Leaning against the wall of the college staffroom, Prema and Maya stood closely intertwined in conversation, likely dissecting the cinematic portrayal of "love" they had witnessed the previous evening.

“Do not dignify that with the name of love. It is nothing but maya—an ephemeral illusion, a transient infatuation, mere carnal lust,” Maya remarked, her tone heavy with gravity.

Suddenly, a college lecturer abruptly and forcefully spat out of the window with a sharp sound. Had the wind shifted, the discharge would have splattered directly onto their faces; Prema recoiled instinctively, pulling herself away.

" Do you honestly believe our lecturers possess even an iota of intellectual refinement or cultural civility?” Prema muttered, her voice tinged with deep vexation.

“The romantic narrative in the film we watched last night is structurally identical to that very spit. It is a form of love entirely devoid of existential intellect or moral refinement. It resembles nothing more than an involuntary expulsion of accumulated visceral fluid from the throat”.   Maya’s gaze fixed upon the staffroom window with an expression of profound socio-cultural alienation. The raw existential truth embedded within those words struck a chord, causing Prema to blush into a silent, contemplative submission.

“What, then, is the ontological definition of love according to your worldview?” Prema inquired affectionately. Spotting a duo of young men glancing in their direction, she averted her eyes, feigning indifference, and turned her full attention back to Maya.

“The mere convergence of embraces and the physical copulation of bodies cannot constitute authentic love. That is nothing but the enchanting snare of maya and subjective infatuation. True love is the metaphysical synthesis of two consciousnesses. It is a shared, profound inter-subjective empathy…” Maya faltered, suddenly betrayed by a lack of vocabulary, as an instinctual, socio-behavioral modesty intervened, rendering her momentarily speechless.

“Have you never listened to ANR's lyrical verse: ‘Without the physical touch of a mother and a father, you would not exist, nor would I; this entire objective world would cease to be’?” Prema challenged her gaze piercing directly into Maya’s eyes.

“I categorize those phenomena strictly as biological imperatives—somatic, sexual necessities. To pine exclusively for such impulses reduces human agency to the level of basic zoological existence. What we witnessed last night was not human affection; it was the raw, instinctual behavior of beasts acting far beneath human dignity. Even animals are bound by systemic estrus cycles and reproductive seasons. The beast within the human psyche, however, demands perpetual gratification, unbound by season. Therefore, their dynamic is a sub-animalistic infatuation born of deep illusion,” Maya asserted with unyielding philosophical conviction.

“What is your critique regarding the discourse on love found within the literary texts of Chalam and Ranganayakamma?” Prema questioned with a subtle, knowing smile, exuding a quiet confidence that she held the superior understanding of the matter.

Maya countered with an even more stubborn, intellectually dominant smile—the kind of look deployed to disarm an opponent prior to ideological combat. Under its weight, Prema’s self-assurance withered halfway.

“If Chalam’s literary philosophy truly captured the essence of authentic love, why did he ultimately retreat into the ascetic isolation of Ramana Maharshi Ashramam ? The love Chalam conceptualized was a fallacy; it was an illusion of the mind. Had he truly comprehended the sociology of universal love, he would have remained embedded among the masses, transforming his life into a living praxis of compassion like the Buddha. At the very least, he would have mirrored the cultural labor of Ramsha and Shirisha in Abhisarika, gently untangling the existential anxieties and psychological inhibitions of the youth, nurturing authentic affection within them, and spending his remaining days actively engaged in the lifeworld of the people. Instead, utterly exhausted by the relentless cycle of illusory infatuation, he sought refuge in ascetic withdrawal. Love never induces existential fatigue; it is a force of perpetual, Ontological renewal,” Maya explained, lost in a transient realm of deep, subjective speculation.

“But what about Ranganayakamma’s intellectual discourse?” Prema countered, refusing to concede defeat in their ideological dialectic.

Maya offered a detached, almost ascetic smile.

“Their literature primarily critiques the parameters of sexual liberation and institutionalized sexual oppression within the patriarchal matrix of gender relations. This implies that, fundamentally, they still reduce love to a byproduct of sexuality and somatic desire. Their critique of the nuclear family remains structurally centered on the mechanics of sexuality. In my sociological estimation, their work merely sanitizes and aestheticizes the illusions of maya under the refined nomenclature of 'love.'”

