Anatoly Romashkov
DHUMAVATI
A Voice in the Smoke
© Anatoly Romashkov, 2026
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the copyright holder.
Contents
Chapter One Sixty-Four
Chapter Two Aghorācārasantuṣṭā
Chapter Three Varanasi
Chapter Four Manali
Chapter Five Between India and Russia
Chapter Six Hearing
Chapter Seven The Student
Chapter Eight Union
Chapter Nine The Crack
Chapter Ten The Impossible Completion
Chapter Eleven The Unclosed Thread
Chapter Twelve The First Night
Chapter Thirteen Scattered
Chapter Fourteen Seven Strangers
Chapter Fifteen The Third Night
Chapter Sixteen Nine
Chapter Seventeen Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen Twenty-Seven
Chapter Nineteen Thirty-Six
Chapter Twenty The First Voice
Chapter Twenty-One The Others
Chapter Twenty-Two Sisters
Chapter Twenty-Three Who Is Speaking?
Chapter Twenty-Four Characters
Chapter Twenty-Five Lakshmi
Chapter Twenty-Six Chamunda
Chapter Twenty-Seven Chinnamasta
Chapter Twenty-Eight Home
Chapter Twenty-Nine Sixty-Eight
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty-One The Call
Chapter Thirty-Two Three
Chapter Thirty-Three One at a Time
Chapter Thirty-Four The Line
Chapter Thirty-Five Durga
Chapter Thirty-Six Overdrive
Chapter Thirty-Seven Wives
Chapter Thirty-Eight Without Limits
Chapter Thirty-Nine Years
Chapter Forty The Last Cycle
Chapter Forty-One Maharishi
Sixty-Four
At two minutes to six Dmitry saved the document, closed the work spreadsheet and looked at the screen for a few seconds, as though he expected the computer to offer him a good reason to stay another half an hour.
The computer said nothing.
The feeling was mutual.
After six in the evening Dmitry felt about his work much the way his work felt about him: without hatred, but without any excessive love either.
On the other side of the wall someone pushed in a chair. Further down the corridor a door banged. Then it was quiet.
By this time the management usually either went home or made a show of being busy with something extraordinarily important. The arrangement suited Dmitry: he was hardly ever bothered, his tasks were clear, his salary was paid on time, and, most importantly, nobody felt the need to check exactly what he was doing every minute of the working day. For a man who, once work was over, had his own life to get on with, these were almost ideal conditions.
He pulled a small flash drive out of the port, put it in his pocket and closed the laptop.
“Home,” he said to himself. “At last.”
And are you in a hurry to get somewhere?
Dmitry froze with his jacket in his hands.
