Guided by destiny. Forged by choice.
Harrison Sharma expected temples, street food, and a vacation he didn’t ask for—not an ancient prophecy, a goddess who speaks without words, or a shadow that seems to follow him.
From the moment he arrives in Kathmandu, strange signs begin to stir: a sacred parchment that changes with each reader, whispers only he can hear, and a crimson diamond said to shift the fate of the world.
The Heart of Kumari is more than a legend.
And Harrison is bound to it in ways he doesn’t yet understand.
Now, as his family’s journey takes them from mountaintop temples to the wild jungles of Chitwan, Harrison must uncover a truth buried for centuries—before it’s stolen by those who would use it to unravel the world.
Guardians of a Secret Legacy is the first book in A Journey to the Heart of Kumari—a sweeping YA fantasy rooted in ancient mystery, spiritual power, and the untamed beauty of Nepal.
Guided by destiny. Forged by choice.
Harrison Sharma expected temples, street food, and a vacation he didn’t ask for—not an ancient prophecy, a goddess who speaks without words, or a shadow that seems to follow him.
From the moment he arrives in Kathmandu, strange signs begin to stir: a sacred parchment that changes with each reader, whispers only he can hear, and a crimson diamond said to shift the fate of the world.
The Heart of Kumari is more than a legend.
And Harrison is bound to it in ways he doesn’t yet understand.
Now, as his family’s journey takes them from mountaintop temples to the wild jungles of Chitwan, Harrison must uncover a truth buried for centuries—before it’s stolen by those who would use it to unravel the world.
Guardians of a Secret Legacy is the first book in A Journey to the Heart of Kumari—a sweeping YA fantasy rooted in ancient mystery, spiritual power, and the untamed beauty of Nepal.
Greeted by the first light of dawn, the island nation of Bahrain stirred as the adhan—the call to prayer—rose with the wind, carrying its lament through the streets. It was a sound steeped in history, potent enough to transport one to an age when ancient footsteps wandered the dusty cobblestone. The melodic chant flowed over the bustling souks and wind-sculpted walls of half-buried forts, weaving itself into the island’s soul. Like a hymn, the call meandered through the air, timeless and unwavering, binding the present to the island’s deep spiritual past.
Perched along the waters of Manama Bay, the Sharma family’s villa stood within a small enclave, a tranquil oasis opposite a vibrant market. A daunting twelve-foot concrete wall encircled the compound, save for the side that faced the shore where a cast-iron fence rose, presenting uninterrupted vistas of the Persian Gulf. This fence framed a scene of local fishermen in dhows—traditional wooden boats—using age-old methods to harvest the sea’s bounty, creating a timeless and beautiful tableau.
Within this private community, eighteen villas stood. Their Arabian-style architecture, basking in the warm orange hues of the desert sun, cast a radiance against the bay. Constructed from a mix of pink coral and limestone from the surrounding sea, the villas captured colors that mirrored the earthy tones of the environment. Blending seamlessly into the surrounding landscape, each villa showcased an identical design, with arched balconies and mashrabiya screens. This detailed latticework with geometric patterns allowed airflow and light to permeate while maintaining privacy. Together, these elements reflected the rich heritage of the Middle East.
At the compound’s center was a communal sanctuary: an inviting swimming pool that mirrored the sky above, surrounded by a manicured garden where palm trees swayed gently, their fronds rustling in the breeze. This peaceful haven served as a social and recreational hub, contrasting the private seclusion of each dwelling.
Sophie Sharma moved through her home with practiced efficiency. Sunlight streamed through an open window, painting golden threads into her long, dirty-blonde hair. The mashrabiya filtered the sun’s rays, casting intricate patterns onto the marble floor. Throughout the house, the fragrance of freshly arranged flowers mingled with aromatic spices from the kitchen, creating a warm atmosphere that welcomed all who entered.