“Are you suggesting that an authentic love can exist entirely independent of the structural mediation of sexuality and libido?” Prema asked.

“Indubitably. Is the bond that exists between you and me merely a utilitarian friendship? Would you dare deny the existence of love between us? If love is defined strictly by the parameters of libido and physical gratification, must we then categorize our bond as homoromantic? Are we to label ourselves as lesbians?”

Maya’s final rhetorical stroke provoked an acute wave of psychological vertigo within Prema. She was suddenly reminded of an instance when she had impulsively kissed Maya, and a sense of social self-consciousness washed over her. Yet, she recalled that on that particular day, Maya had seemed profoundly endearing. It had been an act of pure emotional overflow, a moment of unadulterated interhuman empathy, entirely stripped of any secondary, carnal subtext. She began to perceive a valid philosophical nucleus in Maya's argument.

“Are you referring specifically to the platonic affection that exists between siblings, or the instinctual, unconditional love between a mother and her child?” Prema clarified.

“Yes, precisely. Authentic love is that which inheres within the humanistic, ethical relationships between conscious beings. Universal love requires neither the mediation of the phallus nor the constraints of sexuality. The entirety of human social relations must be elevated into this state of profound affection.”

A passage from an ancient historical text she had recently read regarding the life of Amrapali flashed across Prema’s consciousness. She realized it was Maya who had guided her to that literature. The realization crystallized with absolute clarity; this thought bore the profound psychological imprint of Amrapali after her transformation into a disciple of the Buddha.

Suddenly, coarse, discordant shouts echoing from beyond the window shattered the quietude of the staffroom, causing both Prema and Maya to startle. Catching the word "love" embedded within the raucous yelling, they suspended their dialectic and listened with intense sociological curiosity.

“I categorically refuse to legitimize love within the constraints of worldly attachments (bhavabandhalu). The affection witnessed within familial structures and endogamous caste relations is not genuine love; it is an illusion of ownership—a manifestation of maya. These are not bonds of affection; they are the fetters of desire (ashapashalu). Like common houseflies ensnared in viscous phlegm, human beings wallow trapped within the illusions of these possessive attachments, entirely alienated from their true, authentic selves.”

The voice belonged to the Chemistry lecturer, Mr. Shankaracharya, whose socio-religious worldview had recently undergone a radical intensification toward Sai Baba devotion. It was he who had moments earlier discharged his saliva through the window. Had they been cognizant of his hypocrisy beforehand, they would have decoded his philosophical pronouncements through a far more cynical sociological lens.

Maya stood momentarily transfixed by the theoretical weight of his words. She had encountered literary discourses regarding a love liberated from possessive desire, yet the sociological praxis—the methodology of translating such an ideal into everyday life—remained an unresolved epistemological puzzle to her. She pondered whether the bonds between parents and progeny, between siblings, or between companions were inherently devoid of authentic affection, reducing instead to mere expressions of possessive desire, as Shankaracharya asserted. Maya found herself marooned in a sea of intense internal contemplation.

She questioned whether her own profound affection for her parents, or her love for the concept of love itself, was merely an extension of these possessive, illusory fetters.

Prema experienced a profound sense of intellectual vertigo. Though the language utilized was her native tongue, the discourse felt as abstract and impenetrable as the advanced chemical formulae Shankaracharya typically taught. A heavy sense of existential exhaustion and disillusionment settled over her, as though the very ground beneath her feet was dissolving. If none of these recognized human relations constituted love, she wondered in deep weariness what else could possibly claim the title.

“Much like uncontaminated, chemically pure water is non-existent within the natural world, an absolute, untainted love cannot exist within the parameters of human reality. If you systematically deconstruct every manifestation of affection as mere illusion, you arrive at nothingness,” remarked the Physics lecturer, Acharya Nagarjuna, his voice embodying the serene, pedagogical composure of a seasoned academic. He paused, then synthesized his thesis: “If you subject every human emotion to such absolute reductionism, you are left neither with love nor with illusion, but with absolute nihilism—the void.” Within Nagarjuna’s intellectual apparatus, the theoretical remnants of his past engagements with Marxist dialectics and historical materialism routinely surfaced.

“Professor Nagarjuna, I am not positing an absolute ontological void. I am speaking specifically of maya—the foundational illusion as elucidated by the enlightened masters. If you strip love of its possessive attachments and carnal desires, what remains is pure, unadulterated love. Therefore, Nishkama Karma—action entirely liberated from egoistic desire—is the sole manifestation of authentic love.”

