She nodded slowly. “Yes. He said… From now on, you shall be known as.. You shall carry my name, along with the one already given to you.’” She looked up, unsure. “What does that mean?”
Guruji’s expression did not change, but the air around him seemed to still. “You already have your initiation name,” he said. “I gave it to you during the initiation the first time.” She nodded. “Yes. And this name he gave you it is not to replace, but to follow. His name is an inheritance. Mine is a calling. Together they form the full sound of your becoming.” He leaned forward gently. “Did he tell you the name to be added?”
She whispered it. Guruji closed his eyes. “And so that will be your name from now onwards. Karunambaa followed by the one that man gave you. Two names. Two paths. One soul.”
Silence pressed in around them like thick fog. She looked down at her hands, unsure, untethered. "What am I to do now?" she asked. "Where should I start?"
The guru opened his eyes fully now sharp, penetrating. "What you need to do is take one step at a time," he said. "A lot of things will happen. Always remember never stop. Never let go."
She froze. Those words. She had heard them before not here, not in daylight. But in the half-world of her dreams, where voices came without faces. Whispers that wrapped around her like fog: Never stop. Never let go. They had chased her from sleep into waking, and now… here they were, spoken aloud.
“You said that, I’ve heard it before” She told him
He replied : “No,” he said gently. “You have been hearing it all along. I merely gave voice to what has already been guiding you.”
She held his gaze. The calm in his voice both steadied her and stirred a quiet storm within. Then, sensing something unsaid, he leaned slightly forward. "Your father said something else to you. What are they? Can you remember?" She hesitated, her mind sifting through the layered weight of that final conversation. Then, with a breath, she spoke.
"A lot. But one… one I keep at the top of my head." She looked up, her voice clear, low. "He told me: 'Many will be attracted to you, especially men. But they are only drawn to the power that has come to you. You must resist them all. You must be strong. You must control your anger" The guru closed his eyes once more, as if sealing a door.
"Then it has begun," he said. "You are the holder now."
There was a pause. “Holder? To what?” she echoed, as if trying the word on her tongue. “What power? I don’t even know what it means.”
His gaze did not waver. “It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “It is not a gift. It is a weight. That’s why it seeks someone who can carry it.”
She pressed her palms together, fingers trembling. "Why me?" she wanted to ask, but the question dissolved before it left her lips.
“Why not you?” he questioned back. He let the silence stretch, as if the question needed to echo inside her bones before it could be answered. “You are not perfect. You hesitate. You question. You fear. And that is exactly why. Because power cannot rest in the hands of the hungry. It needs someone who still doubts. Someone who still listens.”
She turned her face slightly, as if to shield herself from what she was beginning to understand. When her father had whispered those words “Many will be attracted to you…” She hadn’t thought much of it. She had nodded out of love, not understanding.
Her only intention that day was to relieve him of his pain, to hold his hand a little longer, not to inherit his weight. Now, sitting before Guruji, the meaning unraveled slowly in her chest. She let out a quiet exhale.
“It’s like someone handed me a flame and I thought it was a candle,” she said. “But now I realise it’s a wildfire in disguise. And I just brought it home. Secretly.” She half-laughed, half-cringed. “Oops,” she whispered. “What have I done?”
Guruji smiled not out of amusement, but recognition. “That is the sound of awakening,” he said. “Not a chant. Not a song. Just a quiet, frightened oops.” He leaned forward, voice like a thread pulled through silk. “You did not take it. You received it. You didn’t crave it. You carried it. That is why the keris came to you. Not to make you strong but because you already are.”
He continued. "Power, when not understood, invites ruin. Power, when held with wisdom, becomes service. That is the way."
She was silent. Trying to grasp what he just said. “The word power…” She paused. “It sounds like something out of a comic book. Superman. A superhero. A great leader who commands armies and changes the world with a speech.” She looked at him. “Are we talking about the same kind of power?”
He smiled, just slightly. Not amused but approving. “No,” he said. “Their kind of power shines. It seeks eyes. It wants applause.”
“The power you carry? It hums. It hides. It listens. It does not want to be known. Superheroes save the world with their fists. You… you will save it with your silence. With the choices you make when no one is looking.”
“So I’m not a superhero.”
“No. You’re not meant to be. You are something else. You are a Guardian.” She fell silent. The word hung in the air, unfamiliar and heavy. Guardian. Not a queen. Not a warrior. Not even a saviour. Her mind spun slowly, trying to rearrange what she thought she knew.
