When the Winds Whispered Swami’s Grace
In a modest, rented home with barely any ventilation and a small hall, preparations were underway for a sacred Chandi homa meant to last nearly six hours, using around 15 kilograms of wood and cow dung cakes. When the priests arrived and surveyed the space, they expressed concern. With no proper airflow and such an intense fire, they warned that soot would definitely coat the walls, and the heat might even damage the interiors. Repainting the house seemed inevitable, and in a rented space, that could mean trouble with the landlord. Worried but determined, I turned to Swami in prayer: “You’ve given me the intent to perform this homa,” I said, “so you must also take care of the consequences.” To add more twists to the situation, my two-year-old nephew began crying, and my brother had to put him to sleep in the bedroom. To describe further, the hall had no windows at all —just four walls enclosing the space. It was connected to a bedroom, and that room had a door leading to the balcony. I...