Amrit Kumar balanced a steaming cup of masala chai in one hand and a thick textbook in the other as he navigated the lush, tree-lined corridors of IIT Madras. The summer heat in Chennai had given way to an early monsoon, the air heavy with humidity and the distant promise of rain. Tall palm trees and ancient neem trees cast dappled shadows on the red-brick pathways. On his way to the morning lecture, Amrit stole a moment to admire the campus that had become his second home. He felt a mixture of pride and unease at being so far from home, and yet a quiet joy in being part of something alive and extraordinary.
At 19, Amrit was a BSc Data Science student in his second year, and he prided himself on being rational and analytical. He believed in logic, algorithms, and data above all. Every morning was a repeat of the last: class on probability theory, scribbled notes, quick coffee, a friendly joke with his roommate, and then the evening ritual of cram sessions under bright fluorescent lights. Yet today, like so many others, began with a fleeting sense that something was different, even though nothing had changed at all.
His roommate, Kabir, was already at their mess table flipping through a newspaper. The din of cutlery and chatter formed the morning symphony of IITM's dorm. Kabir waved Amrit over, grinning. "Slam that latest hackathon, or still living in a dream world?" he teased, pushing a stack of pancakes across the table. Kabir's tone was lighthearted, but Amrit saw a friendly competition in his eyes – their midterms were only days away.
Amrit chuckled and shrugged, grabbing a pancake. "I'll manage. Besides, dreams are useful. They help with vision." Kabir rolled his eyes and reached for his chai. Their friend Anjali, from the adjacent table, called out, "You two geniuses at least clean your plates after hogging my cooking!" Anjali had been appointed the unofficial president of the hostel mess committee, ensuring students got at least three meals a day. Amrit mouthed a quick thanks to her as he dug into the dosa plate.
The familiar banter made Amrit smile. Underneath the stress of algorithms and data structures, life felt ordinary. He was thankful for his friends and the comfortable routine, even if he sometimes wished for something beyond the daily grind.
He glanced at his phone's lock screen: a navy blue background with golden Sanskrit letters he had chosen himself – "सर्वे भवन्तु सुखिनः" (May all be happy). He took a sip of his chai, savoring the sweet spice, eyes drifting to the headlines on Kabir's newspaper. Nothing unusual caught his eye, just stories about the stock market and an upcoming cricket match.
The lecture hall was spacious, with high ceilings and sunlit windows overlooking the campus lawns. As Amrit settled in his seat, he noticed fragments of conversation around him. One group was debating artificial intelligence, another was puzzling over a tricky probability problem. The professor, Dr. Raja, a bespectacled man in his forties with a salt-and-pepper beard, began the lecture on Bayesian inference. But before he launched into probability formulas, he casually mentioned the day's special event: a rare lunar eclipse predicted to color the moon red, a sight to be seen.
Amrit, however, paid most attention to the cloud patterns outside the window. He wondered if the monsoon sky would clear enough to reveal the eclipse. "Just another astronomical phenomenon," he muttered to himself, though a small part of him felt anticipation. The clouds were parting, revealing stars one by one against the darkening morning.
By late afternoon, the campus seemed to hold its breath. Dr. Raja's lecture ended early, and students filed out, some excitedly discussing the eclipse. Amrit lingered to ask a technical question, and the professor joked, "Even as we chase logic and data, don't forget the mysteries above us. Be here tonight if you can – it's a rare sight!" Amrit nodded, half-listening, and stepped outside to catch the last rays of sun. The warm air was still, the sky a deep orange above the horizon.
In the late evening, the campus was hushed. The eclipse was scheduled to begin around 11 PM. Amrit sat in his hostel room, books scattered around him, working on a neural network project. His laptop screen glowed in the darkness, code lines reflecting in his glasses. He yawned and glanced at the clock: 10:45 PM. The eclipse was supposed to start in fifteen minutes. Maybe I should watch it, he thought, closing his laptop. Despite the fatigue, curiosity tugged at him.
He grabbed a light jacket and stepped outside into the night air. A gentle breeze ruffled the palm fronds overhead and whispered through the neem leaves. A thin crescent moon shone behind fragments of cloud, already tinged faintly red with the first signs of the eclipse. Amrit joined a small group on the quad lawn, spread on blankets and holding hot chai in mugs. Some had live streams pulled up on their phones.
Under the tall trees, the campus felt ancient and still. The only sound was the crunch of cicadas and the occasional call of an owl. Students whispered as the moon began to darken behind the Earth's shadow. Amrit sipped his chai, savoring the flavor more for comfort than taste, thinking how science class had taught him the mechanics of this event but he had never experienced one personally.
