Chapter 115
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Chapter 115: Title
In the information age, even the most obscure events in remote corners can be unearthed through investigation.
The recent upheaval in India created such significant ripples that reports detailing the situation appeared on the desks of most national leaders within an hour.
The Asia Intelligence Team under the Special Bureau’s Information Section 2 scours every Asian nation except their own for all extraordinary-related intelligence.
While access to this team’s intelligence remains restricted, one particular department consistently receives every report regardless of importance.
Lin Jing skimmed the newly arrived documents bearing India’s special designation.
Though the Analysis Department had originally comprised only his analysis team, its global scope now required expanded personnel. With sufficient staffing secured through necessary restructuring, Lin Jing oversaw final reviews while subordinates handled trend analysis – his focus remained solely on tracking emerging developments.
"India’s showing remarkable audacity this time," Lin Jing remarked upon reading their nationwide push for new deity worship. The boldness surprised him, though promoting divine belief proved easier when deities demonstrably existed.
Continuing through the report, he noted India’s attempt to abandon Prithvi’s faith resembled spitting on ancestral traditions. The caste system’s legal abolition hadn’t eradicated its societal roots, so intertwined was it with religious foundations.
Could India truly purge such deep-seated maladies? Lin Jing briefly contemplated before dismissing the thought – India’s internal struggles weren’t his concern.
The exhaustive report revealed the deity’s manifestation affected vast regions, with additional disturbances in India’s northwest requiring further investigation.
Setting aside the India dossier, Lin Jing lifted three others: Atlantic affairs, African developments, and abyssal invasion analysis. He sipped tea as pages rustled under his subordinates’ hands.
…
"Establishing this new faith requires identifying Earth Mother Prithvi’s mortal representative," Neh declared to the assembled officials. "Whoever they are, we must authenticate their status."
India’s powerbrokers nodded – none could deny the logic. A knock interrupted them. The newcomer bowed before these titans whose slightest displeasure could shake the nation.
"We’ve located the deity’s chosen."
The announcement brought mixed reactions. Not all endorsed the Prithvi worship plan, though none dared oppose it publicly.
These privileged men possessed influence and riches, yet lacked the ultimate currency – longevity. Ordinary humans considered eighty years fortunate, centenarians rarer still. But extraordinary individuals inherently gained century-long lifespans, potentially doubling with breakthroughs.
Wealth couldn’t buy cultivation talent, yet divine favor offered tangible benefits. Slum dwellers’ rejuvenation through recent events proved this – their visibly younger bodies and vitality made advancing the faith inevitable.
"Who’s the representative?" Neh demanded.
"A slum-dwelling girl. Multiple witnesses saw Prithvi’s golden radiance descend upon her. A lotus blooms on her forehead."
"The lotus bears the likeness of divine miracles, and there are eyewitness accounts of her harvesting a Golden Lotus from the earth before departing…"
The informant had thoroughly verified all details. When Neh inquired, the man relayed all he knew at once.
"A slum-dwelling girl?"
The repeated description darkened numerous expressions in the chamber.
Those of higher caste traced their lineage to Aryans with European-pale complexions, while the slum inhabitants—predominantly darker-skinned Dalits—belonged to the lower caste in 99% of cases. The assembly’s own complexions made this social divide painfully apparent.
—The deity’s chosen representative emerged from the oppressed caste.
This revelation struck like a poisoned blade. Even forewarned, the ruling elite struggled to conceal their dismay. Only Neh, genuinely indifferent to caste hierarchy, and a few masters of composure maintained neutral expressions.
"As the appointed representative, she belongs in the earth mother’s temple as its presiding priest," Neh proposed in a conciliatory tone.
Silence gripped the room until India’s President broke it. "Neh speaks truth. We require her presence. The golden-lotus prophecy has echoed across our nation—we must formally invite the chosen one."
"Post-temple construction," a minister added, "we’ll need an authentic conduit to the divine."
