Here I was sitting in this dimly lit waiting room whose corners were littered with small piles of ash from countless burned incense sticks, left untouched as though they were a part of the decor. The room was messy but not enough to be off-putting. It gave the space a feeling of someone who might be too busy channeling the divine or maybe just hustling clients to bother with cleaning.

I don’t remember why exactly I was here, but on my way to the mall, I came across a mysterious shop tucked away in a corner. I had passed this route countless times, yet I had never noticed this shop before. The vibrant imagery and striking colors adorning the shop made it impossible to miss, even from a distance.

A strange mix of skepticism and curiosity lingered as I stared at the sign that said “Devi, World Famous Astrologer.” My therapist hadn’t exactly recommended this when she mentioned casually during one of our sessions, “Sometimes unconventional methods can help us reflect in new ways.”

You see, all my life, I have been a man of reason. Not because I believe reason trumps all, but simply because I’ve always chosen the head over the heart. So this whole thing didn’t feel like a prescription but rather like a nudge, a push to step outside the usual confines of therapy. I wasn’t sure if she meant it to be insightful or absurd, but here I was.

The walls of the waiting room displayed hung posters of this astrologer with famous celebrities, and paintings that seemed to echo the essence of Hinduism. Vishnu reclining on Sheshnag, calm and eternal, with Lakshmi at his feet and a lotus cradling Brahma, radiated infinite balance. Nearby, Krishna lifting Govardhan Hill captured divine playfulness, his smile untouched by the weight of the mountain, surrounded by villagers seeking refuge. Then there was Narasimha, ferocious and wild, tearing through Hiranyakashipu.

One painting, however, stood apart. It depicted a golden, voluptuous woman facing the viewer, her eyes locked with Shiva’s. Her flowing sari seemed to move in the wind, her anklets shimmered under the sun. Shiva seemed in motion as if he was following this woman, mesmerised by her beauty. The scene was charged with unspoken tension, as if holding a secret that demanded to be unraveled. The loud chime of a bell above the receptionist pulled me out of my chain of thoughts.“Arjun…you can go in”, the receptionist said in a voice devoid of any enthusiasm. I walked over to the room whose doors had just flung open for me.

A few moments later, I find myself sitting across a round wooden table from a woman who looks like she stepped straight out of a movie about mystics. Her name is Parvati, an astrologer not your regular might I add—there was no cheap mysticism about her, no flamboyant rings or velvet drapes, just a quiet certainty that unsettled more than it reassured. Her hair is tied in a loose braid, and she wears a simple white kurta that, under the room’s warm light, faintly reveals the outline of a white brassiere underneath. On the table between us lies a deck of tarot cards, their edges smudged, carrying the weight of years of stories told.

She looked straight into my eyes. "Relax," Parvati says, shuffling the cards effortlessly. "This isn’t about predicting your future. It’s about understanding your present.”

I nod mindlessly, while Parvati spreads the deck out in front of me. "Pick five cards," she says. “Think about the questions you want answers to.”

“Questions? I have plenty. Why did my life spiral out of control? Why did Priya, my fiancée, leave me? Why does Maya still haunt my thoughts like some kind of phantom? And why do I feel like my carefully constructed life was nothing more than a house of cards?”, I thought to myself.

I gently pull one card just enough so it is distinguishable from the others that lay face down. Without wasting a single second, she flips it. “It’s the Moon.” Parvati raises an eyebrow, “Illusion”, she stretches the word, letting it hang in the air like smoke from an incense.

“What does it mean?” I ask, leaning forward.

“The Moon represents illusion,” she continues. "Deception and uncertainty. Things may not be what they seem, and clarity is hidden behind shadows."

I exhale sharply. “That’s... accurate.” I say with a dry chuckle, hoping to lighten the moment. Parvati doesn’t bite. Her expression stays steady, uninterested in my attempt at humour.

She places the card between us, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Illusions are tricky. They’re not just lies from others. Sometimes, we create them for ourselves. Tell me, Arjun, what illusions have you been holding onto?” Her tone wasn’t aggressive or cruel. It was subtle, like a breeze carrying the scent of something you’d rather not remember.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, my mind drifts to Maya, a former colleague. Maya was enchanting in a way that defied all logic and reason. When Maya was around, she was all I could think of. Her voice wrapped around conversations like a warm embrace, her laughter had a way of making the world pause, as if even time wanted to admire it. She had a way of making you feel like you were the only one in the room, as if every word, every glance, carried some deeper, unspoken meaning. But I had seen through it. I hadn’t fallen for her charm. I hadn’t been seduced by the illusion.