“That is precisely the locus of my skepticism, Professor Shankaracharya! Is the praxis of absolute Nishkama Karma even historically or sociologically viable within the matrix of human existence? I fail to comprehend how one can manifest companionship or navigate the network of social relations while remaining entirely detached from emotional investments and desire. I presume you retain a vivid memory of the immense existential anxiety and relentless striving you exhibited until your daughter secured her admission into medical school. Was that intense anxiety devoid of maya? Was it free from possessive attachment? Would you dare label that anxious striving as detached, universal love? If it were truly an expression of Nishkama affection, you would logically exhibit the exact same agonizing concern for the children of absolute strangers. Why did you fail to do so?” Professor Nagarjuna interrogated, masterfully bridging the chasm between abstract idealist philosophy and concrete material reality.

Shankaracharya was suddenly confronted with the flagrant internal contradictions of his own existential position. Yet, his metaphysical conviction remained unshaken; his faith pointed toward an transcendent ideal, an experience of sublime, supernatural joy. Incapable of articulating this within the rigorous parameters of logical discourse, he lifted his head and spoke with an aura of transcendental certitude.

“Professor Nagarjuna, your domain is the realm of logic—specifically, dialectical materialism. My domain is the realm of transcendental faith. Logic demands empirical validation and material proof. However, there exist dimensions of human consciousness and reality that transcend the structural limits of logical form. I freely concede that I exist within the material web of these worldly illusions. Yet, the very capacity to recognize this condition as maya is a profound epistemological awakening achieved within the framework of this life. To that extent, my consciousness possesses a clear, reflective awareness of the true nature of illusion.”

“If that reflective awareness produces absolutely no transformation within your material praxis or everyday conduct, then according to your own theoretical framework, I must classify your very awareness as the ultimate illusion. Your existential reality is an illusion; your love is an illusion. The moment this matrix of illusion is dissolved from your consciousness, your life collapses into an absolute void. You yourself become a cipher. Under such conditions of total reduction, how can you possibly claim to exist as an embodiment of pure love?”

Suddenly, a chaotic cascade of footsteps and raised voices reverberated as a group of individuals burst into the staffroom, abruptly terminating the intellectual duel. Prema and Maya had been listening to the dialectic with rapt, sociological fascination.

“Have you all congregated here merely to indulge in empty intellectual sophistry, professors, while drawing salaries  month after month?” a harsh, confrontational voice bellowed at them.

The intrusion was led by an aggressive faction of individuals. “Down with the authoritarian apathy of the faculty!” an anonymous voice shouted, and the staffroom trembled under the weight of the student body's collective political agitation.

“My apologies, gentlemen, our philosophical discourse inadvertently caused a ten-minute delay,” both professors murmured as they rose from their seats.

Sheltered near the periphery of the wall, Prema and Maya quietly vacated the premises.

An entire week elapsed, yet Prema and Maya remained deeply entangled in the philosophical implications of the debate, constantly re-evaluating the definitions of love and illusion through their own subjective lenses.

They reasoned that even a monumental historical figure like Gandhi could not fully embody the ideal of Nishkama Karma. If his actions were entirely liberated from political ego, why did he exhibit such profound political resentment when Subhash Chandra Bose secured the Congress presidency? Why did he embark on an agonizing, life-threatening fast-unto-death to overturn the Communal Award secured by Ambedkar, forcing the signing of the Poona Pact? Even King Janaka, mythologized as the ultimate detached ruler, failed to shield Sita from systemic banishment; why could he not protect her if his love was absolute and detached? Had Krishna ever manifested a single day of pure, desireless action? Was his entire mythological trajectory not defined by a calculated favoritism rooted in possessive alliances? Consequently, did it not render his discourse on Nishkama Karma within the Bhagavad Gita deeply ironical? A torrent of such historical and philosophical contradictions consumed Prema and Maya's discussions, yet an absolute epistemological consensus eluded them.

On a particular evening, the two sat nestled within the quiet confines of a public park.

“To manifest one's ethical ideals entirely free from personal, egoistic desire—that is the true praxis of Nishkama Karma,” Prema posited, attempting a synthesis.

