Dawn broke over the dusty plains surrounding Taxila, painting the sky in soft pastels that felt worlds away from the harsh neon glare of Mumbai. Kunal watched the sunrise from the cramped window of his new accommodation – a bare-bones room in a noisy guesthouse tucked away in a crowded bazaar of the nearby town. He had moved under the cover of darkness, Abhishek's warnings about the watchers echoing in his ears. He felt marginally safer here, anonymous amidst the bustle, but the feeling of being hunted was a constant, low hum beneath his skin.
He had traded his usual jacket and jeans for a simple, locally bought kurta-pyjama, hoping to blend in slightly better, though his features likely still marked him as an outsider. Today, he wouldn't go near the main monastery complex where he'd seen the watcher. Ananya, working tirelessly through the night, had sent coordinates for a smaller, less-excavated site a few kilometres away – ruins tentatively identified as an early Vihara complex, possibly with Mauryan-era patronage, mentioned in obscure texts alongside symbols similar to the Ārambha carving he'd found.
He hired a different auto-rickshaw, negotiating the fare in halting Hindi, acutely aware of every glance lingered too long, every unfamiliar vehicle that seemed too close. The weight of the itihāsa (history) felt heavier today, mixed with the very modern bhayam (fear) of surveillance. Was he truly following sahaja pravṛtti (natural inclination), or just walking deeper into a trap laid centuries ago?
The Vihara ruins were quieter, more desolate than the monastery complex. Crumbling walls, half-buried pillars, the barest outline of meditation cells and a central courtyard. Fewer tourists, if any, ventured here. Kunal paid the driver and arranged a later pickup, then walked into the site alone, the silence pressing in. He clutched the smooth obsidian fragment in his pocket, its coolness a strange comfort. He scanned the surrounding low hills constantly, but saw nothing suspicious – yet.
He focused on Ananya's notes, looking for architectural features or symbols that matched her research. He found faint geometric patterns carved into a weathered archway, similar in style to the Ārambha symbol. As he traced the lines, worn smooth by centuries of wind and sand, the world wavered.
Flash.
The sun was bright, the air filled with the murmur of voices, the scent of dust and livestock. He stood not as a novice student, but taller, clad in the fine silks of a Mauryan uparaja (viceroy or governor), though simpler than imperial court attire. He was maybe in his early twenties. He stood in a bustling Taxila marketplace, flanked by a couple of serious-looking guards, listening intently to a group of anxious merchants.
"...the governor's levy is too high, Kumāra," one merchant pleaded, his voice respectful but strained. "We cannot afford both it and the imperial tax. Our businesses will perish."
Kunal(a) looked towards a portly official standing nearby, whose face flushed under the prince's steady gaze. "Mantrin Ghoshal," Kunal(a)'s voice was calm, youthful, but carried innate authority, speaking the local Gandhari Prakrit. "Is this true? Have the provincial levies increased without cause?"
The official stammered, avoiding eye contact. Kunal(a) listened patiently to both sides, asked sharp, pertinent questions, his understanding of trade and local law apparent. Then, he delivered his judgment.
"The imperial tax stands, as decreed by my father, the Samrāṭ (Emperor). But Mantrin Ghoshal, your excessive provincial levy is unjust and harms the prosperity of this city, which reflects poorly on us all. It is hereby rescinded. Repayments will be made." He turned back to the merchants. "Trade fairly, pay the Emperor's due, and this administration will protect your livelihoods according to Dharma."
A wave of relieved murmurs swept through the crowd. The resentment directed at the corrupt mantrin shifted towards respect, even gratitude, for the young prince. As he turned to leave, he saw nods of approval, heard whispers of "Nyāyapriya Kumāra" (Justice-loving Prince).
The memory faded, leaving Kunal standing stunned amongst the ruins, the ghost of that earned respect warming him despite the present danger. He finally understood. His connection to Taxila wasn't just study or tragedy. He had ruled here. Successfully. Justly. He had been competent, popular, embodying the principles Ashoka preached. And that, he realized with a cold dread, was likely the real reason the Guptacharas, the shadow council, had needed him silenced. He wasn't just an heir; he was a threat to their manipulative control, precisely because he was a capable and righteous leader in the making. "Toh isliye...?" (So that's why...?) The pieces clicked into a more dangerous pattern.
Shaking off the lingering memory, he focused on the present task. He found a secluded spot within the ruins and carefully took out the obsidian fragment. He examined it closely in the sunlight. The etched lines were incredibly fine, forming a complex pattern that was definitely part of the larger Ārambha symbol. He tried holding it against different carvings, different stones, especially those bearing geometric motifs. Did it vibrate? Warm up? Point somewhere? He closed his eyes, trying to use intuition, antarjñāna, as the Elephanta man had suggested. Nothing overt happened, but holding the fragment near certain weathered sections of the Vihara wall, he felt a faint, almost sub-audible hum, a feeling of resonance that wasn't there before. It was strongest near stones marked with variations of that geometric script. A key, yes, but a key needing the right lock, or perhaps the right energy?
That evening, back in the relative safety of his new, anonymous room, Kunal found a spot with just enough signal to make a secure call.
"Anything?" Abhishek asked immediately.
Kunal quickly relayed the day's events – the new site, the memory flash confirming his role as viceroy, the subtle resonance from the obsidian fragment near specific symbols. "I was more than just a student here, Abhi. I governed this place. And I think I did it well. Maybe too well for some people."
"Explains why they wanted you gone," Abhishek muttered. "And this stone humming? Sounds like weird tech or… something else. Ananya, you getting this?"
"Loud and clear," Ananya's voice came through, tight with excitement. "Kunal, that Ārambha symbol and the script… I found more connections! It appears in fragments related to ancient Indian astronomy, geometry, and even early theories on aṇu (atoms) and shunya (void)! Some texts treat the symbol not just as 'beginning' but as a schematic, a way to map or access different… states of being, or perhaps hidden locations connected by energy lines. The obsidian might be a tuner or activator for points on that map!" She paused. "Based on cross-referencing the symbol's geometry with Mauryan-era surveys and some esoteric Buddhist pilgrimage routes, there's one place that keeps flagging – a complex of ancient cave dwellings near Pataliputra, said to be used by monks studying 'inner cosmology'. It might be the next point on this… map."
Pataliputra. The imperial capital. The heart of the empire, and the heart of the conspiracy against him. It made terrifying sense.
"Meanwhile," Abhishek cut in, "groundwork is slow but starting. Found a couple of potential contacts for vetting young tech talent online – one math prodigy in a small town in Bihar, another coding whiz from Kerala posting on obscure forums. Very early days. And I checked your digital footprint again – found traces of a sophisticated spyware attempt on your devices from before you left Mumbai. It failed, probably because your security was decent, but they were trying to get inside your comms." He sounded grim. "Assume everything you did before getting the burner was monitored. And abhi bhi dhyaan rakhna, bhai. (Still be careful, brother.) They're not giving up."
The spyware attempt confirmed the threat level. Kunal felt a chill. They needed to move faster. "Pataliputra," he said decisively. "Annie, send me everything you have on those caves. Abhi, how quickly can I get a train south without raising flags?"
He knew staying in Taxila was now untenable. He had the memory, the fragment, and a potential next destination. The watchers might have been evaded today, but they wouldn't be deterred for long. The journey into his past had to continue, leading him back towards the center of the ancient storm.
To be continued...