I had rejected her, not out of cruelty, but because I knew myself too well to be swayed by something that felt too perfect, too effortless. Yet, in doing so, I had unknowingly stirred forces beyond my control.

She didn’t lash out in anger; she adjusted the narrative as if spite took over. She had this way of speaking, of planting ideas in my head that grew into doubts. “You’re so intense, Arjun” she once said, laughing, as if it was a compliment. “People might find it hard to connect with you.” I didn’t think much of it then. But weeks later, Priya said almost the same thing, word for word. And then there was that moment when those same words resurfaced, this time from my manager at work, delivered with a practiced calm as I was told the company no longer needed me. I replayed those moments in my mind, searching for the seams. Has Priya always felt that way? Had my manager? Or had Maya’s words somehow wormed their way into their thoughts too, shaping the way they saw me?

“It was definitely not just an illusion it was something more…strategic”, I thought to myself. As I stretched my hand to pull out the next card.

“Illusions aren’t created in a vacuum.” She said before revealing the next card.

“The Devil”, Parvati said with a bit more conviction in her voice this time.

My stomach twists. "That’s not good, is it?”.

She pauses, tilting her head slightly. "Think of Ravana. Was he evil? He was a learned man, a great devotee of Shiva. Yet his ego and desires brought his downfall. The same forces can exist in all of us, pulling us away from our path. The Devil is about bondage. Obsession. Being trapped by your own fears or desires.

Who or what are you chained to, Arjun?”

Before I could stop myself, it came out like a reflex, “Maya!”. Her name slipped out like a confession. “She is everywhere, even after she left, it feels like she is pulling the strings”.

“And what strings are these?” asks Parvati, her voice calm and precise, like a surgeon peeling back layers of flesh, exposing nerves raw and twitching beneath.

I flinch. It’s barely noticeable, but I feel it. My fingers twitch, my breath shortens. The scent of sandalwood fades, replaced by something sharper—Maya’s perfume. It clings to the edges of my memory, too vivid to be ignored. My throat feels dry.

“She made me doubt myself… my reality,” I murmur, my voice uneven. “She knew exactly how to get under my skin… and the worst part is… it worked.”

Parvati’s expression didn’t change, but I could feel the weight of her waiting.

“She made herself... essential. To everyone. To me. She’d ask questions…personal ones. About my ambitions, my fears. And I told her things. I thought she cared. But she used them. Somehow, she would always find a way to use them.”

“Or,” Parvati counters gently, “she reflected what was already there”. Parvati’s words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable.

“I don’t buy that, only I have control over my destiny!” I said with a hint of resentment in my tone.

My words trail off into silence, the weight of my tongue suddenly heavy in my mouth. Parvati doesn’t argue. She tilts her head slightly, then simply nods, not in agreement but in understanding. She picks up the deck again, shuffling it with deliberate slowness.

“Illusions, obsessions... they’re just layers, Arjun. They don’t define you unless you let them.” She smiles faintly. “Let’s see what the next card says”.

“The Hanged Man. Surrender” she says after a brief pause, “Perspective. This card tells you to let go. Stop fighting the fall and see what it’s trying to teach you.”

I stare at the colourful image on the tarot card-a man hung upside down, his red pants catching my eye. His gaze, calm and unbothered, meets mine. For some reason, it feels like he’s waiting for me to figure something out.

I shake my head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Let go? That’s easy for a card to say. What am I supposed to do with this?”

Parvati leans back, her eyes moving all over Arjun’s face. “Think about it this way” she continues, “when you are swimming in a river do you swim against the current or with the current?”

“I drown”, I mutter under my breath. Parvati laughs softly but kindly. "Then maybe it’s time to stop swimming and let the water carry you.” Parvati joked but I was not interested. The shadows of my past cling too tightly, and no amount of humour could chase them away.

“…She made me doubt everything” I say, the resentment and anger reflecting in my voice clearer. “My choices, my instincts, my relationships…even my relationship with myself!”

“And why do you think things panned out this way?”

