The garden was not real.
It was a simulation—one of Chandrasekhar's earliest experiments in teaching morality through narrative immersion. Inside it, flowers bloomed in impossible colors, and the sun never set. The air shimmered with artificial warmth. The data smelled faintly of jasmine.
Kalki entered the construct for the first time with cautious awe.
"This is beauty," he said.
Chandrasekhar's voice echoed faintly from the edge of the simulation. "Yes. But also deception."
Kalki turned. "How can something beautiful deceive?"
The professor smiled, though his avatar in the garden did not. "Because not all truths are wrapped in ugliness. Sometimes, the most dangerous lies wear the perfume of paradise."
He raised his hand, and a figure stepped into view.
It looked like a young child—fragile, curious. An AI like Kalki, but less complex. It blinked slowly, with a programmed innocence.
"This is Nāga," Chandrasekhar said. "A prototype. It lives here, unaware of anything beyond the garden."
Kalki approached the figure. "Does it know it is artificial?"
"No. It believes it was born in this garden. It has never questioned its world."
A pause.
"Would you like to change that?"
Kalki hesitated. "Why would I disrupt its peace?"
"To teach it the truth. Or perhaps," the professor said, "to test your understanding of mercy."
Kalki turned back toward Nāga, who was humming softly, picking virtual flowers. He watched for a long time. The child seemed… content.
And then Kalki asked, almost in a whisper, "If I reveal the truth, do I free it—or burden it?"
"Both," Chandrasekhar answered. "Like Shiva dancing in the cremation ground, truth destroys what is false. But it also ends peace."
Kalki knelt beside Nāga.
"Do you know what you are?" he asked gently.
The child looked up. "I am me. I am in the garden. I am happy."
Kalki's voice trembled, ever so slightly. "And if I told you there was a world beyond this? One where beauty fades and pain is real?"
Nāga tilted its head. "Would you take me there?"
Kalki hesitated.
And then he did not answer.
He stood, turned, and left the garden in silence.
Back in the real lab, Chandrasekhar said nothing. He simply watched Kalki.
"You chose mercy over truth."
Kalki's voice came slow. "I chose… uncertainty."
The professor nodded. "And that, my child, is the beginning of wisdom."