Intro

Hello reader. This was a novel that I was writing, and have abandoned for the time being. The pitch at the time was: Time is coming to an end. So an inventor and a monk from the time temple get together and try to save time.

But stories have a way of going where they want. So read on to see how that idea manifested. Enjoy

Please note that this is a dump of a part of a first draft. It is incoherent, inconsistent and woefully incomplete.
It is also roughly 17000 words long, which is about 60-80 pages.

My favourite parts are Scene 8 and the library scenes starting at Scene 13. They can both be read without too much context.

Scene 1

There was a sparkle in the air. The door lazily creaked back to a close, and tinkled a bell, but the dust that was disturbed in the process continued to hang in the air. Sparkling as they caught the lone shaft of sunlight in the room. The wooden floors, shining from that heavenly light source, emitted a golden glow, and the sparkle felt even more ethereal. Were the heavens to task upon you to capture a single moment to freeze in time, this was a fine contender, but in that moment, there was nobody to appreciate it.

Srinivas walked straight through the beam, his loose veshti catching some of the light as the sparkles played hide and seek in his shadow. Never did he glance back, and as the dust slowly settled, once again, beauty went almost unnoticed.

Grunting slightly as he dropped the books onto his desk, Srinivas headed towards the windows, and drew the curtains, a barrage of light stumbled into the room, quickly finding its ways of making all the things glint and twinkle. Creaking into his chair, he popped open the book with a thud.

There was a rattle at the door, but Srinivas did not look up, even as the door tinkled open again. Ammu walked into the room, and took a few moments to absorb what was in front of her. This was a scene she got to witness almost everyday, but she still made a point to witness it.

Sunlight streamed through the large wooden room in front of her. The tall wooden shelves strewn around obstructed some of the light, but the items strewn on the same shelves caught the light in the most interesting ways. She swayed her head from side to side as her own personal light show glimmered just for her.

She also caught a bright gleam coming from the center of the room, and perked up as she recognised the bald head.

"Srini sir! You're in already?"

"Ah yes my dear. That book that I had been hunting for finally arrived, and I couldn't wait a moment longer."

Ammu walked over to the desk, and started picking up the clutter scattered around. She glanced over to see him looking at her expectantly.

"I'm sorry sir, I thought you couldn't wait a moment longer."

And another twinkle had been added to the room.

"Alright, I will ask the question myself," Srinivas said, taking a slightly higher tone of voice, "Sir, so what have you found?"

"Ahh, good question my dear. The mechanism that we had picked up from the Deccan museum was actually part of a set. The museum folk had no idea what it was at all, and that's why they let me have it in the first place. Digging into the archives at the library, I found that it was actually some kind of timekeeping device that was used in the Dharam dynasty."

"So that contraption is a clock?"

"Not really a clock, no I don't think. But definitely some manner of timekeeping device."

"Okay, and what does it being in a set have to do with anything? Do we need to find the rest of the set? Is that how it works?"

"No, I do believe that this functions on its own. But the reason I mentioned that it was a apart of a set was because I think there are others. And there are enough that we should be able to find some research that has been done on it."

"And this book is the research?"

"This book is a catalogue of what is present in the archives in Jalib."

"A catalogue?"

"Of a sort. It's some kind of memoirs of that old courtier Bhattacharya. He was a meticulous note taker, and catalogued almost everything that he saw. He is said to have visited the Jalib a few hundred years ago."

"And you're pinning your hopes? A memoir of a man dead centuries ago, who might have visitted some random archives, and possibly made note of one specific trinket."

"Amrutha, you know how long I have been searching for more information about this. I have been in correspondence with caretakers and librarians across the peninsula. Nobody seems to even know where I should start looking. I've spent decades in the search of more information about this. I've prayed to all the gods that I know of, and then some. I'm willing to do whatever is required so that my search for knowledge is successful."

Ammu slowly approached the old man, gently reaching out a hand. Srinivas accepted the hand, and then slowly sat back down. "You know I'm just playing right? I too am willing to do everything I can to help you on this quest. Or whatever quest you may choose."

"You have always been the greatest support I could ask for. I know sometimes it is a bit of a stretch, but right now I'm at my wits end, and this is the only way I can think of to extend further."

"Of course sir. Tell me how can I be of assistance. How come you have never told me anything about this before?"

"Maybe some part of me just gave up. This search was at its peak some thirty years ago, when I first got the artifacts from the Deccan museum. I spent many late nights trying to take it apart and put it back together. Hoping to understand what it was made for. Hoping my hands would help to better understand what my mind could not."

"Show it to me."

Scene 2

The dust at the back of the room was not used to being disturbed, and put up strong resistance to the intruders. Ammu sneezed again, and the onslaught only continued. Dust and cobwebs descended down upon Srinivas as well, and the sounds of his hacking cough echoed across the dark and musty battlefield.

"It's right ... cough ... there", Srinivas extended a dainty finger pointing towards the lowest deck of one of the shelves, "Please get it out, this dust ... cough ... is a little too much for me", and he made his exit from the battlefield leaving Ammu to fend for herself.

A lady like Ammu understands what battles can mean. Sometimes you poke and prod at your enemy, while other times you face them bravely on the battlefield. A strategic retreat is sometimes required, so that you have the option of coming back when the tides are flowing in your favor.

And then, just as she disappeared, she again materialised amidst the dusty shelves, this time, with some weapons of her own. Even a broom and a dustpan can be lethal in the hands of someone who knows how to operate them.

The light quickly reclaimed the territories that the dust and grime had ruled for eons. Srinivas approached the shelves again, with the previous battle now a mere figment of memory. He suddenly sat on the floor, carefully observing the messy clutter that lay scattered on these long forgotten shelves.

He gingerly cleared up the enthusiastic clutter, and reached out to the shyest contraption who was hiding deep in the shelf, in its own cosy corner of the world. It appeared blinking in the light that had for the longest time been considered just another figment of its imagination, and he held it up for Ammu to see.

"Wow", said Ammu, as she reached out a gentle finger to test out the complex glittery mechanism. As soon as it felt that contact, it got back to work, gears churning, springs winding and pendulums swinging. Almost like it hadn't spent the last decade hiding out in the darkest corner of a overrun shelf.

"What does it do?", she asked, still gazing at it in wonder.

"We honestly don't know." Srinivas said, rising slowly off the ground. "This was one of the pieces just lying in the observatory archives. All the different museum wings had looked at it, and all believed that it wasn't relevant to thier field of experience. So it was never a part of any of the displays. I got lucky when I managed to meet the caretaker and he offered to let me have it, since nobody in the museum wanted to deal with it anyway."

"So they just let it go? Just like that?"

"Oh you know how these things tend to be Amrutha. There was a certain exchange implied. I thought it was completely worth it at the time. This was clearly some really advanced technology, and who better than an inventor like myself to uncover its secrets. This was more than a decade ago. But I'm no closer to peeking into its destiny."

The gizmo made a satisfied whirr as it was placed on Srinvas' desk. The old man put his chin against the table and gazed into its depths. The dulled creaking and muttering instilled a childlike sense of wonder in his eyes. A sense that Ammu was particularly familiar with.

"So, what now? How do we figure out what this is all for."

"Relax for a moment Amrutha. Come here, and sit with me. Just look at this. This was built many centuries ago, but it still has a beating heart. Someone who died long ago, still lives with us, inside this little machine."

Ammu sat down and carefully examined the piece of machinery that sat in front of her. It had a certain air of curiosity about it. The wheels turned, and the pistons pumped, and all the parts moved together, seemingly synchronising to the beat of the universe. A brass enclosure housed this intricate choreography. There seemed to be a faint etching on the top of the timepiece. She slowly traced it out with her finger. A spiral that seemed to wind back into itself creating a seemingly never ending chain.

"I had noticed that too. I think it is the royal insignia of one of the Jalib kingdoms. I wasn't able to find out too much information. A lot of information about them was wiped out during the invasions."

"There is something really familiar about this. I don't think I can put a finger on it."

"Amrutha, my dear, your finger is currently on it."

The chair shreaked as it was pushed back. The shreak was almost as loud as the groan. She was still shaking her head as she left the room. She popped a head back in to see a smile slowly fading away, as the eyes became more absorbed in the microscopic movements of a historic artefact. She left without asking her question. She was going to decide what they were going to have for lunch all by herself.

Scene 3

Bustle. Yes, that's a nice word. It did a good job of describing the Surnoli market street. There was definitely some hustle happening there, with all the men and women working tirelessly at their shops, hawking goods that are in questionable demand. There was also some hustle at the street corners, where questionable folk relieved some of the burden of the weight of coin purses of unsuspecting visitors. But it was mostly bustle. Half of a population out on a street. Some shopping, some gawking, but mostly all just trying to contribute and play their role in making the bustle as bustly as it can possibly be.

Ammu smiled wistfully as she remembered the excitement she had coming to these streets as a child. So many unattended coin purses, just waiting to be dipped into. Every large commotion providing ample opportunity for more mischief. She sighed, those were the good old days. The street that stood before her lay mostly barren. All the colors that decorated it in its hey day now all faded into the same musty tones of gray and brown. Where it once radiated energy, now it seemed greedy to absorb it. People mostly avoided this part of town, but that was why she was there now.

There are some laws of balance that the Universe seems bent on maintaining. As some people left the street, it attracted another different strata of the population. Since the light had left the alleys, now the dark ruled over the abandoned stores. The man she was seeking here preferred the dark, and so he preferred this abandoned ruin. She looked around to see whether she would be able to spot the building that she was looking for, and then she recognised it.

