessons under the shade of the Kalpavriksha; there, they were taught arcane symbols and fighting formations from an ancient Vedic manual.

Stories of Indra, whether from the Rigveda, the Puranas or the Mahabharata, were recited to the Souls. Aman struggled with daily readings of the Upanishads, partially because his thoughts were occupied with the box in Sanaka’s possession, and as each day passed, taking them closer to practising Atmayog, his worries grew. Of the students, only Aarti and Idhika had learnt Atmayog—and therefore had a Deh on their forearms.

‘Materialistic satisfaction adds no value to your life. Your body is the only gift you need,’ Acharya Ashwini would tell them repeatedly, touching his wrist every time, ‘for not all souls have the good fortune to find a dress.’

It was true, Aman realized. The circular belt of the mountains kept out of this realm all forms of materialism. Ostensibly, to the outside world, there was no valley, but Vanyasa subsisted secretly, revelling each day in its esoteric spirituality. Banana leaves were used as plates, while clothes were a commodity many did not find necessary. When the hardened bottoms of the village’s residents failed to find a charpai, their fortified attitudes urged them to sit on the floor. It was also as if the valley dwellers were oblivious to the decreasing temperatures and went about their duties as usual. The sun god Aditya was often eclipsed by Indra’s clouds, which quelled any hopes for warm water, but the Vanyasis’ regular routine of taking daily baths, using neem for brushing their teeth, finding unfrequented hillsides for relieving themselves and using earth—not soap—for washing hands was not interrupted.

In the second week of the new year, the winds gained in ferocity, almost appearing to taunt and hiss at anyone who dared to step outdoors. There was an impending frost in the morning dew. The drops trickled through reeds and froze the muddy walls, sucking out any warmth from within huts.