Chapter 1
Waves of the silver moonlight
In a quiet, picturesque hamlet tucked deep inside the lush Malenadu hills, life moved at its own gentle pace. The people were not untouched by modernity, but they still held close the true wealth of life humanity, compassion, trust, and the belief that hard work itself is divine. Amid this serenity, however, one household stood as a reminder that where there is good, there must also be darkness.
In that village lived the Pauranik family, known to all as the hereditary priests the guardians of the Sri Rama temple. Not bad people by definition, but a family that had sealed itself away from every whiff of the changing world. A house where caste, purity rules, rigid customs, and suffocating beliefs were worshipped more than God Himself.
A house where a woman was meant to live in a man’s shadow, never allowed to be a shadow herself.
Their ancestors, people said, were learned, wise, and compassionate. But the current generation lived wrapped in arrogance and ignorance, convinced their knowledge made them superior even as they walked in darkness.
Perhaps that was why the entire village silently prayed for a wave of light a wave of silver moonbeams to break through this old, stale darkness.
The present head priest was Subbaiyya Pauranik a narrow-minded, rigid man who clung blindly to tradition, never once trying to understand the meaning behind it. His wife, Savithramma, was his complete opposite pure, gentle, and divine. A woman whose face always held the grace of Lakshmi… whose eyes filled with tears at others’ pain… whose kindness flowed like a river. With turmeric glowing on her cheeks, kumkum and vibhuti gracing her forehead, jasmine and kanakambara nestled in her hair, and simple silver and gold jewelry adorning her she looked like a goddess who made you bow your head without realizing it.
Subbaiyya, however, was always sternareca nut stained lips, sharp eyes, white dhoti, tulsi mala around his neck, and a presence that made even the boldest tremble for a moment.
His mother, Mangamma, was a harsh, bitter old woman. Her husband Venkaiah Pauranik had passed away long ago some said out of exhaustion from her cruelty. But the family conveniently called it a “natural death.”
From the day Savithramma entered the house as a daughter-in-law, Mangamma tormented her relentlessly. Yet Savithramma endured every wound without a tremble, carrying the household with dignity and silence.
Every generation in that house had produced only one son’s. They believed it was Sri Rama’s blessing“to avoid disputes in temple inheritance.” Subbaiyya too had two sisters but was the only son.
Twenty-five years ago, his elder sister Vishalakshi and her husband died in a terrible storm, leaving behind their only child, Ranjith, then just three years old. Since then, Savithramma had raised him with a mother’s love.
Subbaiyya and Savithramma had two children Murali and Manjula.
Murali was exactly like his father: selfish, arrogant, and a womanizer.
Ranjith was only six months younger, yet their natures were worlds apart.
Many times Savithramma wondered, with a pain she never spoke aloud:
“If only Ranjith had been born my son… how blessed my life would have been.”
Manjula, only thirteen, was already turning into another Mangamma jealous, spiteful, influenced by her grandmother and aunt Kamakshi.
Kamakshi, Subbaiyya’s younger sister, lived next door. Her husband Ramashastri was a gentle man, but Kamakshi dominated him completely. She had three children Gita, Sita, and Vinod. Gita and Sita were married and lived in town. Vinod worshipped his cousin Murali like a hero.
In truth, in the entire Pauranik household, only Savithramma and Ranjith were good-hearted.
Everyone else lived with cruelty woven into their veins.
Yet Ranjith loved them all with a heart as soft as his mother Savithramma’s.
But to the family, he was nothing. Mangamma saw him not as a grandson, but as an unwanted burden.
And yet Ranjith was the most beautiful among them all.
Six feet two inches tall, strong from working in the fields, with a smile always resting on his lips… wheatish skin, soft black curls, faint moustache and beard… a simple dhoti, shirt, and a towel over his shoulder he was the kind of man who didn’t need jewelry to shine.
Murali, in contrast, was shorter, darker, rough, and cunning.
Ranjith helped at the fields and garden; Murali only went to the temple to ogle girls.
Ranjith knew Murali’s misdeeds but stayed silent, believing someday he might change.
But in truth, only Sri Rama could answer what destiny awaited them.As always, before dawn, Savithramma woke and began her chores.
For twenty-five years she had risen at 3 AM preparing hot water, breakfast, and temple items for Subbaiyya, then waking others, feeding everyone, and sending Manjula for music and shloka practice.
Girls in that family were never encouraged to study.
Ranjith would return from the fields only after the morning puja at the temple.Murali followed Subbaiyya. Mangamma looked for faults in everything Savithramma did.
That morning, the temple’s 7:30 AM pooja began. The fragrance of jasmine filled the air.
During the aarti, Murali heard the soft rustle of anklets and opened one eye and froze.
He saw a pair of fair, delicate feet with red alta… a simple red langa, white davani, red-bordered blouse… jasmine in her loose curls… red nose ring, soft red lips, bright eyes like brass pots filled with water, glowing with beauty.
It was Sudharani, daughter of Appanna Bhatt. Murali’s heart jolted.
“Apsara! Brahma must have made her at dawn… where was she all these years? I must have her before she blossoms…”
Subbaiyya noticed his son’s shameless behavior and scolded him. Then he asked Sudharani why she had come.
She smiled gently and said,
“My mother is unwell today, so I came with father. And today…I turn nineteen. I wanted to pray to Sri Rama for His blessings.”
Murali nearly melted at her voice.
But among all the hearts stirred by her presence, one beat quietly, softly Ranjith’s. His feelings were pure. He had noticed her years ago at the bangles stall in the fair, playing with a baby goat near the fields, speaking respectfully to elders, showing compassion to animals and children. Three or four years ago, he had unknowingly lost his heart to her innocence. He dreamed of marrying her one day, of speaking to Savithramma when the time was right.
Little did he know Sudharani had already fallen for him.
In her dreams, he was the prince who would come on horseback and take her away.
Often she told her friend Kamala,
“See, my prince is watching me again… he follows me like a silent guard… he even protects my shadow without my knowledge. But he never tells me he loves me! One day, I’ll gather courage, catch him off guard, and tie my heart to his forever!”
Even today she noticed him stealing shy glances… and her heart blossomed.
Sudharani came from a poor but dignified family. Her father was a temple servant and farmer, her mother hardworking. She had one brother and two sisters. Money was little, so she stopped studying after 7th standard.
But the gentle love growing between Ranjith and Sudharani was about to face its first storm Murali.
A predator had found his prey.
No girl Murali had set his eyes on had escaped him so far. The whole village knew it, but everyone’s fear of Subbaiyya sealed their lips.
Only Sri Rama knew what justice awaited.
For destiny’s script spares no one.
In the hands of fate, we are all merely puppets…
Greetings to everyone.
I am here before you with my new story, Waves of the Silver Moonlight.
Please bless me, encourage me, and support me.
Share your thoughts with me.
If you liked this writing, please like and comment.
With love,
Laxana