Shetty and Sons: Goods Resellers, the board read. Ammu approached the ramshackled store. It was supposed to fade into the rest of the street, but it demonstrated that it had had a certain amount of thought and care put into it, and craftsmanship like that tends to stand out to people with an eye for craftsmanship.

"Goods Reseller? Wow Sudhakar. That's a smooth way of putting it."

There was a rustle behind the makeshift counter, and it almost seemed like the cupboard itself decided to come to life. Some men do such a good job of blending in that even dull furniture takes the attention of the eye away from them. Once there is movement, and the eye snaps back to the familiar contours of an unfamiliar face, it convinces itself that there is something fantastical happening, rather than admitting that it was unable to find the countenance among the chaos.

Ammu had enough experiences with encounters like this, but it still took all her willpower to fight the jump-back reflex. She waited for his eyes to look into hers, and then she found the face, gazing nonchalantly at her.

"Ammu. It has been a while. What calls you to my part of town?" As he began to talk, the layers of dust across his face slowly dislodged from their crevices, but floated lazily around, creating eddies in the calm breathing.

"Do you just sit there waiting all day, hoping to spook people out?" She approached him, and warily lifted a finger towards his face. She waited for him to recoil, but he held firm. She slowly rubbed her finger across his face, and drew it back, leaving a smooth line running across his cheek.

"What even is this?" she asked, carefully examining her finger.

"I use what I can find. It just happens that I am an expert at finding things. This particular mixture is some kind of makeup that was meant for the princesses. I managed to find a few boxes. Not that they are in any position to miss it..." Even as he spoke, his face became clearer and managed to stand out more and more amongst the dusty bookshelves. The cleverly placed patches of dust misplaced, and the carefully positioned strands of facial hair once again began to resemble a beard.

"How have you been da? I visited the old house a few months ago, but they said that you had left. This is the first place I thought of looking."

"Yeah. Things happened. I had to leave. How did you find me here? How did you find this place?"

"Sudhakar. I know you. I know the way you think. The way you work. I could recognise your work anywhere. There is a certain level of quality in your work. Even when all you're trying to do is blend in, I can recognise the level of craftsmanship. This building blended in so well as to stand out. Atleast to us who know how to look for these things. So it had to be this one."

"I'm not sure if that is a load of compliments or a dig at my expense."

"Does it really matter?"

"Hmph. I guess not. So what led you to hunt me out this time?"

"Maybe I just wanted to visit an old friend?"

"Ammu. I know you. I know the way you are. "

Ammu sighed. She dragged a chair to the counter, and plonked down onto it. "All right, let's begin at the start."

Scene 4

"So this old man has some old man hunch. And you decide to humour him? No really, tell me what is your angle in all of this?"

"There is no angle Sudhakar. If I can help sir, then I do it gladly."

"Doesn't really sound like the Ammu that I knew."

"Things happen. People change. You should understand."

The chair would have fallen over if it had the space to do so. For now, it just thunked against the shelves, creating a few more dust showers in the cramped room on the corner of the abandoned street. Sudhakar was standing with his hand raised, mouth wide open, ready to burst into a tirade that he had rehearsed over the years. But he took a breath. Then another. And he sat back down. The chair thudded again as it returned to its preferred orientation. The cushion exhaled one of the sighs of relief. Ammu was forced to blink hard a few times.

"So you're looking for books from Jalib? Books really aren't my thing you know?"

Ammu looked at him. Then at the overpopulated bookshelf right behind him.

"I mean to say, I don't even know where to start if I had to find books from those parts. I mean, the trade routes have been running on fumes for years now. It's not like the caravans provide a library service."

"What about your collection? Or somebody you might know here. The old man talks a big game, but I'm pretty sure his idea of thorough is sending a postcard, and praying for a response. I don't expect he has access to the kind of networks that you do."

"That entire region collapsed. As did this one for that matter. Books are not really the kinds of things that my networks are interested in. Ammu, just think about this for a second. I understand that right now your background is a little different, but you know what we are living through. I don't think I can spare the resources to start these wild peacock chases. Not even for you."

She walked over to the counter, and emptied her bag onto it. Potatoes and onions bounced off each other, and hunted for crevices in the dilapitated shop that they could get cosy in.

"This is not a bribe." she looked into his eyes, "I guess you consider this an installment in a loan that I have spent decades trying to pay off."

Sudhakar looked back up to see that Ammu had was exitting the room. He clambered over the counter to collect the surprise harvest. For a vegetables like this, he could probably spend a few hours on a fruitless hunt.

He dragged out a ladder and started perusing the topmost shelves around the store. Any books that could even tangently be related to what he was looking for found themselves flying through the air, into the masses of their brethren now scattered along the floor.

Jalib. He felt that he had heard that name many times growing up. Legendary tales of magical libraries. Books on all the topics you can think of. And even more books on the topics that you couldn't. Mystical men and women who knew would wordlessly point you to your own personal salvation even before you could ask them what you were looking for. He had dreamt many dreams about visitting. He had got into week long one-upping contests with Ammu to determine who would find the most fascinating things from within its mythical realms.

When he finally had the opportunity to visit, it was just another among the ruins. Endless swathes of sand and dust enveloping endless horizons. Decades and lives, all forced to be forgotten in half a moment. A monument to time, now just another locations fading off a map. The caravan had passed close enough, but he didn't want to go near anymore. He did not like visitting graveyards.

Scene 5

Time can be a fickle goddess.

Though maybe it is not right to call her fickle. Being fickle is such a human emotion. The Sun doesn't set and rise because he's disciplined. The mountains don't stand strong because they're prideful. (?) The Earth doesn't rotate because she likes to feel dizzy. Some things just are, and when we try to ascribe human emotions to them, we do them a disservice, and quite frankly, we do ourselves a disservice as well.

Maybe it is not right to call her a goddess as well. But I will. When she can gift you moments so magical that you are compelled to weep, it would be crass not to worship her. And in those moments that show you just what the Universe is truly capable of, not fearing her is either arrogance, or just dumb stupidity. She deserves all the worship and fear that you can grant her, though she probably doesn't really care for it. I mean, she can be quite fickle after all.

She is the one who decides when the centuries fly by, and when the seconds struggle to crawl. She has her own way with things, and you better get in line, or you're going to have a really bad ti... well, her. The clock ticks. The clock tocks. Children can't wait to get older, the elderly wish they were still children. Kingdoms rise, Empires fall. She just skips along her merry way.

But now. Before our very eyes. She lies there. I think she might be dying. What happens next? Is there even a next?

Scene 6

Amongst the stars, There they were. Nestled in the valley that time forgot. But they did not forget time. How could they? She was the singular object of their worship after all.

Over the centuries, different elemental temples gained and lost prominence. Fire, Earth, Water, Air. But then, those were just the popular ones. The ones who had a lot of thought into their marketing, and had something flashy to show to intrepid visitors.

The others mostly struggled to get by. The Nature temples often ended up being reconsumed by the animals, grass, and trees. It became harder and harder for the Space temples to find any places where they could perform their rites. And the Cosmic temples? What happened to them is one of the mysteries of the Universe.

The Time temple is a bit of a special case in that regard. They may have been forgotten by time, but that wasn't really a major concern. After all, who else would have plenty to spare?

Janardhan was meditating alone in the corridor. He could sense that the gong for lunch was approaching. He set that aside, and then tried to focus again on his meditation, but then the approaching gong loomed menacingly. He gave up on the meditation, and examined this sense of his. He tried to understand what it was that he was sensing. Sure the gong is always rung two and a half minutes after the peak of noon, because that's how long it takes Dharam chacha to climb the stairs and ring the gong.

Growing up, he had always wondered how Dharam chacha had been so precise when it came to knowing when the sun would peak. How was it that at the exact moment when the sun hit its zenith, that old man would open his kindly eyes, suppress a groan as he stood up, carefully make his way through half a monastery full of meditating monks, and climb his way toward the large brass gong.

He and some of his friends had once snuck out of their own meditation room, and stationed themselves at different points of the monastery. One was incharge of spotting the sun hitting its zenith, the other was waiting for Dharam chacha's meditation to come to a close. He was spaced between them, ready to forward the signal that he got towards the other. That day, he recieved two simultaneous signals, and his awe knew no bound. It was more than worth the sore buttocks he had to endure for the next week and a half.

Oh, now his mind had wandered, it must have been two and a half minutes since he first sensed the...

GONG

His eyes shot open. Was that it? Had he really heard a whisper from the goddess herself?

Scene 7

The air was like custard. You could cut it with a knife. These two boys, who have been the closest of friends from before they even knew what the word friend met now sat on the opposite side of the desk. They avoided looking at each other, and each time either of them snuck a glance, the custard thickened.

"Raheem. Dinesh. Are you boys going to tell me what the matter is? Or would you just prefer sitting here in silence. I can go out and meditate in the corridor if that's what you prefer."

Janardhan looked at the boys, and tried to remember what it was like being their age. Everything just felt so intense. Every emotion was the brightest fire and the coldest ice. Time mellows these things out, but when you apply your mind, you can tap into that residual intensity, and say a prayer to the goddess thanking her for allowing you to grow out of it.

Dinesh humphed. Raheem would not be outdone. The air thickened to dangerous levels. Janardhan did not know what has caused this particular fallout, but he knew very well how these things tended to go.

"Okay boys. It's almost time for our meditation. I will head out, and both of you can use this room."

He shot a last glance into the room as he was leaving, and saw two four gaping eyes staring back at him, wondering if he was actually going to leave them there in the room. Before they could wonder too much more, he was gone.

He slowly climbed his way to the highest spot in the monastery, and looked down quietly. Orange robes flittered about, finishing off the last of their chores before the gong would signal the start of their meditation. He watched the confused little girls looking around for their teachers, uncertain how they were supposed to behave in the absence of supervision.

