Recently, Rajjo had discovered another key player in the ashram, a middle-aged woman who was the second-in-command, called Sukhmani, or ‘Chhoti Ma.’ She was usually in a salwaar kameez, and covered her head with a dupatta. She wore no make-up.

Rani Maa in her mid-forties usually wore a mark on her forehead. With luminous skin and slightly tinted lips, she looked radiant. And then there was the tall and broad Mehtaab Sarkaria who always wore a white turban and white kurta-pyjama. He made a formidable figure and his eyes drowned you. He commanded attention even in the picture in the brochure.

Rajjo lapped up the brochure the moment it had arrived the night before and she was amused to see the giggling girls poring over it in the kitchen. The girl with furious acne and thick-rimmed black glasses muttered, ‘I heard Mai fighting with my dad who was teasing her for being a follower here. Mai told him off. And then my father and my mother had an argument where he said that he had friends who followed and worked in the organization closely. Some associated with them for business purposes too, and they said it was a crazy fest in there… that Sarkaria is sleeping with your demi-goddess. They are all flesh and blood! And they are making pots of money selling God!’

The other girls gasped. They were hurriedly shooed out of the kitchen by Mai who suspected trouble from the bunch of girls giggling together.

The giggly cackle soothed Rajjo’s soul and stirred something deep within her. She followed the girls to the community eating area where people sat in rows on the ground. Sewadars walked up and down between the rows to serve people and distribute langar. Rajjo picked up a steel bucket filled with piping hot vegetables and started working the line, her mind abuzz with what she had just learnt. A germ of an idea started forming. A sliver of excitement gently unfurled in her limbs. A desire was born again.

Without showing any sign of her excitement, Rajjo quietly carried on, working the line, as she hurriedly wanted to reach the coterie of teenage girls who had sat down to eat with the rest of the patrons. Rajjo found them strangely liberated. Just like Rahat.

Rajjo poured extra vegetables for them and smiled. On impulse, before moving to serve the next person, she leaned forward and whispered to the young girl, ‘Celebrate your sister’s beauty, envy won’t get you much. Open your heart to her, and your skin will clear up.’ The girl in glasses almost dropped what she was eating from her hand. Like she had been caught harbouring a bad secret.