RUDRA POV
The last rays of the setting sun bled across the western sky as I went to sit beside my grandmother on the veranda steps. The air, once heavy with the day's heat, had begun to cool, carrying with it the heavy, sweet scent of jasmine from the garden. She saw the gloom etched on my face, and her voice, a gentle murmur, broke the stillness. "What's got you so down, child? You look as though you're carrying the weight of the world."
"Amma," I began, my voice thick with the emotional weight in my chest. I stared at my hands, picking at a loose thread on my worn trousers, the small, repetitive motion a distraction from the turmoil inside.
"What am I supposed to do with my life now? It feels so empty, so… directionless." The words were a quiet confession, a surrender to the hollowness that had consumed me for months, a confusion that gnawed at me day and night.
She turned her full attention to me, her gaze soft but unwavering, a steady anchor in my turbulent sea of emotions. "What happened, my child? Tell me."
"It's just… I've realized the only thing that kept me going was my rage," I confessed, the truth feeling raw and shameful. "It was like a fire, burning away everything else and giving me a clear path. Now that it's gone, now that the fire is dim the path is no longer visible to me. I feel like I've lost my purpose, I don't know what to do."
A slow, gentle smile spread across her face, as if my confession was the best news she'd heard all day. "That is a good thing, Rudra," she said, her voice a soothing balm. "It's a good thing you are no longer blinded by rage."
She looked out at the horizon, watching the sun dip lower, painting the clouds in hues of orange and purple. "Revenge is no purpose for a life, my child. It's a poison that you drink hoping it will harm another. You may seek justice, vengeance, or retribution for the wrongs done to you, but never let that become your sole reason for living. If you spend your life focused on harming others, you will fail to see the most beautiful thing in the world."
"And what is that?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. My gaze followed hers to the horizon, to her face now bathed in the last golden light. The lines etched around her eyes and mouth were not just signs of age, but a map of a long life—a life of joy, sorrow, and unwavering strength.
"Life itself," she said with a gentle smile. "All of it. The simple act of breathing, the warmth of the sun, the laughter of children. It is better to live to protect something than to destroy something else. The Dharma teaches that one who protects is always more eminent than one who destroys."
I sighed, a familiar weariness washing over me. "I know, Amma. 'Non-violence is the highest virtue.' It's the constant song of this place." My tone was a mix of frustration and a bitterness I couldn't quite swallow. "It feels like that's all I've heard since I was a boy. Every time I got into a fight, it was the same lecture."
She shook her head, a soft chuckle in her throat. "No, my child, you still misunderstand what your gurus taught you. They discouraged senseless violence and its use for oppression. The Bhagavad Gita tells us that non-violence is a great moral law, but violence used to protect the innocent and uphold righteousness is always more eminent than non-violence." She looked at me, her eyes seeing not just the boy I was, but the man I was meant to become.
Her words gave me a lot of food for thought. As I pondered their meaning, the silence between us stretched, filled only with the distant chirping of crickets. Finally, she broke it with a question that seemed to come out of nowhere. "Do you know who named you Rudra?"
"My mother told me it was you," I replied, snapping out of my reverie.
"And do you know why?"
"It was according to astrology or something, I think?" I said, trying to recall scraps of old conversations with my parents. The memories were faded, like old photographs.
She simply smiled, neither confirming nor denying my guess, and asked another question. "Do you know what the name means?"
The question felt random, a detour from our conversation about life and purpose. But I answered dutifully, with what I knew—or believed I knew. "It's a fruit or a seed, isn't it? The one they make into prayer beads?"
I was wrong. With her correction, I learned the true meaning of my name for the first time. It was a revelation that shimmered in the twilight.
With a mix of doting pride and gentle chiding, she set me straight. "What you are thinking of is a Rudraksha. You see, the word Rudra in our culture is the name that belongs to an avatar of Lord Shiva. The word Rudra itself means 'The Fierce One' or 'The Howler.' The Rudra avatar of Lord Shiva is mostly associated with storms, upheaval, might, fearsomeness, and righteous wrath; yet, despite all those destructive aspects, he is also a god of healing and renewal."
I listened, captivated by the story and the sudden weight of my name. "That's incredible, but why 'Rudra' of all names?" I couldn't help but ask. The name felt so powerful, so immense, and I felt so small and lost.
"Names have power and purpose," she explained. "In our culture, we create a person's kundli—a life chart—based on their time of birth and other factors. The kundli charts the position of celestial bodies and the alignment of the stars, which gives us hints about a person's life trajectory. I am one of the best chart readers here, so I was the one who derived your name from your kundli."
"But what does that have to do with me?" I pressed, the question more of a desperate plea than an actual question. "How does a story from the old days help me find my way now?"
She stood, the cool shadows of twilight now enveloping her. "You are asking for your purpose, my child," she said, her voice turning firm. "And life does not give answers. It gives challenges for you to overcome. If you succeed, you find your purpose. If you fail, you may find purpose in that too—or perhaps nothing but defeat. And as your name dictates, you will face upheaval. For this, you shall prepare." She paused, her eyes locking with mine. "Pack your bags. We leave tomorrow."
With that final, decisive command, she left me on the steps alone with my thoughts. I looked up at the first stars beginning to pepper the deepening sky, my mind reeling with all the new knowledge about myself and the path that lay ahead. I didn't know it then, but this was just the kickstart to the beginning of what was to come.