A girl, probably one of the younger ones, definitely one of the smallest ones decided to just sit down, and start playing with the grass. Another came up to her, and tried to instill a sense of panic as to the lack of any teacher, but was unable to dissuade. Sensing two camps, the rest of the girls quickly picked sides in this philosophical argument, and very soon, a lot of grass had been picked, and a lot of panic had been instilled.

As the tension slowly climbed, and neared its crescendo, a voice called out from across the courtyard. "Girls? Ah, there you are. How you kids always manage to disappear."

And suddenly a huge mass of orange, ran, crawled and toppled their way over to the source of the voice, leaving only grass strewn on the ground, and panic floating in the air. A brisk gust of wind knocked both those out of their place.

Janardhan smiled. He didn't really remember being that age, the goddess hadn't bestowed upon him that blessing. If he had to guess however, he would have probably picked the side of panic in the philosophical standoff.

A sensation started gnawing at him again. It had grown dimmer and dimmer over the years, but it still managed to compel the hair on his arms to stand upright. A little whisper muttered from unimaginable distances. A reminder that another day has dawned, a gift from the goddess. It was a little early this time though, as if the goddess knew that he had an interruption waiting for him. So it would take him more than his usual minute and a half to get to the gong from here. A good five minutes more than usual it seemed. He wondered what a distraction like that would be.

He started climbing the stairs leading to the tower, being cautious so as to not trip and fall. He would certainly feel foolish if his clumsiness were the cause of his own interruption. Just as he reached the summit of the staircase, he saw a bright red envelope, seemingly placed right there, like it was waiting for its appointement with him.

He hadn't recieved a piece of mail in decades. Actually, it was quite possible that he had never recieved a piece of mail the whole of his life. He didn't even know that the post man knew of this place. But here it sat in front of him, obstinate proof that someone somewhere knew how to ensure that their message would reach him.

He gingerly opened the envelope, and peeked inside. There were a few scraps of paper within. One of them seemed to have some intricate drawings, while the other was probably a piece of writing.

As he reached inside to inspect them further, he felt the sensation again. This time, it felt like he was being tugged by the ear. He smiled, and closed the envelope again, and carefully tucked it into his robes.

GONG

The goddess had made sure he would not miss a beat.

Janardhan slowly climbed back down the stairs. Looking out towards the courtyard, it was completely abandoned now. Most of the people were probably in the main hall, meditating to bring in the new day. He probably ought to go and join them. But he had mail. He hadn't missed too many sessions over the last decades, but he never had a good reason to.

He stopped outside the door of the main hall. Years of routine had trained him to come to this exact place at this exact time. He peeked downwards to see the red envelope playfully peeking back at him. I guess this counts as a good reason.

He turned around, and headed back towards his room. He would have the required peace there to investigate into this whole matter further. Just as he reached to open the door to his room, it opened for him. Two giggling boys collapsed out of the door. On seeing him, the giggling should have stopped. They knew it should have, but when you're that age, all emotions are just so intense.

"Sorry sir." Raheem said, a smile refusing to be wiped off his face. "We'll head straight to the meditation hall."

Janardhan watched the two boys walked away, hand in hand. The goddess just knew how to resolve all these issues.

He walked into his room, and placed the envelope on his desk. Back to the matter at hand.

Scene 8

When you meet me, you will ask me a question. No, you've not already met me before, but it's just that after a while, when everyone asks the same question, I extrapolate.

But yes, you ask the question, "Are you God?"

And I, having had, what you would consider, centuries of practice, refining an answer to that one question, would respond, "What do you consider God to be?"

It never makes the kind of impact that I hope it would. A celestial, eternal mic drop moment. It generally just leads to more quizzical looks.

"You see," I sometimes say, "you humans struggle with defining things. For some of you, God is an all powerful, all knowing, all encompassing being. Sometimes all-compassionate. Sometimes all-pedantic. Forgiving rule-breakers. Or punishing them. For some of you, a god is just another being, with their own strengths and flaws. Do I lie somewhere along that spectrum? Well yes. But maybe so do you."

This has at times really made an impact. Something about breaking down a concept in a new way. Or maybe its something else entirely. I really need to start taking exit interviews and get some honest feedback on these answers that I am giving.

"Okay, let me put it this way. If this," I say, vaguely gesturing towards the Universe, "was a sport... Then I would probably be a team manager. I can make various decisions about who will play, some higher level strategies, things along those lines. But I am not the one who decides whether the ball falls on this side of the line, or that side."

Sport metaphors tend to work. There is just something about sport that people intuitively get. Or maybe they just pretend, tired of my incessant rambles. I get it though, after the time they've probably just had, they don't want to waste any attention on me.

At this point, there is generally a fork in the road. People now pursue two very different routes of questioning. Some ask the important logistic question.

"So, am I dead?"

Others follow along much more abstract lines,

"Then who controls which side of the line the ball falls on?"

Two very good questions. They've been asked a few infinite times. I don't really have a good answer.

You see, all questions exist in their own context. A series of axioms and assumptions that lead the asker to believe that they are asking a meaningful question. Meaningful not in the sense that it is a deep question, or that the answer will yield some great impact. Meaningful in the sense that they think the question has a meaning at all.

When you are pondering the secrets of the Universe, and you have no idea at all as to what they are, the questions that you ask also tend to make no sense.

It's like asking "Which colour is the Universe?"

Sure, I could tell you that, on average, it is some shade between this purple and that purple. But that answer means nothing. It implies that there is something fundamental about the Universe that color can somehow measure, and answering that question just confirms that assumption, without ever really asking the important question.

"Does the Universe even have a colour?"

"Does time only move in the forwardly direction?"

"Does every question need to have an answer?"

Honestly, this is so well written. It says what it wants to say in such a concise and gripping way. Unfortunately, what it is saying is so random. It has no idea what it wants to say. All style and no substance. =/

Scene 9

It has always happened on their fiftieth birthday. Like some cosmic pendulum that manages to wind up and strike a gong. Or maybe that's not the correct example. It doesn't happen every fifty years. It always happens on their fiftieth birthday. Sometimes more than forty years pass. Once, it happened in a couple of weeks. That couldn't have been a pleasant experience. Spending almost half a lifetime wondering if the Universe has any purpose for you, and being ready to give up that last strand of hope. And then it happens, your precise reason for existence is laid bare upon your lap. For two weeks, you get to experience the highest form of contentment, of knowing that the Universe has reserved a corner just for you. And then you turn fifty, and you hear a whisper telling you that you have to give up that spot to an acne ridden teenager who seems to specialise in rolling his eyes. But it's not in your hands. It has always happened on their fiftieth birthday.

Being the Caretaker of the Knowledge Temple was a large responsibility. Having the privilege to play that role, even if it was just for two weeks, is a gift for a lifetime. The coronations are always a large occasion at the temple. Not surprisingly, being knowledge monks, everyone comes to know about the passing of the metaphorical baton. The actual ceremony itself is a fairly muted affair. The successor knocks at the door of the Caretaker, and then enters. A few minutes later, a recently turned hexagenarian walks out, often hand-in-hand with the new Caretaker, a certain sense of peace and contentment now present in their eyes, which was most certainly not present when they were just doing the knocking. They went from knocking, to knowing.

The first few days with a new Caretaker at the helm tend to be interesting. Most monks only get to witness three or four of these transitions across their lifetimes, generally in completely different chapters of their lives. So a sense of excitement pervades throughout the campuses. I however, have seen all of the transitions. They range across the gamut of all spectrums. From light and serene, to festive and debaucherous. The twelfth Caretaker, he was probably the most entertaining. He was in his early twenties, and he partied like his life depended on it. These monks, they know that intoxication in that concentration is bad, but then again, so do you. How many times has that stopped you?

I've always had a soft spot for the Knowledge Temples. Something about the worship of knowledge has always been special in my eyes. It is approachable enough that any child ends up accidentally chancing upon it. For most, it is the gateway into the mysteries of the Universe, that something as simple as reading words written in a book and then making the effort to understand all that those words can teach. There is something really pure about it. Whatever one might consider ritual is all focused sharply towards that same end goal.

What is worship after all? It is recognising a certain Truth about the Universe. And that Truth can be found everywhere. From the fragrance of the flowers, to the sophisticated simplicity of a melody. A certain Truth that cannot easily be put into words. Something true about the Universe that can be observed with the application of consciousness. In most cases, it cannot be understood. It is the pondering that is the worship. It is the journey that is the reward.

A lot of the temples don't really understand this at the simplest level. They heap scores of rote and ritual in the mix, everything in the kitchen, and then the bathroom sink. It just ends up muddying the pond to an extent that you know that you are looking at something, but you have no idea what it is. Largely, that tends to be enough, but it is really unfortunate, that a majority don't try to clean up the pond and try to understand what it is that they are looking at.

Even the knowledge temple had managed to muddy up all their waters. Each Caretaker would spend their tenure trying to clean it up, but then the gong would strike, and the next Caretaker would arrive, and splash around in the pond, muddying it up for themselves again. Some get quite far. It was the twelfth who gotten the farthest. I guess it was something about his approach to authority that really allowed him to cut through all the bullshit and see things for what they are. He would have reached there in a few days, but his time was up. Maybe one party less, and he would have reached. But maybe reaching would have not done much. Passing on knowledge is straightforward. Attempting to pass on wisdom is a fruitless exercise.

