Dasharatha's attention had returned to Anand.
"There is another matter I wish to understand. Sumanth spoke of the paper in your possession."
Anand stiffened slightly.
Ah. Here we go.
"May I see it?"
"Certainly, Maharaja."
Anand carefully retrieved his notebook from his bag.
He held it out, and Dasharatha accepted it with visible curiosity.
The king opened the cover.
For several moments, he examined the paper without speaking.
He ran his fingers lightly across the surface, turned a page, and then another. The sheets were smooth, even, and remarkably consistent in thickness.
He held one page closer to the light.
"Extraordinary."
He glanced toward Sumanth.
"I have seen paper from many regions, including the finest produced by our own craftsmen. Yet I have never encountered paper quite like this."
Sumanth nodded.
"That was my impression as well, Maharaja."
Dasharatha turned another page.
"The texture is unusually fine, and the surface is remarkably uniform. Even the edges appear to have been prepared with great precision."
He looked at Anand.
"Where did you obtain such paper?"
Anand had anticipated this question, but that did not make answering it any easier.
He couldn't exactly explain the manufacturing processes behind modern paper without inviting a dozen more questions.
Nor could he reveal the truth about his origins.
So he settled for a carefully constructed half-truth.
"I found it while traveling through a forest, Maharaja. I do not know who it belonged to before I discovered it."
Dasharatha regarded him for a moment.
The explanation was not entirely convincing.
He suspected that Anand was withholding something.
But the young man's discomfort was apparent, and the king was not inclined to force an answer merely to satisfy his curiosity.
"I see."
He closed the notebook gently.
"If there is a reason you prefer not to discuss the matter, I shall not press you."
Anand released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Thank you for understanding, Maharaja."
Dasharatha returned the notebook.
Anand accepted it with both hands and carefully placed it back in his bag.
But as soon as the notebook disappeared from view, another voice entered the conversation.
"Anand."
He turned toward Sage Vashistha.
"Yes, revered sage?"
Vashistha regarded him with thoughtful interest.
"There is something I would like to ask about the writing in your notebook."
Anand's stomach tightened again.
Of course there is.
Vashistha continued.
"I have spent many years studying sacred scriptures, philosophical works, and the languages in which they have been preserved. I have encountered writings from many traditions and learned to recognize numerous forms of script."
He paused.
"Yet the writing in your notebook is unfamiliar to me."
Anand remained silent.
"Tell me, young man. What language is it?"
Anand hesitated.
"It is my native language, revered sage."
Vashistha's eyebrows rose.
"Your native language?"
"Yes."
"And you wrote these characters yourself?"
"Yes, revered sage."
For the first time since the conversation had begun, Vashistha appeared genuinely startled.
"You mean to say that this is the language of your homeland?"
Anand nodded.
"That is correct."
Vashistha studied him with renewed curiosity.
He had initially assumed that the unfamiliar writing might belong to some distant region or an obscure scholarly tradition.
But Anand's answer suggested that it was simply the ordinary language of the young man's people.
"And you are fluent in this script?"
"Yes, revered sage."
Vashistha stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"Remarkable. I have studied the scriptures of many traditions, yet I have never encountered these characters."
Anand offered a slightly awkward smile.
"They may be unfamiliar because my homeland is very far from here."
"Perhaps."
Vashistha's expression grew thoughtful.
"Knowledge takes many forms, Anand. A language is more than a collection of symbols. It reflects the way a people organize their thoughts, preserve their memories, and communicate their understanding of the world."
He leaned forward slightly.
"I would very much like to study it."
Anand blinked.
"Study my language?"
"Indeed. If you are willing, I would be grateful if you taught me its structure, its characters, and the principles by which it is written."
Anand stared at the sage.
Wait a minute.
Sage Vashistha wants me to teach him my language?
The thought was so absurd that he almost laughed.
He was standing before one of the greatest sages of the Ramayana, a figure whose wisdom was revered throughout the kingdom.
And the man was asking him to become his teacher.
What am I supposed to teach him?
The alphabet? Grammar? Punctuation?
Am I going to end up explaining why English spelling makes absolutely no sense?
He mentally dismissed the last thought.
Vashistha had not finished speaking.
"In exchange," the sage continued, "I would be pleased to share with you the knowledge I have gathered throughout my life. I can teach you the sacred wisdom preserved in the scriptures, the principles of dharma, and the philosophical teachings that have guided generations of seekers."
His expression remained gentle.
"Knowledge should not be hoarded. When it is shared sincerely, both the teacher and the student may discover something new."
Anand's expression changed.
The offer was far more significant than he had initially realized.
He had spent years learning about the Ramayana from books and modern interpretations.
But now he had the opportunity to learn directly from Sage Vashistha himself.
Not merely the stories.