“Mom, have you seen my baseball glove?” Harrison’s voice broke the morning quiet.
At sixteen, Harrison Sharma had a natural way about him, the kind of presence that made people feel comfortable, even if they didn’t quite know why. He was tall for his age, with a tanned complexion from long afternoons spent outdoors, whether tossing a ball with friends or simply enjoying the warmth of the sun.
His hair was always neatly kept, not out of vanity but because he enjoyed the little sense of control it gave him in a world that often felt unpredictable. Harrison’s eyes were observant, often focusing on his surroundings with a depth that suggested he saw much more than he revealed. They picked up on details others might have missed—the slight shift of a breeze, the fleeting look of doubt on a face. Yet despite the subtle intensity behind his gaze, there was calmness, too, a confident assurance that came with his acceptance of those around him.
But there was something else in those eyes, something even Harrison wasn’t entirely aware of yet. The pull of an ancient weight lay just beneath the surface, waiting for the moment when he’d have to reckon with it.
Sophie smiled to herself, her heart swelling with quiet pride. She thought back to all the different places they had called home, each one a temporary stop in her husband’s military career. Harrison had weathered it all with an admirable resolve, maturing into a resilient young man. He fit effortlessly into every new environment, embracing each fresh start as just another challenge to overcome. It still amazed her at times how he seemed to bloom where others might have withered.
“Your glove is on the kitchen table, Harrison,” Sophie responded, balancing her coffee cup in one hand as she flipped the dosa on the skillet. She was preparing a traditional South Indian delicacy that had a thin, crispy, crepe-like texture made from a fermented batter of rice and lentils.
Harrison bounded in the room, eager to get on with his day.
“What’s with the glove? Sophie asked. “Baseball doesn’t start until the spring.”
Harrison swiped the glove from the table and slung his backpack over his chair. “Never hurts to get better, Mom,” he said with a grin, slipping the glove onto his hand and flexing it a few times. “By the way, I’m staying late after school. I have practice, then Luke and Griffin want to throw the ball around.”
“Just make sure you’re home by the last call to prayer,” Sophie said, reaching into the fridge. She set a carton of orange juice down on the counter.
“I always am,” he replied, pouring himself a glass.
Sophie watched him for a moment. “Is everything okay? You seem a little...melancholy.”
“I’m fine,” Harrison said with a small shrug. “Just a bit distracted, I guess.” He brightened suddenly. “Oh, by the way, guess what we did at school yesterday.”
“Tell me,” Sophie prompted, picking up on the change in his tone.
“Mr. Jenkins brought in a tarantula, and he let us hold it!”
Sophie chuckled, shaking her head. “That’s incredible! I would’ve run a mile.”
Ravi Sharma entered the kitchen with a quiet authority. His skin, a warm bronze, proudly reflected his Indian heritage. His athletic, chiseled physique spoke of hours spent at the gym, a discipline he carried like a badge of honor. He grabbed a mug and poured himself a cup of chai from the simmering pot on the stove, the fragrant steam curling into the air.
“You’re braver than I am, Harrison,” he said as he joined the gentle bustle of the morning. “Holding a tarantula takes guts.” He cast a glance at Sophie, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “No tea for you this morning, my love?”
“I’m fine with my coffee,” Sophie replied, returning the smile.
“Hey! How about a family adventure?” Ravi suggested. “Why don’t we go on holiday? Aren’t the kids off from school for the next two weeks?”
“Yes, they are.” Sophie looked up from the skillet. “What do you have in mind?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Ravi’s adventurous spirit was woven into the fabric of his being, a trait nurtured during his years at a prestigious boarding school set within the weathered walls of an ancient Indian fort. The whispers of history lived in those stone corridors, where the air was always tinged with the scent of leather-bound books and the distant sounds of laughter. It was here, among the remnants of the past and forgotten battles, that his curiosity had been ignited. The fort had taught him to explore—to seek out the unknown, whether in forgotten corners of the school grounds or the world beyond its gates.