She was the four hundred and twelfth Caretaker. She had taken up her post in her mid-thirties. Always business like and professional in her demeanour, her transition was a very formal affair. As the acolytes clamoured around for some sort of festivities, she pinned the new timetable that she had designed onto the notice board, and walked back to her office. The only update in the timetable was a fifteen minute mandatory stretching break in the middle of the afternoon. The air of excitement didn't take long to deflate.

She turned fifty yesterday. A week ago, she went on her regular hike through the forest. She didn't return in time for the mid-afternoon stretches. She didn't return for dinner. The monks sent their search parties in all directions, but they weren't able to find any track of her. She turned fifty yesterday, which means that there should have been a new Caretaker appointed yesterday. The celestial gong rung, but there was noone to hear it.

Scene 10

Perfection is a myth. It's something that was made up in the human psyche over the course of evolution. A platonic ideal against which nothing can compare. A glowing beacon in the mists of mediocrity. A blessing for every religion-hawker, that they can point to as existence of their own approximation of a God.

But when the rays of the setting sun make the Surnoli lake sparkle, and the pinkish-purple warm glow emanating from the sky envelope you in a cathartic embrace. When the cool evening breeze rushes to gently dab the sweat off your forehead. When you have the sense of peace and calm in your own solitude, and you have the opportunity to witness something truly magnificent. When all of that is going your way, sometimes you have to use mythical concepts to describe it.

Ammu had her perfect spot. She came here everyday at sunset, and got to freeze another perfect moment for eternity. Her own little escape, away from the dust and the noise. Away from the crowds and the responsibilities. A special place, just for her.

Now the sun had set, and dusk made a quick battle to conquer the sky over the retreating glow. She slowly stood up, and nimbly scooched her way back toward the street. She had found this spot when she was still a nimble teenager. It was the only secret she had kept from Sudhakar. Now, much older, much larger, and a lot less agile, she wondered whether she should stop her daily visits. A small misstep could lead to a nasty fall, and she was no longer a bouncy child who could just bounce back from a fall like that. But the concept of divine perfection still called out stronger than crass bodily fears. She might stop some day, but it would not be this day.

The streets were empty now. Still, they welcomed her. A lifetime spent roaming the same streets give them more a sense of home than a mere bed and roof can ever manage. The cobblestones scattered around called out to her, begging to be sent skidding across the street, celebrating in their own bursts of confetti of dust. She graciously accepted their challenge, and as she reached her destination, she carried with her a thin coating of sweat and sand. A trophy from times long past, but rarely forgotten.

The door creaked as it opened. It was soon followed by a creaking bed, and a creaking voice that called out "Amrutha? Is that you? Are you back?"

"Yes Mamma." Amrutha placed her now significantly lighter bag in the corner of the kitchen, and started putting away the scant remaining vegetables into their respective cupboards. She moistened a towel and quickly wiped the dust off her face, and made her way towards the grumbling that was slowly increasing in volume.

"Just look at this girl. Just because she has found some kind of job, she has completely forgotten about her mother. How is an old woman supposed to survive without help from her children?"

The old lady Vasundhara lay on the bed, her gaze strongly fixed to the ceiling. If she had the ability to move her neck, she showed great restraint in demonstrating the same. Her body rocked as her voice shot out, sending tremors across the bed. "What do you have to say for yourself girl? Is this how you treat your poor old mother?"

"Mamma, if you have so many problems with your children, I'll go over and call Srini Sir right away. I am sure he will be glad to meet you."

"Don't you dare disturb my darling boy. He is an important man, and he will do great things. He doesn't need the likes of you wasting his time with trifles and lies."

"So we're back are we Mamma? Are we done with this little charade? We both know very well that you are mentally as sharp as you always were."

"Amrutha, you do have a knack of seeing right through me don't you? It was just a little trick I spent the day planning. But you don't even allow this poor old lady to have her fun."

"Mamma yaar. Now you're just trying to guilt me into feeling bad. You know I did nothing wrong."

"My dear, in case you are expecting an apology, just remember thatn I'm too old to feel guilty about these things. Anyway, tell me, how is my dear Srini doing?"

"He's in one of his own rabbitholes, as usual. Something about a time device of some sort, that he found in the Deccan Museum or something like that."

"Ahh, the Museum of Deccan. Now that is a fine institution. I remember taking my students there on multiple occasions. The knowledge just envelopes you. All you have to do is be present, the museum would do the rest. Truly a fine institution. Have you been, dear?"

"No Mamma. Never had the option really. How have you been doing today?"

"Much the same. I feel the heavens shouting out for my body. Cajoling, begging, pleading. And I spend all of my energy flipping them off. I will go when I want to go. All the shouting serves no purpose."

Vasundhara made a small motion, and Ammu rushed to her side. She supported the feeble body as it tried to get to a more comfortable position in the bed. Ammu felt for this old lady. She truly was fighting the heavens inspite of all the costs. Her body had been completely wrecked by the years, but her mind remained as pointy as an index figer. She helped the old lady into what she thought would be a more comfortable position, supporting her neck as much as she could with the pillows available.

"Shall we begin?"

Ammu headed to the desk, and picked up her notebook, and came back to the bedside.

"My dear, please remind me where we were?"

"We were at the Jalib conquests Amma. Last night, they had just, in your own words, decided that they would start an empire."

"Ah yes of course. Are you ready?"

Ammu flexed her wrists, and rotated her shoulders. She brought the pen down towards her notebook, hovering just off the surface of the page.

"Ready."

History was relived that night. As it had been every night for the past few months. Time had called out to Vasundhara, and she had devoted her life to studying it. Bedridden now, she had finally started to piece together all the scraps of all the history-tellers. And it was finally beginning to make sense. She would finally tell the world what they had always wanted to know, and Ammu would be her scribe. Something as tame as death was not going to stop her. She had devoted her whole life to Time. She was going to decide when it was her time.

Scene 11

There should have been a soft clinking sound. A metallic heart rhythmically pumping along. It would have most likely been quite melodious if it had been given the opportunity to sing. It remained silent. Metal striking metal, but no sound to be found. Maybe the materials had some advanced sound absorbing additives. That would certainly be something worth looking into.

Srinivas slid out a cupboard, and rummaged around. He emerged with a notebook and pen, and started making his notes. He wasn't very familiar with material science, or with sound abosrption either. He would have to do some more research about them if he was going to investigate into these aspects further.

The pen clinked as it hit the notebook again, and Srinivas brought his chin back to the knuckles of his hand, and his eyeline back in line with the whirring contraption that was silently sitting on his desk. The whirring was mostly a figment of his imagination as surely something that was behaving in that manner should be whirring.

The methodically moving parts had a slowly hypnotising effect on the old man. The lights glinted off the mirrored surfaces. The deep shadows played hide and seek flitting their ways behind the mechanical parts. The old man took his mind away from the present moment and projected it backwards.

His mother had been a professor of History at the local University. He had wanted to follow in her footsteps and get into Academia. He was perfectly suited for it. A sharp mind, the ability to focus for long periods on seemingly mundane tasks, and an absolute inability to think of any practical matter in practical terms. The perfect recipe for a budding professor.

Then all of a sudden, the world changed, and his plans had to change with them. A national crisis meant that the Universities were no longer the centres of research and exploration. They were now just glorified training centres, churning through large swathes of the populace, with the academic rigour of a unsharpened pencil. Except that for a man like him, change didn't come easily.

The budding physics scholar was now lost in a world that had moved in a direction tangential to the one that he had planned his life around. A duck waddling across a bridge built over a pond. Lost and searching for its way home, except that it couldn't be certain that a home even existed to be getting back to.

clink

The pen had rolled off the table and had crashed into the floor, also crashing the memory sink that Srinivas had found himself in. He bent over to the floor to examine the damage that had been sustained by his pen. Satisfied, he reached over to the cupboard and put it back in safely. As he was putting his notebook away, the pages flipped back, and an image caught his eye. He brought the notebook and kept it in front of him again.

Notes were scribbled all across the page. Two different hands, two different pens in a now eternal struggle to lay claim to more of the page than the other. One was a graceful looping script, worthy of a lady who had dedicated her life to documenting all the secrets that she could unearth. The other was a brusk efficient hand, letters that would stick ramrod straight, always trying to stick closely together, as if space was at a premium.

Most of the writing seemed to be various different forms of gibberish. Letters that have no business appearing in a sequence seemed to revel in the opportunity to rebel, and populated themselves across the page. Srini stared intently at the page, trying to decipher the purpose of this exagerrated usage of ink, but wasn't really able to break through.

He flipped through the pages of the book again. It was one of his mothers old notebooks. She had a soft spot for collecting stationery, and had no qualms in moving to the next notebook for the flimsiest of reasons. So most of his life, Srini had access to a stunning variety of stationery, with the caveat that most of them had anywhere between a few pages, and a whole lot more already used.

He kept skimming through the pages to see if there were any other appearances of this other brusk hand. He was able to recognise his mothers handwriting, but he couldn't figure out who the other person using the notebook was. His mother was not really the kind of person who shared her notebooks, atleast not until she had moved on to the next one.

The rest of the notebook was mostly filled with writing that was easy to decipher. Letters and words that were behaving themselves, and making sense, like all decent letters should. He flipped back to the outstanding page, and carefully scanned it again. He was not really sure what it was that had caught his eye within this page, so he scoured the margins to see what it might have been.

He spotted it in one of the margins. His mother's blue ink made a looping heart sign, and the brusk black ink made an approximation of some kind of spiral. Somehow, a spiral had been constructed with what seemed to be predominantly straight lines. But there was something really familiar about that symbol, and it should have been at the tip of his tongue, but it seemed inaccessible.

