Prabhakar Iyer 1 The monsoon had arrived with a vengeance. Sheets of rain lashed against the tiled roofs of the small village of Bhawanipur, and the narrow lanes had turned into rivulets of muddy water rushing toward the swollen river. Thunder cracked across the sky, shaking the earth as if some forgotten deity was demanding to be remembered. Inside the old temple at the village’s edge, the priest, Haranath, struggled with his oil lamp, shielding the flickering flame from the intrusive gusts that slithered in through the half-broken shutters. The temple was small, its walls damp and moss-clad, yet it…