The raw power emanating from her sermon could not be a make-believe practised pitch. Kuljeet refused to believe that. She hoped she had drawn something from deep inside of her and found her faith in that. In the same breath, Kuljeet prayed for her God to forgive her mistakes.

Kuljeet was drawn into her speech again, like the rest who simply stood listening. Tired souls showered with a bird song after a long season of barren winter.

‘Someone wise has written: True instruction is this – to learn to wish that each thing should come to pass as it does. And how does it come to pass?

As the disposer has disposed it; he has disposed there should be summer and there should be winter, and plenty and dearth, and vice and virtue, and all such opposites of the harmony of the whole. Now my question is why can’t we have more of the summer, and be thankful of plenty and be merciful of virtues – if he is a dispenser, we please him with our souls and leave the winters behind. If Lord Shani is the boon giver, we make him show mercy…’

Sukhmani and Gurbaksha joined in to see the spectacle for themselves. As the sermon unfolded, Kuljeet muttered to Arjan.

‘She is going far. Hope she has a happy journey.’

Arjan did not look too happy as he saw the woman unite the five thousand souls. She gave them breath to breathe, and sound to hear, made them think and ponder, made them wise and foolish at the same time. He sighed as he tightened his hold on the prayer book he carried. His calm voice with a touch of a quiver added, ‘One who acts in anger acts with pain and one who acts in outrage acts with pleasure… Hers will be a path of pleasure, till the outrage burns her out, hope there is something left for us to pick up from the remains.’

Arjan Singh with that prophecy walked away from Rajjo and he knew it would be for a long time.

Mehtaab stood there smiling, watching the huge crowds. Guru Maa Durga was shepherding them through the peaks and valleys of life. The cameras taped her sermon hungrily and Mehtaab knew it in his gut; the star of the God business had arrived.

The question was, where was she going from here?

Durga

DURGA

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WIND as old as time whispered in Rajjo’s ear. She was in Benaras on the eve of another winter. Located on the banks of Ganga, this town had pulled Rajjo towards it every year for the last five years. What she loved about the ghats of Benaras was how divinity washed down into the dirty Ganga, year after year, assuring her that she was on the right path. Though the Kashi–Vishvanath stood tall despite invasions, faith was fading fast here.