Mohaan crept towards the temple, his heart pounding in his chest. The weight of his poverty had finally broken him, pushing him to the edge. He clutched a small bag, his plan set in motion. "This is the only way," he whispered to himself, trying to silence the voice of guilt that echoed in his mind.

Mohaan tiptoed towards the altar, the sacred wood pieces gleaming invitingly. His fingers trembled as he reached out, the smooth texture of the chandan cool against his skin. He hesitated, knowing this act would sever him from his community's trust forever.

Mohaan froze, his breath caught in his throat. The pujari's presence was a reminder of the line he was about to cross. "Mohaan, what are you doing here at this hour?" the pujari asked, suspicion and concern mingling in his voice.

Mohaan dropped the chandan wood, his decision hanging in the balance. "I... I was just..." he stammered, unable to find words that could justify his betrayal. Desperation clawed at him, but so did an unfamiliar sense of relief at being caught.

Pujari Ramdas stepped closer, his expression softening. "You don't have to do this, my son," he said gently. "There are always other paths, ones that don't lead to regret."

Mohaan nodded, tears brimming in his eyes. "Please, help me find another way," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. The pujari placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, offering a silent promise of support and understanding.