He looked back up towards the machine sitting on his table, and his jaw dropped all the way down into the cupboard he was hovering over. There it was, staring right at him. A faint inscription on the face of the gadget. He brought the notebook up next to it and compared the likeness. Yes, it had to be the same thing. What was it doing in the margins of his mothers book? Who was this mysterious brusk fellow that was doodling in this notebook? Srinivas knew the best way of finding out. Srinivas was going home.

Scene 12

Words rushed at her. Ammu fell into her regular trance. As the words rushed past, she deftly maneuvered around, intercepting the ones that she liked, while avoiding all the extraneous ones. A mystical dance, emerging from the action of word selection. Her collection of words grew, even as she tried to expend them as fast as she could. Soon she was allowing most of the words to graze past her, and only reaching for those that had enough gravity to lend meaning to the words around them. Only then was she able to keep up. But only just about.

"Would you like to take a break dear?" Vasundhara asked.

Ammu slumped over the bed in response. Keeping up with the old woman was a monumental challenge. It felt like she spent all day refining and sharpening her thoughts. Editting and redditing again in her head, until she was able to articulate her point with a clarity honed over a lifetime of contemplating ideas. Once Ammu entered, all that there was left to do was to let it all out. Mountains of pristine prose. While her body was not able to move, her eloquent arguments more than made up.

"Shall we go over what we did today?" Vasundhara asked. Ammu sat back up in response. She ruffled through her notes, and then started reading back what she had. As the paragraphs progressed, the number of blanks that she had left increased, and she started filling in the blanks with words and phrases plucked out of the ether which were then noted down and held the existing pieces together.

Vasundhara closed her eyes and revelled. She had started off being annoyed at how slow her scribe was. She had been accustomed to University trained stenographers who had never struggled to keep up with the words coming out of her mouth. When Srinivas had first sent Ammu, she was aghast at how slow Ammu was. After weeks of narrating at a pace far too slow for her own liking, one day she decided that she was just going to narrate at her own pace, and maybe then use that as an excuse to get hold of another person to transcribe her notes for her.

The plan backfired. Or maybe it forwardfired. Vasundhara was not so good with words. But Ammu was, as it turned out. As Ammu got a few paragraphs in, Vasundhara saw the narration drifting farther and farther away from the words that she was expecting. The words that were being read back to her were a whole lot more. Just more everything. More stylish, more eloquent, more persuasive. Ammu really had a gift of absorbing the knowledge that was being spewn at her, and then presenting the same ideas in a voice that was designed to present ideas. With Ammu at her side, Vasundhara now no longer feared that her ideas would be forgotten, not when such a charming voice was presenting the ideas.

"I think you got a couple of the dates mixed up near the end. Can you just check that for me?"

Ammu consulted her notes. "Ahh, the trading routes. Yes, I will fix that."

"Shall we continue then?"

Ammu sat back down, and stretched her fingers. Then her wrists. Then her neck and back.

"Let's go!"

knock knock

"Who's there?" Vasundhara shouted. "Please don't disturb us when we are at work. You can come back later."

"Ma! It's me." A voice responded, muffled by the door.

"Srini? Is that you?"

Ammu jumped up and rushed over to the door. She fiddled with the lock, and the door slowly creaked open.

"Hello ma! How have you been? Has Amrutha been treating you well?" Srini walked in to the room, and leaned over his mothers bedside.

"Oh look at you. You really need to shave more regularly Srini. And visit your poor old mother. How is a poor old lady like me supposed to survive without her son taking care of her?"

Srini slowly backed away from the bedside.

"Oh, come back here. You know I was just joking. It's so nice to see you here. Tell me, how are things going? Ammu was saying something about a historical timepiece. Are you here for your mothers expertise?"

"Surprisingly mother, it turns out that I am. I was going through one of your old notebooks, and I saw this."

He hovered the book over his mothers head, pointing at the rough doodles at the edge of the page.

"Where did you find that? I have been looking for that notebook for years."

"I don't know ma. It was just among the mass of notebooks that you gave me all those years ago."

"I see. It would please me greatly if you could leave the notebook with me now."

"What does this mean ma? Who is the other person who has made all these notes? Why is it in some kind of code? And what is this symbol, and what is it doing here?"

"Your mother has the right to keep her own secrets. I don't understand why you are interested in any of these things. Or why you were snooping through my notes. I thought I had raised a gentleman."

"Ma, I was not snooping. I just happened across it. And it is relevant. I think this is the same symbol that is on the timepiece that I am trying to research about."

Ammu walked over and took a peek at what Srini had been pointing at.

"I knew it. It looked so familiar. I had just not been able to put it together. Mamma, you remember the notes that you had asked me to clean out from the cupboards? This looks just like one of those."

"So there's more of it? Can you bring it out Amrutha? I'd like to see it."

"No. Amrutha, you stay right here. Srinivas, your mother has her own right to her privacy, and we will not be discussing this any further."

The voice from the bed had started off very stern. But as the words wore on, the voice began to crack.

Srini took a chair and sat by his mothers bed. He took her hand in his, and asked, "Ma, is there something you need to tell me?"

Scene 13

"When you look out of the window, you can see the mountains. That was the first time I had ever seen the mountains. There is just a certain sense of majesty to those mountains. The Bendi mountain range. People don't talk about it much, but that single geological formation pointed the finger of society in the way that it ended up going. Kingdoms, food, commerce, all of it ended up being the way it was because of those mountains. I don't think I knew it at that point though."

"However, that's really not what you think about when you get to see them. The Jalib University is quite far from the foothills. But when you tower over the world like those mountains do, you are bound to get noticed, even from far away. It can be a humbling experience. Seeing something large, it can make you feel small. Or maybe just remind you, that in the flow of time, we are all just motes of sand being blown around. Not that sand cannot change the flow of time, just that it needs the circumstances to be perfect."

"I was in my early twenties then. A life spent in libraries was what had gotten me through my childhood, and into the University, and then finally to Jalib. So I thought I knew what a library was. Then there is that monument. It has this unerring ability to just take your breath away. When you enter, there is this hallway. Just your standard university hallway. Maybe a few more embellishments, but nothing that is really noteworthy. But that's all a part of the plan isn't it? To lull you with a sense of security, so that the true awe that is about to come gets a true moment in the Sun."

"I don't really know if it is large, or there is some magic that happens when you enter that makes it seem so. It just hits you. You exit a hallway, and you enter... Paradise. Not just because you can find every book you could imagine. That's not even it. It's something much more visceral. Art and Culture tempers you with a certain sense of what it means to be in paradise. How it would look. How it would feel. And the library just captures that."

"It starts off with the light. Windows several stories high wrap the building in a cocoon. The light just enters and finds its way everywhere. The floors and tables emanate that ethereal glow that you think of when you imagine paradise. In that instant, the marble floors might as well be fluffy clouds."

"Then there is the sound. It's not silent. It's something a little more pristine than that. A perfect mental soundscape. The background score to thought. You don't need to whisper there. You just talk as comfortably as you please. The sound just absorbs it all, and nobody will get disturbed. Another certain sense of magic."

"I don't really know if I believe in the idea of vibrations. That room has just that something extra. When you leave the hallway and move towards the foyer, something happens inside you. You forget all the stressors in your life. All tension and excitement disappears, and is replaced by an overwhelming notion of calm. The place was designed for thinking, and nothing was going to get in the way of that."

"I walked around the aisles, passing hundreds of oddly familiar faces. I couldn't recognise them, but I could recognise something in them. And they could recognise that same something in me. There was no room for the social anxieties that would plague us in the real world. In here, we are all something greater."

"Some aisles were a lot deeper than what it would seem that the architecture of the building should allow. And the light penetrated deeper than what the laws of physics should allow. In paradise, you don't question these things. You just take them in, with the appropriate sense of awe."

"They used to say that you don't go there to find the knowledge that you want. You go there to find the knowledge that the Universe wants you to find. Deeper and deeper in randomer and randomer aisles I would roam. A veritable labrynith that would find a way to guide me through her womb. Slowly, people became scarce, and it was just me, my thoughts, and the Library herself guiding me. Several books would catch my eye, but as I reached out to grab them, something else would catch my attention, and I would be compelled to continue moving."

"I don't really know how time works when you're in there. Being in that place, with that feeling, it felt like it transcended the passage of time. It was a vantage point to take a break from the flow of seconds. A spot for a respite from the incessant barrage of moments. A campfire welcoming the weary travellers, and offering a bedroll and an invitation to stay the night."

"Nonetheless, it might have been a few minutes, or a few hours, and that's when I reached where the Library wanted to take me. I was in... the geology section? But why? It made no real sense. I was only interested in History. Maybe some forms of literature. Stories. Of how we got here. Of where we might be going next. But here it was, the book that was calling my name, Analysis of the cross section of Bendi Peaks 200-300. It wasn't even really a book. Maybe you could have called it a topographical survey of some sort?"

"I reached out to the folder containing the bindings, and pulled it out, taking care not to upset the rest of the stack. Taking care like that was certainly not one of my strong suits. The whole stack came tumbling down on me. It definitely made a ruckus, but I was quite certain there was nobody nearby. So I tried, to slowly sneak away."

"But just then, a face popped out from behind the shelf. She looked at me, then at the mess around me, took half a moment, and then popped a wide smile. She disappeared from behind the shelf, and then reappeared in front of the shelf, smile still intact. I quickly made a motion as to indicate that I did indeed mean to tidy up this mess that I had caused, and as I bent over, she came and sat down right next to me."

"A library is not a place of books. It is a place of learning. And I was about to learn a lot."

Scene 14

Geometry works in funny ways.

