The Sharma-Yadav homes in Delhi were unlike any others. Two grand villas stood side by side, joined by a wide veranda with no walls or gates between them. To outsiders, they looked like two separate mansions. To the families who lived there, they were one home, one bond. After all, the Sharma's and Yadavs were not just neighbours—they were in-laws, partners in power, and protectors of one another.
On this bright spring morning, the houses were alive with laughter. It was the fifth birthday of little Mukul Sharma, the youngest child of Rajesh Sharma and Dr. Priya Yadav. His elder brother Anand and sister Kavya had decorated the veranda with balloons and streamers, while cousins from both families chased each other through the hallways. In the heart of this joy sat Mukul, small and wide-eyed, with a sketchbook in his lap.
Instead of doodling cars or animals like other children his age, Mukul always drew the same thing: seven stars in a circle. No one had taught him this, but every page of his notebook was filled with those stars, drawn in his clumsy five-year-old hand.
That afternoon, the families waited for their most honoured guest. Acharya Raghunandan Sharma, the world-famous astrologer and spiritual guide, was more than a friend. Both General Raghav Sharma, head of India's three armed forces, and Devendra Yadav, party president and political giant, trusted his words. Acharya had seen the destinies of kings and presidents, but today, he came for someone much smaller.
When he arrived, the chatter softened. Dressed in simple white robes, his presence carried weight far beyond titles and power. After blessing the families, he turned his eyes toward Mukul.
"Today, we celebrate your birth," Acharya said warmly, bending down to the boy's level. "But the stars whisper much about you, child."
Mukul smiled shyly, holding up his notebook. "I drew stars again," he said softly.
Acharya's gaze deepened. He took the boy's hand, then gently shifted the collar of his kurta. Gasps rippled through the room. On the back of Mukul's neck, faint but unmistakable, was a birthmark shaped like seven shining stars.
The Acharya closed his eyes, his fingers tracing the air as if reading the invisible lines of destiny. Silence fell, broken only by the rustle of leaves outside the veranda.
"This child," he finally spoke, voice low but steady, "is marked by the Seven Stars. His kundalini burns brighter than most, yet his path is heavy. Before he turns six, he will be torn away from his family, separated not by choice but by fate."
Priya clutched Mukul protectively, while Rajesh's jaw tightened. Devendra Yadav exchanged a worried glance with General Raghav, both men unused to feeling helpless.
Acharya continued, "But separation is not the end—it is the beginning. Across the seven continents, destiny will bring him seven companions, seven wives, each half-Indian, each carrying a fragment of his fate. Together, they will stand as his strength when the world tests him. Through them, he will not only protect his family, but also carry a responsibility far beyond Delhi, far beyond India. He will become a guardian of the world."
The veranda, once filled with celebration, now felt heavy with prophecy. Children stopped playing, sensing the weight of the words. Anand placed a hand on his younger brother's shoulder, while Kavya whispered, "Don't worry, I'll always protect him."
Mukul, still unaware of the storm he had stirred, looked at the Acharya with innocent eyes. "But… I don't want to leave Mama," he said softly.
The Acharya's face softened, though his voice did not waver. "Even when apart, the stars will guide you back. Love will always find its way, little one."
Ragini Yadav, the grandmother, stepped forward, her surgeon's mind refusing to yield to fate. "Is there no way to change this?" she asked firmly.
Acharya shook his head. "The stars cannot be erased, only embraced. What matters is how you prepare him—with love, with strength, with the knowledge that he is never truly alone."
Outside, the sun dipped lower, painting the veranda in golden light. The families stood together, their joy tempered by fear, their bond stronger than ever. And in the middle of it all, Mukul absentmindedly drew seven stars in the corner of his birthday card, his tiny hands tracing the very destiny spoken for him.
The prophecy had been spoken. The countdown had begun.