I stepped closer to Arjun, my heart pounding. The temple smelled of fresh stone and wet sand. His hands were busy shaping the stone, but his eyes… his eyes were alive with something I had never seen in my father.
"You… you are very precise," I said, trying to sound casual. "Like every move matters."
He smiled without looking up. "Every move does matter. The Śilpa Śāstra teaches us that. The proportion, the rhythm, the placement — it's all tied to the cosmic order, the Rta. A misplaced stroke can disturb not just the sculpture, but the balance of the universe."
I nodded slowly. The words echoed in my mind. Everything I had done, every choice, every mistake, every moment of anger and fear… had spun this wheel that somehow reached back to me now.
He paused and glanced at me, as if noticing me properly for the first time. "You're… different. Do you study sculpture?"
"I… no. Not really," I said. "But I feel like I understand some of it. Maybe because I've been cleaning this temple all my life."
Arjun laughed softly. "Cleaning, seeing, touching… That is study too. The Gita says:
Yogaḥ karmasu kauśalam — skill in action is yoga. (Bhagavad Gita 2.50)
"Skill in action…" I repeated. Somehow, it felt like he was speaking directly to me, like a thread connecting my past and present.
For a moment, I allowed myself to look closely at him. The curve of his jaw, the gentle movement of his hands… my stomach twisted. A part of me wanted to reach out, to hold this version of my father, this young man who had not yet become the shadow I remembered.
But another part recoiled. This is impossible. I cannot…
Arjun looked up suddenly, catching my gaze. "Are you well? You seem… troubled."
"I… I'm fine," I said quickly. "It's just… this temple. Being here. It feels… alive."
He nodded knowingly. "It is alive. Every idol, every stone… it remembers. The past, the future… everything is here, waiting for us to understand it."
I shivered, sensing the truth. Time had brought me here, not just to watch, but to act. And yet, I didn't know if I could. I didn't know if I wanted to face the man my father once was — or the man he would become.
Then I remembered another verse, one my grandmother had whispered:
Aham tvam sarvapāpebhyo mokṣayiṣyāmi mā śucah — I will free you from all sins; do not grieve. (Bhagavad Gita 18.66)
The words were meant for Arjuna, but now they felt meant for me. Perhaps the wheel of time had spun me here to free someone — or something — from the sins of the past.
And as I watched Arjun continue carving, I realized the terrifying truth: I was standing in the shadow of my own father. Not yet cruel, not yet broken, but unmistakably him. And the choices I made here… could echo across decades, shaping the life I had known — and the life I had yet to live.
I swallowed hard. The temple was quiet except for the sound of chisels and rain, but in my chest, a storm raged. I had entered the wheel of time. And there was no turning back.