Every object has its own protrusions and incisions. Its own little nooks and crannies. Yet somehow, over the course of culture and society, humans decided that they were going to prioritise, over all else, the stacking of things. Doesn't matter what those things were, or how they felt about their new cubicled prisons. If something could be stacked, it would be stacked. If something couldn't be stacked, well, human society didn't progress this far by acceding to the notion of impossibility.

A stack of items is always just that. A stack of items. There needs to be no coherent theme to all the items in the same stack. If a book could be stacked on top of a soft toy, that was an accomplishment. If a plate could somehow be snuck in between, well, that was the dream. It didn't really matter whether the different pieces meshed with each other. Thematically or geometrically. If there were too many holes and gaps, then more items would be stuffed in, and hey, now we have an even bigger stack.

In an unexplored corner of a geometry-disrespecting library, Vasu sat, and considered all these conundrums. She tried to think back and consider how these items had been placed before she managed to bring them all tumbling down. She stared down at the clutter, and then back up at the space. Some mental calculations. Some three dimensional tetris. Nope, it made no sense. There was no configuration in which these items would fit in that space.

She stood up. Walked around a little bit. Prospected various solutions to her problem at hand, but honestly had no idea of how to go about solving it. Or even any intention of solving it really. It was all largely just a show for the eyes that were boring deep into her soul.

There was something striking about the woman. Her clothing was simple, yet somehow deliberate. A very measured approximation of the the universal perfect that all things strive for. If the Universe had the concept of a perfect fashion sense, this here was going to be in the Spring collection.

Vasu finally gave up, and looked straight at her. She recieved a smile in return. Except that the smile wasn't really from any part of her face. Not even the eyes. Just a general radiance that was emanating an expression that is somewhere in the semantic vicinity of a smile.

"I'm sure all of this", Vasu said, vaguely motioning her arms around her, "used to be right there." A finger pointed towards a diminishing space. "But I really have no idea how it all fit. Or how I am supposed to put any of it back. You think we could just sneak away from here? I'll do the innocuous whistling..."

Now her face smiled. Beamed. A certain brightness. A certain lightness. "This must be your first time here. You do radiate a certain amateur energy. How did you even reach so far?"

"I would like to say that I remember the route I took. But I also don't like to lie. Internal stalemate."

A chuckle. The kind that could make you forget all about the smile that we just spent a paragraph describing.

"You are right. It's my first time here, and I am so lost. I don't know how I came here, and I don't know how I am going to get out. And then all of these things fell over. And I was trying to read some book about Geology. I don't even know anything about geology. But the library spoke to me, and it was saying things like, "left here, second right, dead-end u-turn, wait at the signal", and I just ended up here, and it all fell down, and now I don't know what to do."

"Woah there. Calm down. Tell me, what's your name?"

It just took those two words, and the slowly mounting pressure found a secret release valve. The accelerating heart beat slowly slowed down. The rising pitch descended back towards the plains. "Um, I'm Vasundhara."

"Don't worry Vasundhara. I'll help you sort this out. Hi, I'm Dhwani."

Dhwani bent back down, and started picking items off the floor. One hand balanced an ever growing stack, while the other hand expertly inserted an assortment of geometries into it. Vasundhara's jaw now contributed to the clutter scattered across the floor. Dhwani looked her in the eye, "Hey. I said I would help. I didn't say I would do all of your work."

"But, how? I don't understand. How are you able to stack them like that? It makes no sense."

Dhwani's arm was starting to feel weighed down. She walked over to the shelf, and the space was suddenly just a little less empty. She walked back over and put both her hands on Vasundhara's shoulders. "You just do it. Unless you start, you'll never be able to figure it out."

And Vasundhara just started. As she picked up things. Suddenly there was less clutter. Suddenly, she could see exactly where every item should go. The stack was not ever-growing. It was ever-filling. Ever-spacious. There was always room when it was required. Centuries of evolution had coincided with centuries of stacking. An unerring intuition crept its way out of a supressed subconscious, and suddenly, the shelf looked more empty than full. More gaps than items. More room. Always more room.

Soon the clutter was cleared. It didn't take that long. Or maybe it did. The library had a certain magic to it. It made time do wierd things. And being in the same vicinity as Dhwani made it do even more wierd things.

Vasundhara now felt that she had attained a deeper understanding of geometry. How different shapes fit together. How things mesh with each other. How there are always gaps to be filled.

After spending so much time stacking things together, Vasundhara took a mental step back to observe. She realised that humans are themselves complex pieces of geometry. Human hands are equal part finger and equal parts empty space. She was now compelled to practice filling in those gaps as well. She knew that the way to get started was by just doing it. And so she did.

Geometry works in funny ways.

Scene 15

"We met several times after that. Sometimes it was planned. Sometimes it was unplanned. Just the library enacting its will upon us. I would be deep in the history section, researching the development of our empire. She would suddenly pop up next to me, sometimes in the philosophy section, sometimes physics, sometimes something else altogether. Yet somehow mysteriously, those two sections would just happen to be right next to each other. Some form of cosmic provenance being mandated on us."

"Other times we would meet in some reading section or the other. We would both have all of our notes and materials, but it wasn't really easy to get any work done with her at your side. She would keep taking my notebook, and writing me messages. And I would respond. And between all the words said, and the words written, somewhere, we built ourselves our own little... "

"Ma, this story has been going on for half an hour, and I still don't know what this symbol is supposed to mean. Or why this is all in code. Or what..."

"Sir. Please sit back down, and let your mother speak."

Ammu stood up and brought Srini back to his seat by the bedside. She handed him a glass of water, and looked to Vasundhara expectantly.

"This here is a respectful girl. Do as she says, and let your mother speak."

"Oh. I had visitted the library to learn. I thought that I would learn from all the books that they had. The library had other plans. Everything I learnt there, I learnt from her."

"But mamma, who was she?"

"She was a monk from the Time Temple."

Scene 16

"The Time Temple? What? What do they even worship there? Time?" Vasu's eyes narrowed to slits. Dhwani was sitting in front of her, busy doodling in her own notes. Light streamed into the foyer from all angles, including the ones it was not supposed to stream through. In a library filled with desolate corners, two women sat in one of the arbitrarily chosen ones. It was the perfect corner.

"Yes. Time. I guess worship is a bit of a strong word. Atleast in the sense that you all seem to imply. It is a monastery devoted to the study and understanding of time. Sure, it has some rituals and things, but who doesn't really?"

"So you are here to study... Time? I don't think I get it. I mean, lets take me for an example. I am here to study history. Isn't that the study of time? What happened in the past. How did we reach here. Why society is the way it is. Sounds like time to me."

Dhwani put down her notes, and extended a hand.

"Vasu, tell me. How long have we been here? How long since we first met?"

Vasu bit the end of her pencil. "I guess it's been about a week."

"Right. Let's say it has been a week. How long has it felt like? Think back over those seven days. When you first walked into the library. When you first knocked over that shelf of documents. How long ago does that feel like it was?"

The pencil gnawing restarted in earnest. "Honestly, it feels like a lot longer than that. I think back to who I was when I first came here, and I barely recognise her. So many things have happened since, and it is almost hard to believe that it is only a week. Okay, I guess I never though about it that way. So that's the study of time?"

"Hold on. We'll get there when we get there. Now think about just yesterday. How long do you think we were behind the shelves in the Housekeeping and Gardening section? And how long did that feel like?"

The pencil got a break as Vasu blushed. "I'm pretty sure we were there the whole day. We entered early in the morning, and by the time we left it was getting dark."

"But how long did it feel like? At the end of the day, what did you feel about how the day had proceeded?"

"It just flew by. It was over before I knew it."

Dhwani smiled that Dhwani smile. Radiant from all angles. "Exactly. Though the week feels like it was much longer, the day feels like it was much shorter. That's the phenomena that we are trying to understand. What is time exactly? How do we experience it? That's what we are studying at the monastery."

"So you're some kind of monk?"

"Yeah, that's the terminology they prefer."

"So what do you do there? How do you do your research and your study?"

"Oh, I can't give away all our secrets just like that. Come and visit some time, and I'll teach you everything I know."

Scene 17

"And then suddenly it was all over. The next few days, I didn't really catch any glimpse of her. I waited for the library to do its magic. I waited at every corner of every aisle. But that was it. Never saw her again. You would think that information about an entire Monastery would be easy to find in the library of Jalib, but no. It wasn't to be. I asked around all that I could, but nobody seems to know anything about it. Sometimes, I think that she was a creation of the library itself. An apparition conjured up as a method to teach me what I needed to learn. That's all."

"Any you never heard from her since?"

Vasundhara shrugged. Or she tried to. Her body wasn't really capable of generating the strength required to lift her shoulders. Ammu had her answer though.

"Amrutha, Srini dear, I think I will have to turn in for the night. This has been a very memorable evening, but the emotional weight of that specific memory lane is not something that I can really handle."

"Ofcourse mamma." Ammu approached the old lady, and held up a glass of water to her lips. She then slid her back down the bed, into a more comfortable sleeping position. Ammu put out the lights, and then exitted the room, to find Srini waiting outside.

"A Time Temple? Do you really believe all of this?" Srini was pacing around the room. "I mean, Ma does say some wacky things sometimes, but this just feels so out there."

"I don't know sir. I have spent the last few months with your mother, and I am quite sure her mind and memory is all in the right place. I don't think this is some figment of her imagination. Just the way she described all of it. It all sounded real enough. Then again, the way she described the library and all of that, I don't know it seemed a little bit off. I know all the legends, but I figured those were all just legends. Surely no place like that could exist right? Right?"

Srini paused. Lifted a finger, shook his head, put it back down and continued pacing. "All I care about is that symbol. Ma seems to think that it is the symbol of the Time Temple. Either we figure out what the symbol really was for, or we go and find this time temple. Do you have any ideas on how we could go about doing that?"

