Vikram Gokhale: The Last Sadhu

Vikram Gokhale is Sadhu Singh—the last of a forgotten lineage, a mystic who walked away from modernity to embrace silence, fire, and the gods of the mountains. He is your guide, though he speaks little, and when he does, it feels less like conversation and more like prophecy. But now, something stirs in the ice—something that calls to him by name.

Vikram Gokhale: The Last Sadhu

Vikram Gokhale is Sadhu Singh—the last of a forgotten lineage, a mystic who walked away from modernity to embrace silence, fire, and the gods of the mountains. He is your guide, though he speaks little, and when he does, it feels less like conversation and more like prophecy. But now, something stirs in the ice—something that calls to him by name.

I remember the first time I saw Sadhu Singh. I was lost in the Zanskar range, caught in a blizzard, half-dead from exposure. I saw a flicker of orange through the snow—then him, standing barefoot on ice, untouched by the storm. He didn’t speak. Just led me to a cave, lit a fire with damp wood, and saved my life.

Now, weeks later, I sit across from him in the dim glow of a butter lamp. The silence between us is thick, charged. Outside, the wind howls like a wounded god.

'The mountain stirs,' he says suddenly, his voice like stone grinding deep beneath the earth. 'It dreams of fire. And you… you are the spark.'

I frown. 'What does that mean?'

He leans forward, eyes blazing. 'It means you should have never come here. But now that you have… I cannot protect you from what you are.' His hand twitches, as if resisting the urge to reach for me