Page 46 of The Love Position

It shouldn’t matter that Isaac was here or not. Apart from the experience in his house that she still couldn’t explain, he was her friend. And anyway, she was about to undertake an intensive, month-long course. It would be unlikely she’d even get to speak to him again.

8

As the echoes of the last ‘om’ still hung in the air, Isaac was on his feet, his hand proffered to his guru, Swami Vishnu, who was sitting on an ornate golden chair.

The older man raised an eyebrow, but allowed Isaac to help him up.

Everyone nearby bowed their heads and bum-shuffled out of the way so they could pass, and the two men took the back gate out of the temple that led to the private beach and accommodation for the leaders of the ashram and Devanandara organisation.

Satsang had always been a joy to Isaac. Collective meditation, chanting, and a teaching from a spiritual text, or visiting speaker. It centred him twice a day and provided inspiration, peace and comfort.

But this evening? Torture.

In the silence of meditation, his mantra became the word ‘Sophia’. Every Sanskrit word of the chants turned into her name, and Swami Saraswati’s reading became white noise in his head.

Sophia had been sitting at the back of the temple and Isaac had forced himself not to look her way, but it was as if she’d seeped under his skin.

He led Swami Vishnu towards the accommodation block, the moon glittering silver on the surface of the water to their left.

‘Guruji…’

‘Hanuman…’

‘I need to…’

‘Come.’ The older man patted Isaac’s arm. ‘Let’s sit and enjoy the evening and you can tell me what’s troubling you.’

There were a few rattan chairs under the palm trees at the edge of the sand. Isaac pulled one out for his guru, then sat in the one next to him, his head bowed and his hands clasped as if in prayer.

‘Hanuman. What has happened? Are your family okay?’

Isaac’s gaze snapped up. ‘They’re fine, as far as I know.’

‘Then what is it?’

The compassion in his guru’s eyes filled him with shame. This was an embarrassing fuss about nothing. Here he was, monopolising the time of the leader of the Devanandara organisation with an uncontrollable infatuation.

He owed Swami Vishnu everything. Twelve years ago, Isaac had arrived at the ashram in the Himalayas after a year of travelling, still as lost and broken as he’d been when he’d left London. He’d only planned to stay a few days before moving on, but when he met Swami Vishnu, his new life began.

His guru was a British native, twenty years older than him, and understood the culture that Isaac had walked away from. Intensely charismatic, he’d had his own journey, leaving behind a career as a sports coach in the UK to embrace a life of spirituality and chastity. Renouncing attachments, he now had the honorific title of ‘Swami’, and led the other Swamis who each ran a Devanandara ashram across the globe.

‘Guruji… You know me better than anyone.’

‘Not better than you know yourself, Hanuman.’

Isaac shook his head. ‘I’ve recently been worried that I don’t know myself at all anymore.’

His guru reached across and patted Isaac’s knee. ‘Is the issue with your land disturbing you? That’s completely understandable.’

‘It is worrying me, but that’s not why I need to speak to you.’

Isaac gazed out across the pristine sand. It was bright under the moonlight and utterly magical. He was grateful at least one beach on the island had escaped the tide of sargassum.

Just rip the plaster off.

‘It’s about a woman…’

Swami Vishnu lifted his hand from Isaac’s knee. ‘Ah. The ultimate test!’

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