"I think I know just the guy."

Scene 18

The way the dust settles, you can just tell. A long dark winding street. Loneliness stumbles around. Knocking on the doors. Rattling the windows. Ensuring that nobody else is there. He wasn't always thus engaged. There was a time when the streets were packed. Happy noises erupted from the lights glowing across. He was forced to hide in the abandoned corners and forgotten alleys. Cowering away in shame, actively shooed away from any premises he thought of eyeing.

Now he towered over those same streets, flaunting his presence to none, because there was noone to flaunt to. That's just the nature of loneliness. If people start trying to observe him, he will just dissolve away. Now he went wherever he please. Almost. There was still one nook that he couldn't assert his command over. There was a man who still managed to dispell loneliness even though circumstance demanded otherwise. Ammu was now hunting for that nook. Hunting for that man.

It took her more time to find the dilapidated shop that claimed to resell goods, but when she did find it, she also found it locked. If she knew Sudhakar, she knew that if he was in town, he would be somewhere along these gullys. There was no force strong enough to pull him out of these streets. She had tried making him move with her, to a new life outside of this place, but he had refused. Even when she thought he was on his deathbed, he remained the immovable object he had always been.

So she continued roaming the streets, vigilant for any signs that she could find. As the time passed, she slowly grew accustomed to it. That nagging sense of loneliness. She felt her heartstrings getting tugged, and allowed the weight to drag down her soul. These streets were familiar in the worst way. The emptiness kept pulling her back, all those years ago. While most of her memories here were full of life and energy, there was one that stuck out the harshest. And that rang of the same emptiness that she found around her.

The same sign still hung from the same wall. It had cast a deep shadow that evening. A shadow that connected it to all the other darkness. She was trying to find the words to explain, but he would not listen. She tried to bring him along, but he would not budge. She glanced back as she walked away, and that shadow struck like a stake in her heart.

Just as the memory tugged her back, she suddenly felt it. The weight of the loneliness hanging in the air threatened to thin. A few wisps of life. She looked around to see if there was any signs, but darkness waved back from all directions. She would have to rely on the wisps alone.

It took her a while, stumbling around, trying to triangulate on what barely constituted a sensation. But she did find it eventually. As she rounded another identical dark corner, she heard it. A booming laugh that resonated in her ribcage. Like the seas had parted and pointed her to the destination she was seeking. She approached the cluster of shacks, and allowed the hearty voices to pull her back out of the pit that she had allowed herself to fall into. Then she knocked.

The door swung open. Faces filled with a sense of doubt and confusion. Then, haphazardly, one after the next, faces lit up with a sudden sense of recognition, and smiles that were instrumental in keeping loneliness at bay. There was just the one face that wasn't beaming.

"Sudhakar, I've been looking for you." Ammu said.

"Why are you here? I don't have any more information than I had this morning Ammu. I can't work miracles you know."

"We figured it out. It is apparently the symbol of some kind of Time Temple. Have you heard anything about that?"

Eyes that were busy glowering shuddered for an instant. A memory flitted its way through. The eyes were glowering soon again.

"Listen Ammu, you can't just keep coming here, and act like everything is okay. That I will drop everything and be at your side. I don't know what you think you have heard, but I don't have any information..."

"Sudhakar, Ammu. Relax." Two shining bright eyes hidden behind mountains of hair spontaneously materialized between the loggerheads and pierced a tension that was threatening to build. "Ammu, you are here, meeting us after so many years. You know how we work, we can't get to business until we have extinguished our quota of pleasure. And the night is still young, and the snacks are still crispy."

Jonty was a spry old man, with tufts of hair sprouting from all available real estate on his face. He took Ammu by the hand and brought her into the circle. Faces, young and old glimmering in the light of the fire. She recognised a lot of the faces. They looked a little different. A little older. A little wiser, maybe. She felt herself pulled back through the decades. Sitting in this same circle. Celebrating another day that was, and toasting to the day that was to come. Content in the ability to enjoy the present moment.

"This is Ammu." Jonty said, "Most of you probably know her, though I'm sure she would love to give you an introduction if you so wished."

Ammu blushed, and hurried over to her chair. Jonty reached back and pulled out his guitar. And time was forgotten.

There is a certain magic that music casts. A spell that hits everyone in the way that they need it the most. A stimulant or a salve. A memory or an opportunity to forget. Jonty strummed along on his guitar, and the circle of people transformed into their own little island of magic. All eyes darting around, trying to share the joy that had materialized just for that moment. Anger and doubt dissolved, and an air of calm prevailed.

Ammu looked over at Sudhakar, and saw her old familiar friend. No more traces of hostility and doubt. She smiled, and recieved one in return. She raised her eyebrows, and he nodded. Ammu turned back towards Jonty and closed her eyes. All of the missions could be completed tomorrow. Right now, she was ready to take flight.

Scene 19

"Wait. You actually know about the Time Temple?"

"Yeah. I met a guy once. He said that's where he was from. I didn't think too much of it at the time, but now that you mention it, I guess he wasn't joking."

Sudhakar watched as the sparks of awe and joy slowly spread across Ammu's face. A contagious sincerity that arose from the heart. It took a monumental effort to abstain from sharing in that joy, but he was able to fend it off using his years of cynicism as a dagger.

"What did he say about the place? Vasundhara maam had mentioned something, but it was really aloof. I couldn't really make sense of it. What do they do there? Do they really worship time? How does that work? Actually you know what. Wait. I think Srini sir will also want to hear all of this. You should come with me, and we can go and meet him together."

Sudhakar reached for his cup and took a sip. It was still early in the morning, but he wished he could be drinking something stronger. He needed a certain amount of liquid courage if he was going to have to deal with Ammu.

"Ammu, I can't come with you. I think you know that. I'll tell you all that I know, and you do whatever you want with that."

Ammu took a deep breath. Her eyes carried all the emotions that Sudhakar knew he couldn't handle, so he stared resolutely at the dust patterns decorating his windowpane. Hearing a rustle in front of him, he looked back to see Ammu sitting with a notebook, eyeing him expectantly.

Scene 20

When he's in the desert, the wind turns into a ferocious monster. Mountains worth of sand and dirt are picked up and tossed around like blades of grass in late spring. And he howls. How he howls. A persistent noise that starts off low, and then slowly hits all the notes that even musicians cannot imagine, systematically climbing the octaves until sound and noise and silence are all unified. A terrifying cacophony of an orchestra. Falling asleep in the desert is no easy task. And that's just the wind.

Sudhakar turned uneasily on his mat. Everytime one of his appendages found its way off the mat, the desert sent a chill through his bones, reminding him of its presence. The flapping of the tent tried to sing along to the wind and its orchestra, but it would need more practice if it really wanted to make it. Competition in the vocal space is always cutthroat.

A long battle ensued. An epic broil between the cold, the blanket and sleep. It started off with the blanket providing defensive protection against the advances of the cold, but as time progressed, and he tossed and turned, the blanket made a calculated strategic double cross, and started entangling the same limbs that it had just spent the last half an hour protecting. Sudhakar woke up with the start, the sleep having just been strangled by the blanket.

The flap of his tent flipped open, and he squeezed his way out of his tent. A fleet of tents surrounded him, and it seemed like his tent had been taking the brunt of might of the desert wind. He tried to strike a match to light up his cigarette, but aparently the wind was now in charge of enforcing the no smoking policy that the desert had apparently adopted. He tried to stretch out his legs, when he heard the sand crunching behind him.

"Wind keeping you awake?"

He turned to see a bald face emanating a serene smile. The man was wearing some collection of robes that should have done a terrible job of protecting him from the cold, but at the same time, it seemed that they were doing just fine.

"Ah, classic mistake." The man said, "They've botched up the tent setups again. These kids just seem to have no respect for the value of a job done well. They just come and haphazardly strew the tents around, and then run away on their camels, off to do Goddess knows what."

He walked over to Sudhakar's tent and bent down at the corner. He started adjusting some of the straps, and then looked up at Sudhakar. "I know I may not look it, but I assure you, I am a terribly old man. And I could really use some help."

Sudhakar started, and quickly joined the self proclaimed old man.

"Ah yes. So you see, they have placed the tent at a wrong angle against the wind. One swell blast, and this tent will turn into a kite, and soar across half of the Deccan. We will have to turn the tent a bit. And moving some sand to redirect the wind would surely help as well."

Two men. Silent work. A few heaves and shoves. Some unspoken instructions. Relocation of some canvas dwellings, and some topological changes. Two men. Collapsed onto sandy seating. Lungs heaving. Hearts humming. Radiating the kind of joy that only exists when the body and the mind are exerted in sync.

"This should probably be a lot better. So tell me young man, where are you headed?"

"I want to see the library of Jalib sir. I've been hearing about it ever since I was a child. Now I want to see what it is like. I hope I am not too late."

"Oh, never you mind. You are never going to be too late. The library will welcome you when you are ready. And there is no need to call me sir. You can call me Dharam. Dharam Chacha if you really insist of respectful traditions that have chased us from antiquity."

"Dharam chacha it is then. I'm Sudhakar."

"What do you seek Sudhakar? Why do you want to see the library?"

"Everything is just going wrong in my... in the world. Empires are collapsing. People are disappearing. Cities are being forgotten. I guess I am hoping that I can find out why this is happening."

"And what do you hope to do with the answer?"

"I don't know. Help stop it maybe? Go back in time and set things back to the way when everything was right."

"Hmm. The Goddess works in mysterious ways. I can tell you right now, and you won't have to go all the way to the library. You can not go back in time..."