Not merely the familiar verses or simplified explanations.
He could learn from a man who had devoted his life to the study and practice of that wisdom.
And perhaps, through those teachings, Anand might begin to understand the world he had somehow entered.
His excitement was difficult to contain.
"Revered sage," he said, bowing respectfully, "I would be honored to accept your proposal. If my knowledge of my language can be of any use to you, I shall gladly teach you whatever I can."
Vashistha smiled.
"Then we have an agreement."
He inclined his head toward Anand.
"I look forward to our discussions."
"And I look forward to learning from you, revered sage."
Dasharatha watched the exchange with evident satisfaction.
"It seems that our young guest has already found a worthy teacher, and our revered sage has found an unusual student."
A few courtiers smiled.
Anand returned the smile, though inwardly his mind was racing.
This is actually happening.
I'm going to learn from Vashistha.
The real Vashistha.
He glanced toward the sage.
I really hope I don't accidentally say something that gets me into trouble.
For the next several moments, the conversation continued at a more relaxed pace.
Vashistha asked a few questions about the structure of Anand's writing system, though Anand explained that a proper explanation would require more time and that it would be easier to begin once they were settled.
The sage readily agreed.
Dasharatha, meanwhile, asked Narada about his travels and the places he had visited. Narada answered with his usual ease, sharing a few entertaining observations about the diversity of people and customs he had encountered.
Anand listened quietly, occasionally adding a comment when appropriate.
Gradually, the tension that had accompanied his arrival began to fade.
The court no longer regarded him with the same suspicion or bewilderment that the guards had displayed earlier.
They were still curious about him, of course.
How could they not be?
A traveler carrying unfamiliar devices, possessing extraordinarily refined paper, and writing in a language unknown to the royal preceptor was hardly an ordinary visitor.
But for the moment, curiosity had taken precedence over suspicion.
And that, Anand decided, was a very good start.
Eventually, the attendant who had been dispatched earlier returned.
He approached the throne and bowed.
"Your Majesty, the quarters have been prepared for our guests."
Dasharatha nodded.
"Good. Have they been provided with everything they require?"
"Yes, Maharaja. Their rooms are ready, and the servants have been instructed to attend to their needs."
"Excellent."
The king turned toward Anand and Narada.
"You have traveled far, and I imagine you would appreciate some rest. Please retire to your quarters and make yourselves comfortable."
He gestured toward the attendant.
"He shall guide you there. This evening, you will dine with me, and we may continue our conversation at greater leisure."
Anand bowed respectfully.
"We are grateful for Your Majesty's hospitality."
Narada inclined his head.
"May your kingdom continue to prosper, Maharaja."
Dasharatha smiled.
"You honor us with your presence. I look forward to seeing you both this evening."
With that, the audience came to an end.
Anand adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder and bowed once more before stepping back.
Beside him, Narada offered the king a final respectful gesture.
Then the two travelers turned and followed the attendant toward the great doors.
As they crossed the royal court, Anand stole one last glance at the throne.
King Dasharatha was already speaking quietly with Sage Vashistha, while Sumanth stood nearby, apparently discussing the arrangements for the wealth Narada had declined.
The scene was so surreal that Anand almost stopped walking.
I just met King Dasharatha.
I showed him my flashlight.
He offered me gold for it.
And now I'm going to have dinner with him.
He shook his head slightly.
My life has officially stopped making sense.
Beside him, Narada glanced over.
"Something on your mind, Anand?"
Anand looked at the sage.
"Honestly? A lot of things."
Narada smiled knowingly.
"Then perhaps you should begin by resting. The mind often finds its answers more readily when it is not exhausted by its own questions."
Anand let out a quiet laugh.
"That sounds suspiciously like advice from someone who knows more than he's telling me."
Narada's smile widened.
"Does it?"
"Yes."
"How curious."
Anand narrowed his eyes.
Narada simply continued walking.
Oh, come on.
He's definitely doing that on purpose.
Before Anand could question him further, the attendant led them through another corridor and toward a quieter section of the palace.
The sounds of the royal court gradually faded behind them.
Ahead lay their temporary home within the palace of Ayodhya.
Anand adjusted his bag once more, his fingers briefly brushing the familiar shape of the flashlight inside.
For all the strangeness of this world, he still possessed something that belonged to his own.
His notebook.
His phone.
His tools.
His memories.
And now, an opportunity he had never imagined receiving.
He was a guest of King Dasharatha.
He had earned the interest of Sage Vashistha.
And he was traveling alongside Narada himself.
Anand looked toward the corridor ahead.
A slow smile spread across his face.
Well.
This is going to be interesting.
And with that thought, he followed Narada deeper into the royal palace, unaware of just how much his seemingly ordinary arrival had already begun to change the course of his life.