“Holiday?” Six-year-old Cyrus Sharma’s eyes lit up, glowing like honey caught in the morning’s rays. His skin—a soft, porcelain tone passed down from his mother—seemed to radiate the joy that always hovered just beneath the surface. His brown curls bounced in their tight spirals as he raced into the kitchen, clutching Sheepy—his beloved, well-worn stuffed companion—close to his chest.
“Where are we going? Where are we going?” he asked, his voice bubbling with excitement, as though each word could barely keep up with his delight. Sheepy, a gift from his grandmother Amma, was worn but well-loved, its fraying seams and countless stitches bearing witness to years of affection. Each patch and repair were a testament to the bond they shared, a piece of home that Cyrus carried with him wherever he went.
Sophie smiled at her middle son, marveling at his enthusiasm. “We’ll see, Cyrus. Anywhere we go will be amazing,” she said, placing the dosa on a plate and handing it to him.
Cyrus, with Sheepy in tow, was always ready for new adventures, finding magic in the smallest corners. His spirit of exploration was infectious, and Sophie couldn’t help but share in his excitement.
“Mom, can I get some spicy green chutney with my dosa?” Cyrus’s voice was eager as he savored the thought of his favorite flavors. Known for his love of spice, he could never resist adding an extra kick to his meals.
“Absolutely, sweetheart. I know how much you love chutney,” Sophie said, handing him a small bowl of the spicy green mixture.
At the table, five-year-old Kiran Sharma carefully tore off a piece of dosa, dipping it into his chutney with the precision of a child trying to imitate grown-ups. His wide, almond-shaped eyes caught the morning light, giving them an extra gleam of curiosity. His dark hair, a mirror of his father’s Indian heritage, framed a face full of questions that he wasn’t always sure how to ask—but that didn’t stop him from trying.
“Mom, what holiday is it again? I forgot,” Kiran asked.
Sophie smiled warmly, setting aside her skillet and wiping her hands on a kitchen towel before turning to give Kiran her full attention. “Tomorrow is the start of Eid al-Adha. It’s a very special holiday for Muslims around the world.”
Kiran’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yeah! Ms. Malik talked about it in Friday School. It’s the one where the daddy was going to give his kid, but God used a lamb instead, right?”
“That’s right,” Sophie nodded. “God saw Abraham’s willingness to obey, even though it was incredibly hard for him. So, instead of sacrificing his son, God provided a lamb. This holiday is a time when families come together, give thanks, and reflect on the spirit of sacrifice and gratitude.”
Kiran tilted his head thoughtfully. “Do people still do this today?”
Sophie smiled at his curiosity. “Yes, in many places people still sacrifice a sheep, goat, or cow. The meat is shared with family, friends, and especially with people in need. It’s a way of showing generosity and remembering that God provides for us.”
Kiran chewed on his dosa, thinking. He finally looked up. “So, That’s why Amma and Pappa are here, right?”
“Yes,” Sophie said, glancing toward the living room where her in-laws were sitting. “They came early this morning so we could all be together for this special time.”
Kiran smiled, looking content. “I like it when they are here. It makes me feel warm and happy.”
“They make me feel that way, too,” Sophie said. Just then, Sophie noticed Harrison rummaging through the fridge, frustration etched on his face. “I can tell something’s bothering you, Spider-Man,” she teased.
“Mom, stop it. It was just a spider.”
“Hey, it was a tarantula! That’s a big deal. I’m proud of you. Now, what’s really going on?”
Harrison hesitated, still looking into the fridge. “It’s nothing…just Coach Thompson. He’s taking over cross-country now that Coach Murphy’s leaving.”
“I thought you liked Coach Thompson?”
He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “He’s tough on me. All the time.”
“Maybe he sees your potential,” Sophie suggested.
Harrison grabbed an apple and headed for the living room. “I doubt it. He’s just a jerk.”
