The room stank of incense, sweat, and broken dreams.
Arjun sat cross-legged on the cracked concrete floor, back against the faded wall of a crumbling apartment in Delhi's outskirts. The city outside roared—cars honking, dogs barking, voices fighting—but inside, only silence clung to him. A tattered poster of Shiva peeled off the wall above him. One hand of the god raised in blessing, the other holding fire.
He hadn't eaten since yesterday. The job interviews had gone nowhere. Again. The world didn't want a philosophy graduate with no connections, no money, and a resume stained with "freelance work" that barely paid for chai.
He stared at the diya in front of him. The flame flickered.
"You're the god of destruction," he muttered. "But what about rebuilding, huh?"
No answer. Just smoke.
His phone buzzed once. A text:"Final Notice. Room must be vacated by Monday."He laughed. Dry, hollow. The kind of laugh that hurts your ribs.
That night, he walked to the flyover near Rajghat. Not to jump—he wasn't that far gone. He just wanted to feel the wind, see the Yamuna at night, remember that the world was bigger than his problems. But as he stood there, something odd happened.
The air changed. Cold. Still.
And then he saw her.
An old woman in rags, barefoot, standing in the middle of the road. No one else seemed to notice her. Trucks flew past—she didn't flinch. She just stared at him, eyes like dying stars.
"Are you ready to remember?" she asked.
He blinked. "What?"
A truck horn screamed.
Too late.
The metal slammed through him like a god's judgment. Pain exploded. Bone. Blood. Darkness.
But something refused to die.
He woke up gasping.
Not in a hospital. Not even in a body he knew.
He was lying on damp earth, under a sky filled with two moons. His limbs felt smaller. Younger. Softer. His clothes were rough—hand-woven. Trees towered over him, ancient and silent.
Birds cried in alien tongues.
And in the distance, a temple stood in ruins. A shattered statue of a multi-armed goddess lay crumbled before it, her face worn smooth by time and neglect. The air tasted like forgotten prayers.
A voice whispered in his mind:
"The world has forgotten the way. Remember it. Become it."
Arjun tried to speak—but the name wasn't his anymore.A boy's voice came out. Weak. Afraid."W-who am I?"
From the trees, shadows stirred.
The world had begun.