Arjun looked around his cramped office, the dim light from the single bulb casting long shadows over stacks of musty books and faded maps. His fingers traced the edge of a manuscript he'd spent years working on, yet he knew it would gather dust on some forgotten shelf, just like all his other research. He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the cracked ceiling and sighing.
Despite his degree, his research, and his endless passion for India's history, Arjun's life felt…empty. He was a historian who studied the past with intense devotion, yet the future seemed frustratingly beyond his reach. His dreams of inspiring change, of bringing knowledge of the past to shape a better present, felt like distant illusions in a world that barely took note of his existence.
"How ironic," he muttered under his breath, "to be a historian with no legacy of my own."
He thought about the figures he admired—Ashoka, Chandragupta, Rani Lakshmibai—all of them had left a mark on the world, some more permanent than others, yet all carried a unique power to shape their world. If only he could make an impact like they had, if only he had the strength, the opportunity… He knew history inside out, yet here he was, bound by his life's limitations.
Just then, his phone vibrated. It was a message from his colleague, reminding him of a faculty meeting scheduled for the next morning. Another day of routine, he thought, the weight of frustration sinking deeper. Slowly, Arjun rose from his chair, tidying up his desk as he prepared to leave. Tomorrow, he promised himself, would be different—but it was a promise he'd made before and broken time and time again.
As he locked the door, he took one last look at the cramped office. His sanctuary, his prison. Shaking his head, he turned and made his way down the empty corridor, the echo of his footsteps reverberating off the walls, each step sounding like a faint whisper of regret.
---
That evening, as he drove home on a narrow, winding road, his mind drifted. Visions of the empires he'd studied came to life before his eyes—kings and queens, warriors and ministers, visionaries who built civilizations from the ground up. The rain began to pour, and soon, heavy drops pounded on his windshield, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were miles away, imagining how different his life could have been in another time.
The screeching of tires snapped him back to reality. Before he could react, a blinding flash of light filled his vision. A massive truck had swerved into his lane, its lights bearing down on him like the eyes of fate itself. Instinctively, Arjun gripped the wheel, but it was too late.
In that moment, everything went still. He felt an overwhelming sense of calm wash over him, as if he were drifting, weightless, through time itself. His life, his work, his ambitions—all faded like fragments of a distant memory.
Darkness enveloped him.
---
When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in his car. The chill of the rain and the roar of the truck had vanished, replaced by the warmth of a crackling fire and the scent of damp earth. Confused, he tried to sit up but felt an unusual weight pressing on him. He looked down and saw small, unfamiliar hands resting on his lap.
A child's hands.
Panic gripped him as he struggled to understand his surroundings. The room was unfamiliar, lit only by the flickering flames. Shadows danced across the walls, casting strange shapes. Outside, he could hear distant voices, though the words were muddled, spoken in a dialect he didn't immediately recognize.
"Where…where am I?" he whispered, but his voice came out soft and high-pitched.
A wave of realization washed over him as he touched his face. His fingers felt soft skin, a child's face. His breathing grew heavy, and he tried to process what was happening. How was this possible?
"Arjun?" called a woman's voice from the doorway. He looked up to see a figure, her face softened by the glow of the fire. She was dressed in clothing that seemed centuries old, her long hair braided down her back. The look in her eyes was gentle, caring, and she knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Are you feeling better, my son?" she asked softly.
Arjun's heart raced as he stared at her. "Son…?" he whispered, the word almost catching in his throat.
"Yes," she smiled. "You've been asleep for so long. We were so worried."
Confusion and fear knotted in Arjun's chest, yet beneath it all, a strange thrill began to grow. Could it be? He didn't understand how it was possible, but one thing was clear—he was no longer the Arjun he had once been. This was a new life, a new chance, and a glimmer of hope sparked within him.
He took a deep breath, his mind racing with possibilities. His old life, his old dreams… they were gone. But perhaps, in this strange, ancient world, he could finally achieve the legacy he had always longed for.
This time, he wouldn't waste it.