Even the heartless criminal,
If he loves me with all his heart,
Will certainly grow into sainthood
As he moves towards me on this path.
—Bhagavad Gita

A woman was shrieking right outside her window—and no, this was no drug-induced nightmare. Ishvari shot upright on her couch as the awful keening rose and fell, drowning her in waves of liquid sorrow. A dull pain coursed through her body, from skull to foot; shuddering as memory returned, she touched her face with trembling fingers. Grabbing the oval copper mirror lying beside her couch, she stared in horror at her reflection—coagulated blood covered parts of her face, her right eye was hugely swollen, and her lower body burned, as if engulfed in flames. Vaguely she recalled being flung na...

Please subscribe to keep reading.