When the Lord Himself chooses His place, then what remains for a human being to do?

There was no worry left, no planning, no question of asking anyone for land.

It felt as though all directions were opening on their own, and I was merely a medium, witnessing that unseen divine play unfold before me.

Now the next step was to bring the Lord’s sacred form as soon as possible.

Again and again, only one thought arose in my mind:

“Who will be those blessed hands that will give shape to the Lord’s idol?”

How would this task be completed?

Who would support it?

Who would be chosen for this sacred service?

I had no answers to any of these questions.

Yet deep within, there was an unshakable faith that wherever the work belongs to God, He Himself creates the path.

As soon as we stepped out of the temple, it felt as though we were returning from another realm. The surroundings were the same, the paths were the same, the people were the same—but something within had changed. There was a unique peace in the heart, a deep sense of fulfillment, as if a long-unquenched thirst had suddenly been satisfied. We were all together, yet no one had words. It was as if words were too small in front of that experience.

Inside me, a different kind of stirring was taking place. Along with the blissful memory of his darshan, a question kept arising again and again—would I be able to fulfill the responsibility he had entrusted to me? Those 700 rupees were not just an amount of money; they were a resolve, a calling, a trust that he had placed in me.

Time passed, but his words continued to echo within me. Whenever my courage weakened, the same voice would arise from within—“The work is still incomplete.” I went wherever I could, spoke to whomever I could. I knocked on every door and explored every possibility. There was a small piece of land near the ashram—again and again, I felt that this was the right place. But perhaps it was not meant for me. The owner of that land built his own house there.

This was no ordinary experience—it was a moment of something profound, something that touched the very soul.

In a calm voice, he said, “Make the idol… I know you will have it made. And I will surely come to you… but you will have to serve me. I feel very hungry…” There was no request in his voice—rather, there was a strange sense of closeness and authority, as if a very dear and ancient bond had resurfaced.

As soon as he said this, he embraced me. That embrace was not ordinary—it carried years of waiting, unspoken emotions, and a deep spiritual recognition. And then, after saying this, he began to cry. The tears flowing from his eyes spoke far more than words ever could. Softly, he said, “I have waited a long time… now we have finally met…”

Then he added something more: “But now I will meet you ahead… I will wait for you there…”

There was a depth in his words that could not just be heard—it had to be felt. This was not about this life… it was about a journey that begins after life. I looked into his eyes—there was a remarkable radiance, a divine calm… as if he knew everything—past, present, and future.

I was absorbing every word of his into the depths of my heart. There was no longer any need for words… understanding was arising on its own.

That day’s experience was not an ordinary event in my life—it was something beyond that, as if an unseen force had called me closer.

Just then, the elderly monk held my hand. His touch was not ordinary; it carried a sense of warmth and familiarity, as if he had known me for a long time.

Without asking anything, he led me inside the temple. There was a strange चमक (radiance) in his eyes. As soon as we entered, he said,

“I have been waiting for you for so many years… and now you have finally come.”

I was stunned. There was no artificiality in his words. He kept looking around—sometimes picking up an object, sometimes focusing his attention somewhere—as if he was understanding some invisible signs. Then suddenly he said,

“What should I give you… what should I give you… I want to give you something.”

He reached behind a picture of God and took out some sindoor and black chickpeas (kale chane) as prasad, placing them in my palm.