Dilli's heart was a battlefield where love for the divine clashed with the sharp edges of doubt. From his boyhood, Lord Shiva had been his unseen companion—the presence beside him when he whispered secrets into the wind, the strength in his chest when he faltered, the fatherly figure to whom he surrendered every hope.
Yet in all those years, never once had he prayed for himself.
When dawn painted the sky and the conch shells echoed from the village temple, his lips carried only the names of others. He prayed for his father—that the endless debts and burdens on his shoulders might lift. For his mother and brother—that their lives might be blessed with health. For his beloved Chitti—that her every dream might blossom. For his friends—that they might find strength in times of weakness.
And for himself? His only plea was courage—not for comfort or wealth, but for the strength to stand as a shield. To guard his motherland, Bharat, and preserve the eternal flame of Sanatana Dharma. To him, this was worship: to serve and protect was to honor Shiva more than any offering of flowers or incense.
The Silence of the Lord
But as years unfolded, faith met the cruelty of reality.
Every time Dilli looked into his father's weary eyes, saw debts strangling the pride of a once-great man, doubt pressed against his soul. Every time he saw injustice strut unpunished, every time fate mocked righteousness, he could not silence the questions rising inside him.
Why, if his prayers were selfless, did Shiva remain unmoved?
Why, if devotion was pure, did suffering only deepen?
The silence of his god became a torment. The very Lord who had been his anchor now felt like a stone idol, distant, unyielding, deaf to the cries of a son begging not for himself but for his family.
Faith and doubt pulled at him like two armies locked in combat. He could not abandon Shiva—the love ran too deep. But he could not accept the silence either. His chest became a cage of unanswered questions, each one cutting like a blade.
The Call of Kailash
And then, a fire took root within him.
If Shiva would not answer prayers, Dilli would go to him. Not in ritual, not through priests or chants—but to the very source, the sacred seat of the Destroyer himself: Mount Kailash.
The thought consumed him. The great mountain of snow and silence, where pilgrims whispered that gods still walked, became his beacon. He would not climb it as a devotee seeking blessings, but as a son demanding answers.
Why must his father suffer?
Why must goodness bend before fate?
Why does justice remain silent while wrong thrives?
And most of all—was Shiva truly there, watching… or had he been chasing a shadow all along?
For Dilli, the pilgrimage was no longer a ritual. It was a confrontation. A demand. A journey to peel back the veil of belief and look into the eyes of truth itself.
And in his heart, a quiet oath formed: if the Lord was there, he would not return without his answer. And if he was not… Dilli would walk away carrying the burden of that silence forever.