Midnight is approaching, and it seems like the darkest night of the decade. Moon has hidden behind the clouds in fear of the storm which has been cooking up in the shore of “Bay of Bengal”. The twelve hundred craftsmen are frightened too. Bishu Maharana, the leader of this tribe, had closed his eyes and trying to control his tears. Dharmapada, his twelve-year-old son had already climbed half of the temple and approaching to the top of the viscous sculpture, the Konark. Narshingha Dev, the Samrat of great Kalinga is going to behead all the craftsmen tomorrow if he is unable to see the complete temple tomorrow. The old ones are already accepted this as they have been failing for the last 1 month in fixing the keystone, and if they give their life for the cause of a majestic craft, it’s worth it. But who can ignore the horror of waiting for his turn for beheading while watching his friends being slaughtered in front of him?
Dharmapada or the sweetly Dharama thought he could save them all and slipped from his father’s eyes to fix the stone on his own. He is not trained in it, but he heard everything while he was in his mother’s womb. He is confident and climbing fast so as he can complete the work before the storm. Everyone is eagerly waiting but Bishu. He knew the caveat in the design of this temple. Although the construction of most temples follows similar principles, Konark is his brainchild which he designed from scratch twelve years ago. Dharma has learned everything exceptionally, but how can he learn something which did not merely exist. But Bishu’s tears are made of pride; he knows Dharama would die, if Dharama can’t fix the keystone he will fulfil his oath the jump into the sea below, and even if the boy sets it he simply hasn’t taken the equipment’s to descend. The sea is roaring below, and the heart of this father’s too.