Beyond time, beyond illusion, above the clamor of human life, exists a plane untouched by desire or decay — Satya Lok, the Realm of Eternal Truth.
On this day, the realm trembled — not with rage or judgment, but with a sorrow the gods had long resisted:
The sorrow of a world forgetting the meaning of love.
The grand celestial court glowed under starlit ceilings that reflected the eternal heavens. Carvings of past epochs — Radha and Krishna beneath a kadamba tree, Shiva and Parvati seated on Mount Kailash, Sita and Ram walking hand in hand through forests — pulsed gently with divine memory.
A rare assembly had been called. The Devas, the eternal watchers of dharma, sat encircled in radiant silence.
At the center reclined Lord Vishnu, blue-skinned and serene, a calm ocean in the storm of cosmic imbalance. Seated beside him was Goddess Lakshmi, grace embodied, her eyes reflecting concern for humanity's spiritual poverty.
To Vishnu's left sat Lord Shiva, eyes closed in deep stillness, his presence vibrating with ancient power. Beside him, Goddess Parvati looked out at the mortal world through the reflection pool — watching women cry alone, and hearts break from empty promises.
On the other side sat Lord Brahma, the Creator, his four faces reading from the Vedas of fate, flipping pages that no longer sang of union, but of disconnection. Goddess Saraswati, calm and knowing, stood by his side, her fingers lightly trailing her veena, notes of wisdom echoing like whispers in space.
Narada Muni, ever the traveler between worlds, stepped into the circle last, clutching his veena like a scroll of judgment.
"I have seen it," Narada spoke, breaking the silence. "Marriages mocked. Vows broken before the fire has cooled. Love twisted into control, loyalty into burden."
Goddess Lakshmi frowned, her golden aura dimming slightly.
"They chase wealth, not worth. They desire partnership only for pride, not peace."
Saraswati added gently, "They confuse attraction with devotion. Romance with sacrifice. Knowledge with manipulation."
Lord Brahma closed his scriptures and sighed. "The seven vows once echoed through generations. Now they are recited as rituals, not felt as truths."
Shiva remained still, but his aura flickered with stormlight. "When ego becomes the root, no union can bear fruit."
Parvati, watching a young woman wipe away tears from a phone screen, murmured, "They crave love, but fear surrender. They demand loyalty, yet run at pain."
All eyes turned to Lord Vishnu, whose gaze remained locked on the mortal realm. He did not speak immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, placing a single lotus petal on the water of the reflection pool. Ripples spread… and with them, the image of two unborn souls.
"We will not restore love through command," Vishnu finally said. "But through example."
Ganesh, the remover of obstacles, tilted his head curiously. "Whom will you choose? Surely not gods in disguise again?"
"No," Vishnu smiled faintly. "This time, two mortals. Not for their strength, but for their karma. Two souls bound across lifetimes — forgotten by each other, yet tied by fate. Let them walk through the seven sacred vows again. Let each lifetime test one vow."
"And if they fail?" Brahma asked, adjusting his scrolls.
"Then let them be reborn," Shiva answered simply, "until they remember."
Parvati raised her hand, her voice layered in maternal concern. "But they must not know why they were chosen. The lesson must rise from within, not from knowledge."
Narada's eyes glinted. "Ah, divine drama! I shall follow their journey. Perhaps strum a tune or two along the way."
Lakshmi looked toward Vishnu. "And the first vow?"
"Nourishment and Prosperity," Vishnu answered. "Let them learn that true nourishment is not food, but care. That prosperity is not wealth, but the ability to give when one has nothing."
Saraswati whispered a line of ancient wisdom:
"To give in hunger is the highest act of love."
🌍 Earth – First Lifetime
Time: 1423 CE
Kingdom: Vaishali — a land once fed by sacred rivers, now withered into dust. For two years, rain has not fallen. Children sleep with empty stomachs. The granaries of the rich overflow, but the fields of the poor remain cracked like broken promises.
On the night of the blood moon, the skies break — not with thunder, but with destiny.
Two souls are born.
In a mud-hut, barely standing, a frail woman gives birth to a baby girl. Her lips are dry, her body weak, yet her smile is radiant. She names her child Anaya — meaning grace. As the infant cries, a single green shoot pushes up through the dry earth outside the hut — the first sign of life in months.
Elsewhere, in a granary palace, surrounded by sacks of untouched rice, a merchant's wife gives birth to a son. He is named Yuvan — young ruler. Outside his window, birds peck at spilled grains, but the servants drive them away. No one shares. Not even crumbs.
Above them, the gods watch.
A crimson thread, invisible to mortal eyes, ties their destinies together.
Parvati places her fingers over her heart. "Let her be born where compassion is needed. Let him be born where compassion is forgotten."
Vishnu smiles. "Let them teach each other. One to give, one to receive. And in doing so, both will learn."
Ganesh, sensing the weight of the moment, quietly removes an invisible stone from the thread between them. "Let no ego break what fate has tied."
In a land where hunger rules, one is born with empty hands, the other with overflowing stores.
The first vow shall not be spoken — it shall be lived.
Let the test of Nourishment and Prosperity begin.