Though overt conflicts between Blue Star nations had ceased, an invisible arms race persisted. Where advanced weaponry once safeguarded national fortune, citizens now sought protection in celestial patronage. The recent abyssal invasion had already erased several small countries from existence—a grim reminder of humanity’s fragility.
"What’s the girl’s name?"
"Nilora."
After contemplative silence, the President instructed, "Dispatch a diplomatic team with Neh. Courteous approach paramount. Secure her allegiance."
"I shall receive her personally upon arrival."
Nilora’s dual value shone clear: sole intermediary to the divine and harvester of Golden Lotuses. Through Neh, they’d learned how the golden rain healed afflictions, restored youth, and enhanced abilities. The lotuses sprouting from this blessed precipitation surely held greater wonders—divine boons beyond mortal measure.
Neh recognized the politicians’ covetous calculations. While disinterested in hoarding sacred flora, he wouldn’t refuse its benefits. A single petal had propelled him to Tier One Pinnacle.
(Blue Star’s power hierarchy, established through East-West consensus, formalized one month post-Awakening of Spiritual Energy.)
India’s slums.
Panting from her sprint, Nilora carefully detached each golden petal into an earthen bowl. Upon contact with the vessel, the divine blossoms liquefied into shimmering auric streams.
After all the petals of the Golden Lotus had been plucked, the bare stem turned translucent and dissolved into nothingness within Nilora’s palm.
Holding the bowl carefully, Nilora approached her bedridden mother. She tenderly offered a single sip before setting the vessel aside.
The golden liquid flowed down her mother’s throat. In that instant, the woman’s salt-and-pepper hair deepened to jet black while her pallid complexion bloomed with renewed vitality. Eyelids fluttering open, the revitalized woman found her daughter’s anxious gaze waiting.
"Mother, how do you feel?" Nilora’s voice quivered with hope. She adjusted the pillows to support her mother’s upright position, the bowl of shimmering liquid gleaming nearby.
Though ordinary people could consume the Golden Lotus’ essence, their mortal frames could only withstand small doses of its divine potency.
"Nilora… I feel life returning," her mother breathed, still frail but no longer gripped by death’s shadow.
"One sip daily until the bowl empties," the girl affirmed with growing confidence. "You’ll be whole again."
Her mother’s eyes drifted to the luminous substance. "What magic is this?"
"A deity’s blessing."
"The gods?" The woman’s brow furrowed, memories fractured by long illness.
Nilora’s smile illuminated the dim room as she gestured toward their household shrine. "Not Shiva this time, but Prithvi herself – the great earth mother who saved you."
As she recounted recent miracles, Nilora’s fingers brushed the golden lotus mark etched upon her forehead.
—Those bearing My lotus shall walk as My voice in the human realm.
The divine proclamation echoed through her memory, warm yet unyielding as mountain stone. Could this celestial brand truly mark her as Prithvi’s chosen?
Her mother’s sudden intake of breath broke the reverie. "Your brow…" Trembling fingers clasped Nilora’s hand. "This goddess who heals and protects – we must honor her properly."
"I understand," Nilora murmured, swallowing unspoken truths about ancient divinities whose secrets now pulsed beneath her golden mark.
"And your father?" The question trembled with old fears. "If he discovers—"
"Let him try." Steel entered the girl’s voice as she recalled flinging the brute across the yard with effortless grace. Where once stood an invincible tyrant now cowered a man outmatched.
Memories of broken bones and midnight screams surfaced, but Nilora drowned them in newfound resolve. No more cowering. No more bruises blooming like cursed flowers on her mother’s skin.
"Rest now," she urged, smoothing the blanket’s folds. "Shall I prepare broth?"
As she moved toward the hearth, Nilora silently vowed to the lotus glowing upon her skin: Never again. Never again would darkness touch those she loved. The earth mother’s power thrummed in her veins, and where divine strength flowed, mortal cruelty could not prevail.