As the family’s morning unfolded, two more figures joined in. Amma and Pappa, Ravi’s parents, had arrived from New York for a visit. Hema Sharma, affectionately called Amma, captivated people with her beauty. Her long, dark hair, streaked with silver, was tied into a neat bun. A serene smile rested on her lips, radiating kindness and strength. The colorful folds of her sari swayed as she moved, and each piece of jewelry she wore reflected her rich heritage, carefully chosen and steeped in memory and tradition. But it was her bangles that held a magic of their own.
Dozens of thin gold and glass bracelets encircled her wrists. Kiran would often climb into her lap, mesmerized by the music they made as he played with them, his tiny fingers tracing the curves of each bracelet, as if the sound could chase away his worries. Amma’s presence had a way of quieting a room, offering more than words ever could—a silent promise that, in her arms, everything would be all right.
Ray Sharma, or Pappa, exuded an effortless sophistication. His salt-and-pepper hair framed a face softened by his love for the written word. In his study—piled high with books and ancient texts—he felt most at home, marking pages with handwritten notes and scribbling thoughts into his leather-bound diary, where he reflected on gratitude and the quiet truths of life.
Ravi handed each of them a cup of steaming masala chai. The aromatic blend of spices—cardamom, ginger, and earthy tea leaves—curled into the air, bringing vivid memories of their life in India rushing back. Sharing this drink was more than a ritual; it was a bridge connecting their past and present, reinforcing centuries of family tradition.
“Ravi, your masala chai is simply perfect,” Amma said, cradling her cup. She took a sip and smiled contentedly, her eyes shining with warmth.
“Thank you, Amma. I learned from the best.” Ravi winked.
Pappa sipped his chai, nostalgia creeping into his voice. “It’s like being back home in India. You’ve mastered the art, son.”
Ravi smiled, “It’s always special sharing this with you.”
Just then, the steady hum of the news on the television drew their attention. The anchor’s voice cut through the peaceful moment. “Tensions in the Middle East continue to rise. International leaders are calling for peace, but progress remains elusive. Meanwhile, relations between Russia and the United States are growing increasingly strained.”
Sophie entered the room, coffee cup halfway to her lips. She let out a sigh. “Feels like the world’s falling apart. Why can’t we all just get along?”
Harrison shrugged. “Maybe the world’s just out of balance…” he muttered, half to himself, then he smiled slightly. “I wish I could fix it, but I’m just a kid.”
“You’d be surprised what a kid can do, Harrison,” Amma said, her tone filled with conviction. “Sometimes, it takes a child’s heart to see clearly and a child’s courage to act.”
Harrison, glancing at his phone, called out, “Cyrus, come on! We gotta go!”
Cyrus rushed in, pulling on his backpack. The two brothers headed for the door.
“Be safe,” Sophie called after them. “And Harrison, if there are any protests after school, come home right away. No risks, okay?”
Harrison hugged her quickly. “I will, Mom. Don’t worry.”
Sophie waved as they left. “Goodbye, boys! Have a good day.”
She watched them go, faint worry lingering in her eyes.
Ravi noticed and placed a hand on her shoulder. “This,” he gestured toward the news on the screen, “is exactly why we need that vacation. We could all use time away from this madness.”
Sophie nodded, a small smile forming. “You’re right. A break sounds perfect.”
Amma watched her grandchildren leave. “The world is changing so fast,” she murmured. Glancing at the TV, she shook her head. “We need to pray for peace.”
Pappa nodded. “These are uncertain times.” Turning to Ravi and Sophie, he asked, “How have things been here? Sophie, you mentioned protests.”
Ravi set his cup down with a sigh. “There’s always tension between the two sects. It’s mostly peaceful, but every now and then, things flare up. We’ve had a few protests lately—tear gas, tires burning to block the roads. It’s not constant, but enough to keep us on alert.”