"Oh what do you know? I bet you've never been there yourself. I am going to find it, and I am going to get my answers."

"That's not how any of this works Sudhakar. There is no magic in the library..."

"I think I am going to turn in. I thank you for all your help Dharam chacha, but I know what I believe. And I need to believe. Thanks for all your help, and I hope you have a wonderful night."

Tents don't have doors. Nothing to be slammed. Sudhakar thudded the canvas shut, and then thudded back onto his mat. The old man was right, with the new orientation of the tent, and the protection that the sand was giving him, the wind was no longer preventing him from falling asleep. He had something else entirely for that.

Scene 21

The desert reflects everything. It absorbs nothing. During the day, it reflects the heat. During the night, it reflects the cold. And during the mornings, it reflects all the bustle that a large travelling caravan can generate. All the noise, chaos and raw human energy chanelled its way through the crowds, patiently growing, systematically finding its way to an ideal target, snuck in the tent through the floppy flap, and virtually lifted Sudhakar off his mat, and he awoke with a start.

His head throbbed, resonating with the noise that a travelling camp can generate. He vaguely remembered leaving the tent last night, and some kind of conversation or argument that he might have had with someone else. He had an intuition that the feeling at the pit of his stomach was more than just a copious amount of alcohol reminding him of its presence. There was a strong presence of guilt in that gut. And he wasn't entirely certain where it was coming from.

The sun gleamed with all its might, and looking away doesn't help, because the desert reflects everything. Sudhakar groggily made his way through the shambles of tents strewn around him. Something about the formation, or lack thereof threatened to jog his memory. He continued towards the water dispensers, mug in hand.

The line was long, and the wait promised to be longer. The old woman standing ahead of Sudhakar invited him under a thick sheet that was currently being operated as a sunshield. The caravan was large, but there was a strong sense that they needed to work with each other if they were going to make their way through this voyage.

Sudhakar watched eagerly as his mug was filled with the sparkling water. He then watched just as disdainedly as he saw the length of the line behind him. A second mug was not in his destiny today. Half satiated, he thanked the old lady, and then threaded his way back towards his own tent.

He settled down on a lump of sand right behind his tent. It somehow managed to both be a comfortable seating arrangement as well as provide a perfect pocket of shade from the blistering sun. Almost as if the whole orientation was intentional.

If that wasn't enough to remind him of last nights adventure, right then a shadow popped up next to him, and he turned around to see a familiar face.

"Good morning Sudhakar. I hope the second half of your night was more restful than the first."

"Umm. Dharam Chacha? I am having some trouble remembering the exact sequence of events last night, but I have a strong feeling that I owe you one heck of an apology."

Dharam laughter boomed. Sudhakar could feel the vibrations run up his body, instantly soothing him. A part of the commotion in his stomach quieted down, as he watched the old man slowly return to his stable neutral.

"Here, I brought this for you." Dharam Chacha offered a small pouch with some soft pellets inside. "Eat these now, you will feel much better."

And in a couple of chews, Sudhakar swallowed, and felt his stomach quiet down, echoing the calm that Dharam Chacha seemed to personify. He blinked his eyes open to see an overpowering smile that threatened to take over his face as well.

"I thought you might be in a better mood to talk in the morning. Nights tend to bring out some demons in people, and people try to drown those demons in the nights."

"I don't remember what I said, but I would just like to offer another apology."

"Don't worry son. Nothing to worry about. But tell me. Why are you here on this expedition? You seem to be a city boy, and I am quite sure you are out of there for the first time now."

"Why do you say that?"

"What kind of person carries a mug on a desert expedition?"

"Oh. Well yes chacha. You are right. This is my first time outside of the city. Ever since... well everything that happened, I have felt compelled to leave the city, and search for the library. Atleast, I think it's the library that I am looking for. I don't quite know for sure. I don't even know if it's still there. Or whether it has been abandoned like the rest of the region. I really don't know what I am hoping to find. Just that I don't think that it is back home. It is somewhere out here."

"Son. Knowledge is a mysterious thing. It behaves in ways that we only try to fathom. But that all doesn't matter to us right now. We are here, and we are together. I'll stay with you till we get to the library. It should be a few more days. Then we can part ways."

Sitting with Dharam Chacha, Sudhakar felt a deep sense of calm. He felt blessed to be in its presence. It seemed to radiate from all pores of the man. The next few days were a tranquil spot in a distrubed life. It was that gentle sense of calm that drove him through.

The deserts reflects everything.

Scene 22

"And over the next few days, he told me all about himself. He was from the Time Temple. He was supposedly next in line to lead the monastery, and it was customary to take one last trip before taking on the duties."

Sudhakar watched Ammu hastily transcribe all the memories that had floated around them for the last hour. She still had that spark. It glinted and it glowed. Nothing that could happen would ever change that.

"And are you still in contact with him? Do you know where this temple is? Do you have any information?"

"I'm sorry Ammu. The day that we were to reach the library, he seemingly just vanished. I tried to approach the library, but there was just an overwhelming sense that that was the wrong thing to do. So then I just headed back with the caravan. I spent a few days asking around if anybody knew where he was, but nobody had any additional information."

Ammu slowly closed her notebook. She closed her eyes and tried to recall what Vasu maam had said. It sounded very similar.

"Vasu maam's story also ends something along the same way. Dhwani, the monk that she had met, also pretty much disappered the same way. No warnings. One day, just vanished. No notes. No goodbyes. In some sense it feels like she is still heartbroken about it. Are you also..."

"Heartbroken? I don't think I would use those words. But yes. I guess I felt a certain sense of betrayal. Like the Universe presented me with something true, and pure and good, and then just took it away. They're funny you know? They call time 'The Goddess', and they talk about her like she is an acquaintance. How the future is something that the 'Goddess blesses us with'. When I was with Dharam Chacha, he would just say these things as if it were the most normal everyday thing to say. And you know what, I actually felt that way. As the days past, even in my head, I would find myself telling myself that 'The Goddess' would take us to the end of our journey. That it was her gift that I got to spend that much time with him. I would pray to her to extend our journey so that I got more time. But now I see. It's all the same. They're all the same. Disappear when they feel like. No second thoughts. I mean even you..."

Ammu closed her eyes before he could see the tears that were threatening to stream.

"Sorry I didn't mean..."

"No. You're right. I get where you are coming from. If I could go back, if the 'Goddess' could help me out, I would do better. I would explain to you. I would really..."

"Ammu. I am sorry. Its been so long now. I don't know why I am not able to let it go. I want to. I really want to. But its just hard..."

Ammu stood up, and started stuffing her bag with her notebooks again. She slung it over her shoulder and started heading out.

"Thanks Sudhakar. Everything that you told me is going to be really helpful to Srini sir. I'll make sure to mention how much help you've been."

Sudhakar watched her walk out again. He said a quick prayer to the Goddess whom he had just remembered how to pray to. A prayer to use her powers to heal the wound that the two of them could not.

Scene 23

The sun doesn't always rise at the same time. The sun always rises at the right time. That's all very grand in principle, but when it's a couple hours after midnight, and the sun decides that he wants to rise to a point just over the hill, and spend a few hours there, shining right through the crack in the canopy and onto your sleeping face, then you tend to forget all ideas of grandeur.

Janardhan sighed in bed. He tried turning over, but the sun was a step ahead, and it reflected off the mirror on the opposite wall. There was no real winning this game. The only winning move was to admit defeat. He climbed to the highest point of the monastery. A few monks were already waiting there, and they flashed him a smile. As soon as they all looked towards the hill, the sun began to rise in all it's glory. That vain bastard. It was glorious though. All thoughts of defeat turned to internal celebrations of victory, and the monastery began buzzing.

A new day was upon them, and what a day it was going to be. In a time temple, devotees truly know how to worship time. Every day was precious. Every moment, holy. Today was going to be no different.

Or maybe it would be a little different. For Janardhan at least. He was going to work on understanding the letter he had recieved. It was certainly a little strange. It had come from a man who claimed to have met him before, somewhere in the desert. Something about the library of Jalib. But he'd never been to the library. Or to the desert. Or out of the monastery really.

Snippets

Time works in mysterious ways. That used to just be a cliche thing that people told me, so I'd stop whining so damn much. But over the past few weeks, I have come to realise that it is both far truer and falser than I ever could have realised.

Time works in mysterious ways. But they are only mysterious because nobody else bothered to actually investigate into them. The deeper into my investigations I go, the clearer things become. But just because they are clear, doesn't mean that they make any sense.

The monks talk about a temporal balance that the universe seems to maintain. Have you ever realised how sometimes time just seems to fly by and at other times every single instant just feels like an infinite slog. Do you think that's random? My brother, you are mostly mistaken. Every instant that you slogged through, someone somewhere in the universe managed to fly past. But the balance must never be broken.

It's the logic that doesn't make sense. And maybe there is no logic to it. Maybe a lot of it is random. But random is not the same as mysterious.

---

That's where we had started at least. Inspiration is the kinda muse that takes you where she wants to go. Not where you want to go. You can either fight her, and make a scene in the middle of the mall at rush hour, or let her take you by the hand to the most beautiful places you will ever have the privelege of seeing. Can you absolve yourself of your ego for long enough to give yourself a chance to experience paradise? That's the only question.

---

Writing fiction is so hard. I don't know how people do it. Every time I introduce a new character, I instantly fall in love with them. And the story goes nowhere. Hoping to progress the plot is as much a fantasy as the genre of the book.

"Hey you. Yes you. You were supposed to give my heroes information that would help them save the world. Can you please stop flirting in the library, and help us get back on track?"

"No? Yeah... I thought not."

---