Then, as the shadow crept fully over the moon, a sudden wind gust stirred. Leaves rustled violently, even though the sky was calm. Amrit frowned, looking up at the moon now glowing a deep blood-red. A soft chanting seemed to float on the air, indistinct and low, like a distant mantra echoing from somewhere unseen. He turned to look at the others – some were hugging each other in awe, some had cameras raised.
Amrit heard a whispering in his ears, as if something had brushed his mind directly. He felt a surge of something ancient coursing through him, and his lips moved before he could think. "Om Namah Shivaya," he whispered, the sacred mantra of Shiva slipping from his mouth without thought. He felt a sharp pain in his head, a sudden ache behind his eyes. For a fraction of a second, the world tilted, and he saw something: a figure in flame-orange light, dancing a furious Tandava between the stars, his face both terrifying and beautiful. The scent of burning sandalwood filled Amrit's nose. Before he could scream, darkness enveloped him.
When Amrit awoke, everything was different. The distant sound of temple bells had been replaced by the soft hum of a fan, and sunlight filtered through thin curtains. He blinked and sat up with a groan. The room looked like his hostel, yet it was empty, as if everyone else had vanished. Was it already morning?
A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes, and his senses felt oddly heightened. He sat up slowly, the quilt still warm and smelling of chai and cumin – a memory of Anjali's cooking. It was quiet. Too quiet. Amrit swung his legs out of bed and stood slowly. A slight ache traveled through his limbs. Maybe he had overdone it studying, he reasoned. Perhaps he fell asleep after watching the eclipse and didn't notice time passing. Still, the emptiness of his memories unsettled him.
He turned his hand palm-up and was startled to see a curious pattern. There, etched faintly in red across his palm, was a lotus in full bloom surrounded by swirling, vine-like patterns trailing toward his wrist. Amrit drew in a quick breath. He rubbed at the design with his other hand, but it did not fade. The skin was smooth; it was as if the pattern glowed with a heat beneath the surface. He flexed his fingers, feeling a subtle energy thrumming through his veins. He blinked again – perhaps he was still dreaming. But the lotus remained, pulsing softly, as real as the water droplets from the tap still clinging to his fingers.
Heart pounding, he staggered to the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. His reflection stared back at him: jet-black hair mussed, eyes a little wild. But what truly caught his eye was his palm. The lotus marking on his palm reflected in his eyes, as if a bright flame were engulfing them from within. That same strange power that had felt terrifying the night before now made him feel strangely alert. Amrit wrapped his palm around the sink's cool edge, steadying himself. "What happened to me?" he whispered to his reflection.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was 7:15 AM, and a news alert lit up the screen: Eclipse Phenomenon: Strange Sighting at Local Temple. Eyewitnesses report chanting and lights. He tapped it without thinking: "…reports of lights and a chanted vibration during last night's eclipse near IIT Madras. Locals say the Ganesh statue 'opened its eyes.' University says investigations are underway…" Amrit's heart raced. Ganesh statue? The old temple on campus? His memory of last night was blurred, like waking from a dream. He shook his head, nearly dropping his phone. One thing was clear: this was not normal.
A knock on the door startled him. "Amrit, breakfast!" Kabir's voice called.
He hurriedly stuffed his shirt into his jeans and joined Kabir in the mess hall. The dining room was bustling, the morning light slanting through the windows. Kabir gave him a curious look. "Dude, you look like you survived a war. You didn't sleep?"
Amrit almost laughed at the question. He must look pale. He shook his head. "Forgot to set an alarm," he lied, forcing a smile.
Kabir picked up a newspaper and held it out. "Crazy news, man. That Ganesh temple on campus – remember the story from last year? The idol there supposedly moved during a Ganesh Puja. Now they're saying during last night's eclipse people heard some chanting and saw lights coming from it. Some even claim Professor Swaminathan saw the statue's eyes glow." He handed the paper to Amrit, who only half-read the sensational headlines about bizarre lights. "Pfff," Kabir shrugged. "I'm not saying I believe it. People see ghosts after midnight." He laughed nervously. "Guess it's better than studying, huh?"
Amrit forced himself to eat some idli, though his appetite was gone. The room felt strange – normal chatter about exams and lectures, but all he could think about was the lotus on his palm and the news about the temple. He needed answers. Taking a deep breath, Amrit left the cafeteria at a brisk pace. The warm sun was rising higher, but a strange chill still clung to the air near the temple quadrant of campus. As he walked under the courtyard's old banyan, he felt the rhythm of distant temple drums still echo in his chest. Around him, students and staff were beginning their day, oblivious to the strange event of the night before.
On reaching the Ganesh shrine, Amrit saw a small crowd gathered outside. Police officers had cordoned off the area, and a group of reporters was clustered near the entrance snapping photos. Fresh flowers and marigold garlands littered the stone steps of the temple, and thin curls of incense smoke rose into the morning air. The carved wooden doors of the shrine stood open. From where he stood, Amrit could see the idol of Ganesha seated at the center – an elephant-faced god adorned with a garland, his eyes somehow catching the sunlight and gleaming as if lit from within. It made Amrit's skin prickle.