Amma looked concerned. “That sounds dangerous. Be careful.”
Sophie nodded. “Yes, you just have to avoid the hot-spots. The base keeps us updated daily.”
Ravi glanced at his watch. “Speaking of the base, I’ve got to get going.” He stood up and straightened his tie. “But I’ll be home early tonight. Then we can really plan our trip.”
“You know, I’ve been thinking about where we should go. Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere with no news channels or internet.” Pappa said.
Ravi grinned as he slung his bag over his shoulder.
“That sounds like a perfect plan, Pappa. I’ll see you both later.”
Amma and Pappa watched as Ravi disappeared out the door, the usual mix of pride and worry settling in the room.
Amma called after him softly, “Have a good day.” She then turned her attention to Kiran, who was sprawled on the floor, lost in an imaginary battle where Spider-Man and Batman fought a fearsome dragon. Smiling, she asked, “When are you going to start school like your brothers?”
Kiran shrugged without looking up. “I don’t know.” Then, turning toward his mother, he asked, “When, Mama?”
Sophie knelt beside him, ruffling his hair. “If I could, I’d keep you home with me forever,” she said, pulling him into her arms.
Kiran snuggled into her hug but then looked up earnestly. “But, Mama, I need to go to school so I can be like my brothers.”
Sophie chuckled, kissing his forehead. “You already are.”
She gently released her embrace, reluctant to let him go. But instead of returning to his toys, Kiran’s gaze drifted to the TV, where news images moved like shadows. His brow furrowed, the light in his eyes dimming as an unspoken understanding settled over him.
Pappa, sensing the shift, reached for the remote. The click of the TV shutting off echoed louder than it should have, plunging the room into an uneasy silence. The world outside their walls—the one in chaos—wasn’t gone. It just waited, a persistent hum beneath the surface, pressing in on them, even here.
Kiran looked up, “The people on TV...they’re like puppets, aren’t they, Pappa? You can’t see who’s making them move.”
“Sometimes, it does seem that way.” Pappa said.
For a moment, the room sat in stillness, the weight of Kiran’s question lingering.
Then, tugging at his grandfather’s sleeve, Kiran’s voice brightened. “Pappa, can we go to the playground?”
A Journey to the Heart of Kumari is the first book to an enchanting series that will introduce all your senses to adventures never before experienced. The thorough descriptions of landscapes, new environments, and heart-felt familial bonds open the world of fantasy to something new and fresh; a Nepalese world of possibilities for the young Harrison Sharma. As the Sharma family embark on an unassuming family vacation, there is more within their plans that meets the eye. From meeting hospitable strangers to facing their fears before beasts of the jungle, this family represents a healthy and united front regarding the unfolding destiny that Harrison Sharma, the eldest son will soon face.
Written in spectacular prose, Nayampalli explores the land of Nepal with language that will have you imagining every nook and cranny of the ancient world. As the Sharma family traverses through Nepal, Nayampalli includes rich descriptions of each new location, inviting the reader into unknown places and creating interest and a learning opportunity to those with no previous knowledge of South Asia. Using juxtaposing adjectives to paint a beautiful picture of the Sharma family's travels, readers can experience writing that evokes the senses to open up and witness a young adult fantasy like never before. Through masterful story-telling, Nayampalli describes the hardships as well as the uplifting moments of life, using words such as "wild beauty," and "quiet serendipity." That is just a few of the amazing moments making up this wonderful story of hope, resilience, and an attitude of through love, victory in the face of impossibility is achievable.
Among the whimsical commentaries of life and stories within stories, the plot of this book moves forward steadily with a well-placed rhythm of character development as well as secrets being revealed, expanding this already expansive cultural world into something more mysterious and intriguing. A Journey to the Heart of Kumari ends leaving the readers excited and expectant to see what Nayampalli will do next in the future installation of this series! A must-read to young adults everywhere, as well as readers of all ages.