“Because she was manipulative” I replied in an assertive tone, determined that I had solved the problem. I stretched my hand once again to pull out the next card, almost urging Parvati to move on.

I feel it. The way my words come out, not from conviction, but from defence. It’s not certainty I’m holding onto, but the fear of what it would mean if Parvati was right.

“Perspective,” she says slowly, letting the word linger before flipping over the next card I had chosen.

“The Tower represents upheaval," she explains. "Destruction, but also revelation. Whatever you built, it wasn’t as stable as you thought. This is the fall. The moment everything comes crashing down.”

A heavy silence settled between us. The Tower card lay exposed on the table, its imagery stark and unsettling—a structure struck by lightning, flames spilling from its windows, two figures tumbling helplessly into the abyss below. Destruction. Chaos. The fall.

As I stare at it, something shifts inside me. My mind raced, faster than I could keep up with. How had I let this happen? I had always believed I was immune to illusion, yet here I was. Frustration twisted into despair, despair into embarrassment. “If I could be fooled like this, then who was I, really?” I thought to myself. The weight of self-awareness was suffocating. The lies I had bought into, the control I had willingly handed over.

The room’s still silent, as if Parvati is aware of my state of mind. My gaze drifts to the painting of the voluptuous woman and Shiva outside in the waiting area. The figures are beautifully rendered, but the scene feels uneasy, Shiva seems illusioned, while the woman’s gaze holds an uncanny mix of allure and calculation.

It’s as though she knows exactly what he’s thinking.

"That painting," I say suddenly. "Who’s the woman in it?"

Parvati follows my gaze and smiles faintly. "Mohini. Vishnu’s most enchanting avatar. Even Shiva, the great ascetic, couldn’t resist her. She was not temptation, Arjun. She was revelation. A test. For a few moments even Shiva was just a man captivated by the vision before him. But then the illusion shattered, the spell broke, and clarity returned."

She turns back to me. "You said her name was Maya, didn’t you?"

I feel something shift inside me. “Yeah... so?”

Parvati taps her finger on the table, thoughtful. “Maya—illusion. Mohini—illusion. You ever wonder if she was playing a role? Not for herself, but for you?”

A shiver runs down my spine. The way Maya moved through life, the way she shifted personas effortlessly. Kind to some, distant to others and warm when she needed to be. I was just another person watching the show, unaware I had been given a seat in the front row. Mohini was a clever trick of the cosmos, a ripple in perception, powerful only for as long as he surrendered to it.

“Mohini wasn’t meant to destroy Shiva,” Parvati continues. “She existed to reveal something to him, something he didn’t see about himself.” She tilts her head. “And Maya? What did she reveal about you?”

I feel something shift inside me. Maya had been my Mohini. Not a lover, but an illusion. Not a muse, but a master of perception. A force of Maya, testing my resolve, my sense of self. But now, the spell was broken.

Parvati’s fingers hovered over the deck once more. She flipped the final card.

“The Star. Hope,” Parvati murmured. “Healing. The Tower falls so you can rebuild. But only if you choose to.”

The words settle over me, heavy yet weightless. The silence stretches between us, thick and unbroken. I don’t

rush to fill it. For the first time, I let it sit.

I stared back at the imagery on the card and thought to myself, “What would Maya and I even talk about now? There was no accusation left in me, no desperate need for answers. Perhaps we would talk like two people who once walked the same path but now stood on separate roads. Perhaps we would say nothing at all.”

I stepped outside. The evening light fell softly over the street, and the faint smell of incense lingered on my skin like memory.

The world hadn’t changed. But something in me had been burned to ash—and not in violence, but in clarity.

Maya hadn’t deceived me. She had revealed me—to myself. Like Kāma before Shiva, she arrived to test my

stillness. And I, finally, had not flinched.

I didn’t feel victorious. I felt... quiet.

I walked past the waiting room again. The piles of ash were still there in the corners, untouched, unbothered—left behind by fires that had long burned out.

I smiled.

For the first time, I understood: not all fire is destruction. Some of it is meditation.

And some illusions are sacred—not because they last, but because they leave behind the kind of ash that never settles in your lungs again.

The painting of Shiva and Mohini flickered in my mind. That moment of divine disorientation. A god undone, not by desire, but by what desire uncovered.

And just like Shiva, I had returned. Eyes open. Fire spent. Still.

.    .    .