Power not as strength. Not as victory. Not as visibility. Power not equal to superhero. Not equal to great leader. Not equal to applause. It was something else. Quieter. Older. Heavier. She spoke, almost to herself.
“The world teaches us that power is loud bright and untouchable. But this—this feels like carrying a secret that burns your palms.”
Guruji nodded. “Because true power is not in being seen. It is in knowing when not to be. Not all who carry power are remembered. Some simply keep the world from falling apart… and vanish.”
“I am afraid Guruji”
“Afraid of?”
“the abuse of power”
“You fear you may abuse it?” he asked. She nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Because the ones who don’t fear power are the ones who always do. You think abuse only happens when power is used loudly when it is paraded, forced, declared. But power can be abused in silence, too. In judgment. In pride. In the quiet belief that you no longer need to listen.”
He let the words hang. Not as rebuke—but as warning. “You will not shout your power. You will not wear it on your chest. That much is clear. But even when hidden power changes the air around you. People will lean closer. They will believe you more than you intend. And in that trust… lies your greatest test.” She looked away, something cold pressing against her ribs.
“So keep your fear,” he continued. “Let it live beside you not to weaken you, but to steady your steps. It is not cowardice. It is conscience.” She listen eyes locked at guruji. His eyes, stared straight at her. Piercing as if he is reading her thoughts. Muddling with it.
“Keep questioning yourself. Doubting yourself, Stay wary of flattery. And when the time comes… choose silence over spectacle. Because true power doesn’t need applause. It only needs clarity. You will be admired. Feared. Desired. But rarely understood. They will not come for you, only what they think you can give them. That is the loneliest truth of power.”
She asks: Then what is the purpose?
He answers "To serve, not shine. You hold a blade, not a crown. You carry knowledge, not command. Power, when mastered, becomes presence. When not it becomes performance. The keris chose you because you still doubt yourself. It is not the fearless who should lead it is the cautious, the questioning, the ones who still cry in the night for the people they might hurt.”
Softly she said “Then I will walk… carefully.”
Guru: “Good. Never run toward power. Walk beside it. One step at a time You think you inherited it. But the keris does not pass by blood. It waits… In silence, through generations… Until it senses a mind ready to break—but not bend. A heart still soft enough to feel. It chose you… the moment you didn’t run.” She sat quietly.
The words settled in her bones—but her mind still wandered. Outward. To the world beyond this room. To the voices that would question, mock, or dismiss.
“What if they laugh at me? What if they say it’s all just superstition? An old blade with an old story, held by a woman who’s lost her mind?”
Gently and firmly he answers : “If you do not tell them… what is there to laugh at? Let them believe you are just another old woman walking with silence. That is the way of true power to act without display. To hold without performance. The keris does not care who laughs. It is not here to convince the world. It is here to awaken the one who is ready. Just like all sacred things… it hides itself from the unworthy.” He continued and pause. “If it revealed itself to everyone,” he continued, “it would become entertainment. Spectacle. It would be used to conquer, not to heal. But you, you seek no throne. You ask not for loyalty. That is why it came to you.” She let his words settle in the space between them and in her head.
“I’ve seen what power can do,” she said. “It can destroy. But it can also lift people from pain. If I can use it to lessen even a little of someone’s suffering… then I will carry it. Quietly. Alone if I must.”
Guruji nodded, almost imperceptibly. “That is true power,” he said. “To act without needing to be seen. To help without needing to be thanked. Let them think what they will. You know who you are. The keris knows what you carry. Invisibility was your first lesson," Guruji reminded her. "Now comes the harder one—discernment."
Her breath caught. “what is discernment?”
“Invisibility taught you how not to be seen. Discernment will teach you when to be seen and by whom. It is the lesson of the blade: To cut only when it is necessary and only what needs cutting. Not everything loud deserves a response. Not everything soft is innocent. Not every conflict needs resolution. Not every lie needs correcting. But the lies within the self those must be severed with precision"
“The essence of the khadgamala, garland of the sword. To cut only when necessary and only what needs cutting..." she interrupt.
“yeeeeeeees you got it” guruji almost jump with joy. "You are the holder now," he said. "And many eyes will turn toward you. But they do not seek you. They seek what you carry."
He closed his eyes again gently, firmly. As if sealing a door. And she understood: this was no longer just her journey. It was a crossing.
