The sky over Varanasi began to be tinged with shades of pink and orange as Anjali arrived at the ghats of the Ganges. The city, still wrapped in the twilight of dawn, was slowly awakening. The first rays of the sun emerged over the horizon, reflecting on the sacred waters of the river. Anjali, with her camera hanging around her neck, prepared to capture that moment that, as she had heard, contained the essence of Indian spirituality.
As she adjusted the focus, her eyes fell on a solitary figure standing by the water, hands clasped in prayer. The image was perfect: a young man, tall and athletic, dressed in a simple white kurta, staring intently at the river as the sun bathed his face in golden light. Anjali, almost without thinking, clicked. And then, the man looked up, and their eyes met.
Anjali’s heart skipped a beat. There was something in the intensity of that gaze that completely disarmed her, as if he could see beyond the lens, beyond the professional photographer, directly into her soul. But before she could react, he turned and disappeared into the crowd that was beginning to gather for the first ceremonies of the day.
