The Sage and the Serpent

Twilight wavered between night and dawn as the Ganges whispered against its banks, carrying secrets older than time. A lone peepal tree rose at the river's curve, its colossal roots tunneling into earth and memory alike. The air held a fragrant hush—incense of wet soil, a hint of lotus, and the distant echo of a temple bell unfurling into the half-light. In that liminal space, the world seemed to pause. From the cosmos above, a single scale of starlight broke free, spiraling down in a silent pirouette. It settled at the tree's heart, igniting a glow that pulsed like a newly birthed star. As the golden light deepened, a colossal serpent emerged—its iridescent body patterned with zodiacal glyphs and the river's hidden currents. Each coil embodied a rishi's station, each scale a chakra waiting to awaken. The serpent lifted its head, eyes reflecting both Vashishtha's steady counsel and Valmiki's first lament. Its voice rippled through leaves like an ancient chant: "O seeker of inner odyssey, within these thirty-six coils lie the sages' wisdom and the soul's dormant fire. Each chapter will guide you from root to crown, from exile to homecoming, from shadow to the radiance at journey's end." As it spoke, its tail looped around the sturdy trunk, tracing a spiral of living light on bark etched by centuries of wind and rain.