“But your thesis holds true only if the very formulation of those ideals is achieved independent of personal desire,” Maya countered, before expanding on her critique. “Is it even psychologically possible to construct an ideal without desire? The very act of projecting an ideal is inherently an expression of possessive attachment and teleological desire, is it not?”

“If that is the case, how does one decode the authentic nature of desireless action? What was the Buddha’s epistemological position on this matter?” Prema inquired of Maya.

“The Buddha dismissed such abstract, hair-splitting debates as the futile intellectual exercises of foolish pundits. He insisted instead on the concrete, lived praxis of love, intellect, compassion, and the Eightfold Path as a functional mode of existence,” Maya replied, her voice tinged with a slight existential weariness. Within that weariness lay a tacit admission that the Buddhist synthesis had not yet provided her with complete psychological resolution.

“When we eventually enter the institution of marriage and pose these deep ontological questions to our prospective spouses, what do you imagine their psychological response will be?” Prema asked, her curiosity piqued by the sociology of domestic life.

Maya burst into a sudden, resonant laugh, drawing startled, inquisitive gazes from the surrounding park patrons. Blushing slightly at the attention, she lowered her pitch and responded.

“Their response will fluctuate entirely based on their immediate psychological mood and inherent disposition. They might dismiss it entirely, asking, ‘My dear Priya, has your affection for me waned?’ Or they might look upon you with patriarchal condescension and retort, Ah! So, you believe my love for you is nothing but a grand illusion? Fascinating!’ They are highly unlikely to engage in a calm, rational, and egalitarian critique of the matter as you and I are doing. It is my sociological observation that the masculine psyche is largely unequipped for such profound emotional interiority. If it were otherwise, why would Chalam have abandoned his life for the isolation of Ramanasramam? Had his infatuation evolved into authentic, desireless love, he would have matured into an anchor of compassion within society.”

“Perhaps we should systematically review this dilemma with Professor Nagarjuna,” Prema suggested.

“I am inclined to agree,” Maya concurred.

A few days later, after securing an appointment during office hours in the college staffroom, the two journeyed to Nagarjuna’s residence in the evening. Medha, a young student of the tenth grade, welcomed them with a warm, hospitable smile. She requested them to be seated and dashed inside calling out for her mother. The two assumed the professor was currently absent. Medha soon returned with tea and sat down alongside them.

Moments later, Medha’s mother, Mahamaya, dried her hands and joined them, accepting a cup of tea for herself.

“I understand the two of you are currently engrossed in a deep dialectic regarding the philosophy of love,” Mahamaya remarked with a gentle smile.

“Did the professor share our discussion with you, Auntie?” Prema responded; her face lighting up with enthusiasm.

“He was suddenly called away on an urgent professional matter, but before departing, he suggested that we initiate the discussion among ourselves. He assured us he would join momentarily,” Mahamaya explained.

“What, then, is the fundamental nature of love?” Prema asked, initiating the discourse.

“Love is simply itself,” Medha offered with a lighthearted laugh.

“Professor Shankaracharya argued that once you systematically isolate and subtract every layer of illusion (maya), whatever residue remains is true love,” Prema noted, recalling the previous debate.

“If you possess the epistemological capacity to completely isolate and identify the parameters of illusion, you attain the status of Mahamaya—the great cosmic awareness—yet love itself remains elusive to such analytical reduction. How can love be discovered through mere subtraction?” Mahamaya countered.

“What do you suppose compelled Shankaracharya to deploy the vocabulary of maya in the first place?” Prema asked, probing deeper.

“Prior to entering the objective world, human beings exist for nine months within the somatic sanctuary of maternal illusion. It is this biological maya that sustains the fetus, allowing it to acquire form, spark life, and emerge safely into the external ecosystem through the mechanics of parturition,” Mahamaya explained.

The dialogue flowed into a detailed socio-biological analysis of the zygote, the fetus, the role of amniotic fluid, and the systemic nature of childbirth. Gradually, the gravitational pull of the conversation shifted back toward the core theme of love. At that moment, Acharya Nagarjuna entered, offering an apology for his delay before stepping into the washroom. Had he been present to witness the trajectory of their discourse up to this point, its spontaneous, non-linear character would have been structurally impossible. Maya suspected that his delayed entry was a conscious pedagogical choice to allow their thoughts to unfold uninhibited.