Suddenly, Dr. Nandi emerged from the temple's side entrance. Amrit recognized him: the kindly lecturer who had taught him a bit of Sanskrit last semester. Dr. Nandi spotted Amrit in the crowd and beckoned him over with a raised hand and a warm, knowing smile.
"Good morning, Amrit Kumar," Dr. Nandi greeted him, his Tamil accent gentle. "Come to see for yourself?"
Amrit hesitated but nodded. He fell into step beside the professor. "I… I didn't sleep well. I saw the eclipse last night, and now…" he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the temple and the crowd, "this story. Did you… did you hear anything?"
Dr. Nandi's weathered face was calm. "Yes," he said softly, looking Amrit in the eye. "The temple chants were echoed by others during the eclipse. Ganapati removed obstacles for those who listened, it is said. But remember, obstacles come in many forms." He tilted his head and studied the lotus mark peeking from Amrit's sleeve. "Strange mark. It seems you felt the drumbeat deep within yourself. Lord Shiva's presence was strong last night."
Amrit pulled back his sleeve and showed the professor his palm. "What is happening?" he asked, voice barely audible.
"Change," Dr. Nandi said simply. "The cosmos have been stirred. This eclipse was no ordinary event. You have been touched by something old, something beyond ordinary understanding. Data and logic can only take you so far now. But perhaps you already sense that."
He then reached into his kurta and pulled out a folded slip of parchment. Amrit blinked as Dr. Nandi handed him the paper. On it were Sanskrit characters: ॐ नमः शिवाय. "Recite this slowly when your path is unclear," Nandi said. "It invokes the awakening of Lord Shiva. Keep it with you."
Amrit could only nod. The professor paused in the temple's silence, clasping his palms together in front of his chest. "Jai Shri Ganesh," he whispered softly, paying respect to the remover of obstacles. Then Dr. Nandi turned and walked away with quiet confidence, leaving Amrit alone with his racing heart and the distant echo of fading temple bells.
Amrit paused in the early sunlight, feeling faint at first, as though the world were tilting. Oddly, a strange calm washed over him despite his pounding thoughts. He wrapped his palm around the banyan tree's gnarled trunk nearby and felt warmth blooming under his fingers – as if the tree itself were alive and pulsing with the same energy. He had no answers, only questions.
Without consciously choosing a direction, Amrit found himself wandering through the campus's older section, past the ancient rainwater tank and old library buildings. The sky above was clearing, bright blue now, and a gentle morning breeze blew. The distant sound of a temple bell in the city far off became distinct, each toll clear in his ears. He suddenly realized: he could hear things before he might have noticed them. Birds chirping in the trees a block away, the rustle of magazines turning in a student's hands – the world seemed more alive.
His phone buzzed again, drawing his eyes. The news ticker scrolling on campus monitors said: "…Eclipse Phenomenon: Strange Sighting at Local Temple…" Amrit stopped dead. He hadn't noticed how far he had walked. The anchor's voice said: "…unidentified phenomenon witnessed near Chennai's Shiva shrine around 11 PM last night. Eyewitnesses reported hearing mantras and seeing an intense light. Local police remain baffled by security footage showing a sudden flash of light from the temple…"
Amrit's heartbeat thundered. The words in the ticker confirmed what Kabir had said – Ganesh temple, chanting, lights. The air felt electric around him. He could sense undercurrents of energy in everything: the flowers on the temple steps still tingling, the powdered red kumkum on the idol's forehead seeming freshly vibrant.
He closed his eyes. The bell's echo faded but left a vibration in his chest. He realized something had awakened in him. The tension in his body eased a bit as a slow smile crept across his face. Whatever had happened last night had not just upended the world's peace—it had changed him from the inside. Colors seemed richer, sounds more vivid. The temple wasn't just a building anymore; it felt like a portal.
Amrit took a deep breath of the jasmine-scented air drifting from a nearby courtyard. He opened his eyes to the blue sky. The calm stillness after the storm felt peaceful. In his mind, a single quiet thought crystallized: This was just the beginning.
He glanced back at the temple one last time. The Ganesh idol's eyes seemed to twinkle in the morning light. He smiled to himself and whispered under his breath, "I am ready." Whatever the future held, he would meet it head-on. He knew he had no idea where this path would lead, but for the first time, it felt right.
As the sun rose higher to chase away the shadows, Amrit Kumar stepped firmly into his new reality – no longer just a student of data and algorithms, but someone touched by the divine, with an unknown destiny awaiting him beyond the horizon.