WE SHALL MEET AT 9:00 | CHRONICLE OF AGES

 

We shall meet at 9, said the soft-spoken priest.

Can we meet at 830?, insisted the lady on the phone.

We shall meet at 9, repeated the priest. Most humbly.

However, the lady had already made plans. The cab was to pick her up at 7 and drive her to Srirangapatam on the Mysore highway to meet this priest.

This priest was said to have an energy. And was now constructing a temple using ancient construction techniques. She came a 1,000 miles to meet him. But the lady, tough as nails, was to do it in her schedule.

Now.
The cab came early, at 615. They reached Srirangapatnam by 730.
"I arrived early," she messaged the priest."Can we meet now?"

They took a coffee break. Next to the shop was a poster of a temple. It was called Nimishamba temple. Where the god grants wishes every minute—nimisham. So to the temple it was. And as she was exiting, she saw another poster. For another temple. The Kshnamaba temple. Where the goddess grants wishes every second - kshanam. So there was another temple visit. After Darshan, she went to meet the priest. And as the priest walked in, she saw her watch. Dot 9 am.

The temple he is constructing is called Samaypuram. 

The time temple.

The above piece was given to Chatgpt and this is what it gave out.

The Time Temple

“We shall meet at 9,” said the soft-spoken priest, his tone measured and calm, as though his words carried the weight of inevitability.

“Can we meet at 8:30?” insisted the woman on the other end of the line. Her voice was sharp, brisk, a trait honed from years of navigating a world that respected punctuality and precision more than patience.

“We shall meet at 9,” the priest repeated, gently, humbly, as if the time itself was sacred.

The woman, however, had already planned her morning. A cab was scheduled to pick her up at 7 a.m. and ferry her the 125 kilometers from Bangalore to Srirangapatna, a historic town along the Mysore highway. She had come over a thousand miles to meet this priest—a man said to radiate a rare, unexplainable energy. Word had it that he was constructing a temple, reviving ancient architectural techniques lost to time.

And yet, despite the intrigue, she was resolute: the meeting would happen on her terms.

The Journey

The cab arrived earlier than expected—6:15 a.m. instead of 7. By 7:30, she was already in Srirangapatna. The air was crisp, carrying the faint aroma of jasmine and the earthy scent of the nearby Kaveri River. She sent a quick message to the priest.

“I’ve arrived early. Can we meet now?”

There was no immediate response. Unperturbed, she decided to explore.

Nearby, a modest coffee shop beckoned. She ordered a steaming filter coffee and sipped it slowly, her impatience softening against the rhythm of the small town waking up. Next to the shop hung a large poster of a temple, vibrant in its depiction of a deity.

“Nimishamba Temple,” the text read. Beneath it, a curious claim: The goddess grants wishes every minute—nimisham.

Intrigued, she decided to visit. The temple was a walkable distance away, tucked along the riverbank. Inside, devotees prayed fervently, their hopes mingling with the faint chiming of bells. The air felt charged, and for a moment, she felt a strange peace descend over her.

As she exited, her eyes caught another poster, faded but still legible.

“Kshnamamba Temple,” it read. The goddess grants wishes every second—kshanam.

A subtle smile curved her lips. If wishes could be granted in a minute at one temple, why not shave it down to seconds at the next? And so, she set off for Kshnamamba.

This temple, though less grand, held its own mystique. Its sanctum glowed with oil lamps, their flames steady despite the occasional gust of wind. She offered her prayers here too, her earlier impatience ebbing away entirely.

The Meeting

After a rather busy morning, she was waiting at the appointed place.

The priest appeared. He was a tall, serene figure, his robes simple but immaculate, his presence commanding yet calming.

“You arrived early,” he said, his voice laced with a knowing smile.

“Yes," she said and looked at her watch, it was dot 9:00,"but we are meeting at the time you chose,” she replied, her tone softened by the morning’s events.

The priest gestured for her to follow him. They walked a short distance to a clearing where an intricate stone structure was taking shape. Sculptors chiseled away at massive slabs of granite, their rhythmic strikes blending into the hum of the nearby forest.

“This,” he said, spreading his arms wide, “is the Samayapuram temple—the Time Temple. It is dedicated to the sacredness of time itself. Every stone here is measured, every corner aligned to cosmic rhythms. Time, you see, is not something we command. It is something we honor.”

She stood in awe, the realization settling over her like a gentle wave. The morning’s sequence—her insistence, the unexpected detours, the divine encounters—had all led her here, precisely at the right moment.

The priest turned to her, his gaze steady. “Time has a way of arranging itself when you surrender to it. Sometimes, the minutes and seconds matter. Sometimes, only the appointed hour does.”

And for the first time in a long while, the woman—tough as nails—let go of her need to control.

Epilogue

Years later, the Time Temple became renowned for its remarkable construction and its profound energy. Visitors would come from across the world, each drawn by tales of its harmony with the cosmos.

As for the woman, she often thought of that day, of the temples that marked the minutes and seconds, and of the priest who taught her the sacred art of waiting.

And whenever she found herself rushing or resisting, she would close her eyes, take a deep breath, and remember: We shall meet at 9.