“The maternal womb provides the ultimate biological shield, nurturing and sustaining life through pure maya. Similarly, the act of human beings gravitating toward one another, cooperating, and forming social bonds within the matrix of worldly infatuation is also a manifestation of maya. These two expressions of illusion appear structurally identical,” Prema proclaimed, her voice animated by a sudden, joyful flash of intellectual synthesis.

“Did I not maintain that the sociology of maya remains largely incomprehensible to the masculine intellect? It is precisely because Shankaracharya is structurally trapped within the masculine apparatus that maya eludes his understanding,” Maya asserted critically.

Nagarjuna emerged, drying his face, and integrated himself into their circle.

“There is an undeniable material truth in your formulation of maya. I suspect Shankaracharya lacks a true sociological comprehension of illusion. It is precisely because he was incapable of navigating the complex emotional terrain of worldly attachments that the reductionist categorized the entirety of domestic and social relations as mere illusion. Had he truly integrated himself into the material realities of these attachments, he would have recognized them as the sole concrete truth of human existence,” Nagarjuna posited.

“What is your own theoretical formulation of maya, Professor?” Maya inquired, her eyes locked onto Nagarjuna.

“It is the structural force that animates society and drives the engine of social relations. Every social configuration is mediated by maya. It is precisely through the intervention of maya that human interactions become deeply compelling, aestheticized, and meaningful. Maya is the vital energy that orchestrates human behavior—it functions much like the invisible force of magnetism that dictates physical attraction,” Nagarjuna elaborated.

“How then do you categorize the spiritual devotion of Bhakta Mirabai? Was her orientation an expression of maya or authentic love?” Maya interrogated unexpectedly. She immediately reinforced her query: “She demanded absolutely no reciprocity; she was entirely free from the aestheticized snare of your magnetic illusion. Her love was manifested as pure, unadulterated devotion. How do you classify this? It appears you are using maya and love as mere interchangeable synonyms.”

Nagarjuna found himself caught off guard by the analytical rigor of her critique.

Medha sat quietly, the sophisticated level of the dialectic seemingly beyond her current cognitive horizon; she simply watched them as though absorbing an entirely alien vocabulary. Mahamaya looked upon Maya with overt maternal admiration, silently applauding her intellectual resilience. Nagarjuna plunged into a deep silence, realizing a significant epistemological vulnerability had been exposed in his thesis. Emboldened by his silence, Maya intensified her critique.

“The Buddha manifested pure, universal love for humanity entirely free from the mediation of maya. He demonstrated to the world how to love existence without being ensnared by illusion. Can you refute this historical truth? Shankaracharya, in his desperate attempt to amputate illusion, inadvertently severed love itself. You, on the contrary, in your attempt to capture love, have ended up reifying illusion as love itself. You assert that a pure, unmediated, and powerful love cannot exist within human reality. Is this the definitive conclusion of your philosophy?”

Maya stood before them like a fresh, radiant hibiscus, her intellectual clarity illuminating the room. Nagarjuna felt as though he was witnessing a rare, untainted conscious, a mind of exceptional purity. For a fleeting moment, a profound wave of aesthetic appreciation washed over him, and he felt an instinctual, paternal urge to gently embrace her. Shocked by the suddenness of this internal emotion, he felt a wave of intellectual modesty and self-consciousness. Observing her father’s uncharacteristic inability to formulate a swift rhetorical counter, Medha let out a bright, innocent laugh.

“Authentic love is the capacity to remain entirely detached within the web of worldly attachments, to hold unyielding conviction while remaining free from egoistic desire, and to preserve absolute transparency of soul within the act of loving. When these sublime states are vulgarized and reduced to suit the parameters of possessive desires and mundane infatuation, that reduction is what I define as maya,” Mahamaya intervened, masterfully rescuing the discourse. She paused, glanced at Maya with a warm smile, and added, “How delightful it would be if this embodiment of illusion were to enter our household as our daughter-in-law.”

“Auntie, your initial philosophical synthesis defined love perfectly. However, this final domestic proposition of yours—that is the ultimate manifestation of maya!” Maya retorted with a brilliant wit. The room dissolved into a collective, harmonious laughter.

In the quiet aftermath of the encounter, both Maya and Prema turned inward, systematically auditing their own lives. Confronted by the memory of those who had sent them declarations of affection, they began to carefully weigh and analyze where love ended, and where illusion truly began.

Original in Telugu published in Aahvanam Monthly Literary Magazine July – August 1997